In the Cards Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Jamie Beck

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477825693

  ISBN-10: 147782569X

  Cover design by Laura Klynstra

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014908553

  To my husband and children, the loves of my life.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sugar Sands Beach Resort, Sanibel Island, Florida

  New Year’s Eve 2005

  Levi

  Wild kids run around the pool, splashing passersby and banging against the ends of the lounge chairs. The noisy chaos is one thing I won’t miss about this place come Sunday. Some of the older folks look overwhelmed by the commotion, so I stop to help them secure seating, towels, and such. I may not hail from high society, but I’m still a Southerner with a sense of decorum.

  An unruly little boy darts in front of me, nearly knocking the crate of glasses I’m carrying right out of my hands. Then I hear a familiar, heavy drawl that stops me cold.

  “Better watch out, son.”

  I glance to my left to see my pop grinning like a shark. And here I’d been looking forward to my last day of work.

  “Pop.” I keep walking to the bar while I gather my wits. When I get there, I unload the glassware without giving him my full attention. “This is a surprise.”

  “I bet.” He rests his right elbow on the bar and casually looks across the pool deck. “I was passing through the area and thought I’d come check on you.”

  Passing through: a euphemism for running a string of card scams and long cons from Florida to Texas.

  “Yeah?” I inhale slowly and shrug, trying not to reveal how much I wish he’d disappear before my coworkers get curious. “Well, as you can see, I’m just fine.”

  “Fine?” He grunts and shakes his head. After glancing over his shoulder, he leans across the bar. “Making minimum wage and waiting on others? Come on, boy. I taught you better than this.”

  He taught me, all right. Taught me how to play poker like a pro, among other things. Yanked me out of school in favor of getting me to master the finer points of body language, pacing, and position in the back rooms of bars across the South.

  I don’t regret acquiring my talents, seeing as how they give me a distinct advantage in many situations. But I never want to live a drifter’s life and rip off people like my pop does. He may get a thrill from those games, but I don’t. And I don’t enjoy causing other people grief. It’s why I’ve been trying to make my own way.

  Bottom line: I don’t care much about what other people think of me, but I need to be able to look in the mirror without disgust.

  “How long are you going to waste your God-given talent and hide behind this bar?” The disapproving look on his face doesn’t surprise me. It doesn’t bother me, either.

  “Don’t worry about me.” I ignore him and let my gaze drift over the crowd.

  This job’s been a decent short-term gig for a guy my age. I’ve spent my time outdoors and collected healthy tips, especially from the middle-aged married ladies left to sit alone while their husbands play golf.

  Besides, someday I’ll be one of those rich men on the golf course—minus the wife, of course. But there’s no need to share my plans for Vegas with Pop.

  “Sorry to break up this family reunion, but I’ve got to get to work.” Placing both hands on the bar, I look him in the eye for the first time. “Can I fix you a drink before you head out?”

  “Jack and Coke, son.” He chuckles and throws a twenty on the bar. “You keep the change. When you’re ready for a little fun, you know how to find me. You and I could clean up in this crowd of lonely ladies.” He winks and walks away, probably scoping the crowd for a new mark. At forty-eight, he’s still a good-looking man. I notice a few of the women check him out as he struts toward the hotel.

  It’d be easier if I could hate him for how he raised me. But I don’t. He trained me not to rely on anyone for anything, and that makes me stronger than most. There are worse parents than him, even if he is an unrepentant thief.

  As predicted, the outdoor bar is teeming with New Year’s Eve partiers before noon. The three of us tending bar barely have time to crack a joke. I don’t complain, though. Bigger crowds mean bigger tips.

  Sara, a babe with a knockout figure, pockets most of the male customers’ money. Fortunately, John lacks any kind of charm, so he mostly serves the impatient men and women who want drinks and nothing more. I attract the flirty female patrons to my side of the bar. I wasn’t given much in this life, but I’m blessed with good looks—or so I’m told.

  “I’ll take a banana daiquiri, please,” says a perky, wide-eyed brunette.

  I’ve noticed her hanging around the pool all week. Up close her tawny eyes momentarily stop me in my tracks. Dazzling. Even in the bright sun, her pupils are fully dilated. Enlarged pupils are a sign of attraction or dishonesty. She’s either hot for me or underage, or both. Can be drugs, too, but this little girl don’t seem high.

  “Miss, I need to see some ID.” I tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear and glance at the line forming behind her. I don’t want to lose those tips to John.

  “Oh.” She bats her lashes and leans into the bar, offering me a better view of her cleavage. “I didn’t bring my wallet to the pool.”

  Her form of foreplay is yet another excellent perk of my job. I admire the way she fills out her cherry-red suit before I meet her eyes again.

  “I’m not askin’ for money, doll. I need proof of your age. I’d bet all my tips today you’re not twenty-one.”

  “Am too.”

  Her childish remark and refusal to meet my gaze only confirm my suspicion. Part of me admires her cheeky attitude. Hell, she’s damn cute. Under other circumstances she might tempt me to break a rule or two, but I won’t risk getting fired today.

  Unwilling to waste more time or lose paying customers, I fix her a virgin daiquiri and charge her room. She beams, apparently thinking she’s fooled me into serving her alcohol, and throws a generous tip on the bar. As she struts her string-bikinied bottom away from me, I notice her sip her beverage and then stop midstride. Scowling, she turns to protest, but I’m busy with other customers. Drawing the left side of my mouth upward, I wink at her.

  Accepting defeat, she skulks away, which causes me to chuckle. Nice try, little girl. Returning my attention to my other customers, I plaster a smile on my face and tend to a fetching blonde.

  At five o’clock, I break for dinner. Thank
fully, Pop seems to have vanished as quickly as he’d arrived. Now I can enjoy an hour of sun on the beach with my burger and book before setting up for tonight’s big New Year’s Eve party.

  I find an empty lounge chair next to Dan, a waiter here who’s let me camp out in his living room for the past month. He’s the ideal roommate—lives in the moment, doesn’t ask a lot of questions. We’ve had a good time together, but I can hardly wait to hit the road. My grin must tip Dan off to my thoughts, because he smiles and shakes his head.

  “I envy you, Levi,” he says. “Wish I could pick up and move to Vegas.”

  “You’re a good guy, but you can’t play poker for shit.” I chuckle. “Too many tells. You’d be eaten alive.”

  “Big talk from a small-town player.” He watches me chow down on my burger. “I’ve seen you clean up around here. But how do you know you won’t lose your shirt out there with all the pros?”

  I hesitate, careful of what to reveal.

  “ ’Cause when I was six, my pop was dealing me cards instead of tossing baseballs in the yard.” In fact, Pop made me play some of those so-called pros. I beat them at seventeen, so I’m pretty sure I can beat them now.

  “Your dad sounds cool.” Dan crosses his arms.

  Cool? Not really. I’d have preferred school and sports teams to the years spent living on the run. Then again, now my expertise gives me a shot at legally banking enough cash to escape the rat race for good.

  “Even so, you’re only twenty-three.” Dan crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Lots of people have been playing longer than you.”

  “True, but they’ll underestimate me because of my age and rough edges.” I grin thinking of the sixteen grand I’ve already banked during the past few years while working the resort circuit along the Gulf Coast and preparing for my next step.

  I’ll be arriving in Vegas with enough cash to enter the better poker tournaments. I’ve met plenty of smart players who make steady money at the tables. If I’m careful, live cheap, and invest well, I can set myself up pretty nicely, especially if I also tend bar at some hot club and make great tips. “By the time they realize it, it’ll be too late.”

  I consider the help Dan’s given me since we met in October. He’s been the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend, which differs from the superficial acquaintances and one-night stands I’m most comfortable with.

  “When I get settled, you can come visit. Maybe you’d be safe at the blackjack tables.” I snicker.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Dan smiles and notices the book in my hand. “But if I come, you’ve got to put your books down long enough to make it fun.”

  I grin but don’t bite back. Books saved me from being an ignorant son of a bitch I couldn’t respect. And unlike people, a good story rarely disappoints. I glance at him again.

  “Thanks for letting me crash at your place.”

  I’m mighty grateful for Dan’s help. I’ll be sure to leave him a generous gift for his inconvenience, though I suspect we won’t actually keep in touch once I’m gone.

  “No problem.” Dan looks over his shoulder toward the resort. “I’ve got to get back to work. Later.”

  After he takes off, I remove my shirt to let the remaining sunlight even out my tan. I’m reading Atlas Shrugged and enjoying my meal when a shadow casts over me.

  “You had a good laugh at my expense today,” purrs a feminine voice.

  I peer over the top of my sunglasses to find the saucer-eyed virgin-daiquiri girl standing at the end of my chaise. She’s planted her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to her right leg. Her spirited attitude forces a grin across my face. With practiced nonchalance, I admire her long enough to make her fidget.

  “Thanks for that, miss. Always appreciate a chance for humor on the job.”

  Her stance relaxes and her tone turns friendly. “So, how’d you know I’m not twenty-one?”

  “ ’Cause you don’t look it. Plus, you were nervous when you ordered.”

  She flips her silky, light-brown hair behind her shoulders and presses her glossy pink lips together in a frown. Her pert nose is sprinkled with light freckles, and her full lower lip catches my attention. She’s real pretty in a natural, girl-next-door kind of way, so I don’t mind extending our chat another minute.

  “Here’s a tip: Get a fake ID or have one of your older sorority sisters buy your drinks for you.”

  A victorious flash of light shines in her eyes, but I’m not sure why. I do know those eyes look like they can see through anything, or anyone.

  “What are you reading?” She tips her head sideways to read the book jacket.

  I hold the cover up to show her while I estimate her real age. Deciding she may be jailbait, I suspect her little victory stems from my mistaken assumption that she’s already in college.

  “Do you like it?” She’s grasping for a reason to talk to me, because I doubt she’s real interested in my thoughts about Ayn Rand’s ideals.

  “So far.”

  I don’t offer more. Keeping quiet forces other people to do all the talking and all the revealing. Typically, this strategy establishes my power position, the only position that assures me protection. Her alert gaze warns me I need all the protection I can get.

  Undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm, she seats herself in the sand alongside my lounge chair. Her face is now only a foot or so away from my chest. I shift to my left, uncomfortable with her proximity. She’s forward, though not blatantly flirtatious. She just marched over, invaded my space, and now won’t leave me alone.

  Her lightly bronzed skin shimmers in the rose-colored light of a late-afternoon sky. If she were older, I might indulge in a brief fling. Unfortunately, she’s an inexperienced baby, and I don’t take advantage of the innocent. Plus, something about her knocks me off balance. I don’t enjoy the unfamiliar feeling.

  “Are you working here between semesters?” she asks. “Do you go to college nearby?”

  Her questions, coupled with the fact that she’s vacationing at this resort for the holiday, indicate she’s probably a sheltered daddy’s girl who gets whatever she wants, whenever she wants it. Despite her physical appeal, she’s not my kind of chick. Truth be told, I’m not likely to be her kind of guy. Fortunately, I know exactly how to make her hightail it away from me.

  “I don’t go to college.”

  As expected, her eyes widen even more—if that’s possible.

  “Oh. Why not?”

  “Why bother?” I shrug.

  “For your future.” Her eyebrows furrow, framing amber eyes filled with concern.

  “What about my future?” I stare at her, daring her to preach to me, which is what I suspect is coming.

  “Well . . .” She hesitates. “You know, for more career options.”

  I nearly choke on laughter at the image of me with an office job. She withdraws and narrows her eyes, confused by my response. I lean closer to her and am hit with the coconut scent of her skin. Mmm. Collecting myself, I soften my voice.

  “Don’t you go worrying over my future. As long as there are libraries, I’ll learn whatever I need to know. Don’t need to waste time and money paying some drone to tell me what to think. And anyway, a fancy job and white picket fence may be your dream, but it ain’t mine. I’ll take a pass on the anchors and just live my life.”

  There. Now she’ll lose interest and run along to find her parents, or some nice rich boy just like her. Only, she doesn’t.

  “Anchors?” She hugs her knees to her chest while awaiting my reply.

  I sigh and place my book across my lap.

  “Anchors. Things that weigh you down and hold you in place—a wife, kids, a mortgage. Not interested.”

  Her forehead creases again as she chews on my personal philosophy. After another moment, she raises one brow in challenge. “With a good education, you could get a real job and still choose to be alone.”

  “Real job?” I feel the vein in my temple pulsing. “I’ve got a real j
ob, thanks.”

  She disregards my indignity. “Based on that book, I doubt you want to tend bar forever.”

  Resentment burns inside me, although she’s utterly unaware of her rudeness. I think she actually believes she’s helping me. Damn prima donna can’t even fathom a life different from her own. Despite her apparent sincerity, I snap.

  “Gee, I never looked at it that way. Thanks for showing me the light.” I dial back my animosity, unwilling to let her get further under my skin. “I wonder how many of you rich kids would go to college if you had to pay your own tuition. I bet very few.”

  Her face twitches and she casts her eyes down to her hands, which are now folded neatly in her lap. She appears both chastised and pitying, and that really chafes.

  “Hey, spare me your sympathy. It’s my choice. If I wanted it bad enough, I’d work to pay for college. I like my life just fine. I travel. I’m completely self-sufficient. That’s more than a lot of people my age can claim. Besides, bartenders at big clubs can pull down six figures in tips. Seems more sensible than owing six figures and taking some entry-level cubicle position making peanuts.” Her contrite posture stops me from further defending myself. “Now, unlike you, I’m not on vacation. Go on and run back to your sandbox, baby girl. Let me enjoy what’s left of my break.” I return my attention to my book.

  It’s unlike me to get riled up, but her condescending attitude splinters my pride. Not sure why I care what she thinks, but I want her gone before I say something I’ll regret.

  From the corner of my eye, I notice her bite the inside of her cheek. She rises up from her knees and brushes the sand from her legs—her toned, long legs. I keep staring at the page in front of me, but I sense her willing me to meet her eyes. Naturally, I refuse.

  In response to my rebuff, she flippantly replies, “Sorry I wasted your precious time.”

  I don’t answer or look up. When her shadow retreats, I peek and enjoy the view of her nice derriere until she disappears over toward the pool.

  Too bad that little princess has no idea about the real world, and probably never will. I try to guess how she might react to that day in the future when life finally tests her. Will she rise to the challenge or will it knock the innocent light right out of those pretty eyes?