look over her shoulder at the buffet tables, then abruptly slid out of the booth, leaving her almost-empty plate behind.
Leaving Holt to contemplate her words and complexities while he stared at her plate and a low-intensity hum of excitement vibrated through his chest. He was becoming more and more certain he’d found his client’s last missing sibling, and equally certain she was never going to willingly admit to her true identity, for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out. He was going to have to find another way to positively prove Billie Farrell was, in fact, Brenna Fallon.
The plate she’d left sitting on the table seemed to shimmer and grow in size as he gazed at it. For some reason the girl with the quick hands hadn’t whisked it away yet, evidently being occupied elsewhere in the dining room. Billie was busy, too, heaping a salad-size plate with goodies from the dessert table. Holt threw them both a glance, then plucked the wooden barbecue skewer off of Billie’s plate and wrapped it carefully in a clean paper napkin.
Billie had no idea what she was putting on her plate; the buffet table in front of her was a blur. Her heart was pounding, although she was confident nobody watching her would ever guess it.
Watching me…
Yeah. She could feel the detective’s eyes on her, those keen blue eyes that wouldn’t miss much. She knew she had the advantage on him, since she could read him pretty well and, unless he was a whole lot better than most of the other opponents she’d faced, he wouldn’t be able to read her at all. But somehow she had to figure out how to get him to tell her more about who he was working for and exactly who they wanted him to find.
Okay, dummy, you know it has to be you they are looking for. The more important question is, why?
A week ago she’d have had to guess it was that jerk, Miley, trying to track her down. But he’d already managed to do that on his own, and besides, he’d be too cheap to hire a private dick. And even if he did somehow happen to have the money, he’d use it to get in a poker game somewhere.
Beyond that possibility, her mind refused to go.
But thinking about Miley Todd had given her an idea how to play this guy Kincaid. It was a strategy Miley had taught her way back when he was first teaching her to play poker: Start talking about herself, not a lot, just a little bit. Get her opponents relaxed and hoping for more. Then maybe they’d let their guard down and tell her what she wanted to know.
“So,” she said in a breezy way as she slipped back into the booth, “where were we?”
“You were about to tell me whether you’re going to help me find the person I’m looking for,” Holt said absently, staring at her plate. “My God, are you going to eat all that?”
She focused on the mess before her and felt a wave of queasiness. Lord, was that pudding?
“What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.” She picked up an almond cookie and nibbled on its edges while she studied him through her dark glasses. She tilted her head and let him see her dimples. “See, the thing is, how do I know if I can help you if I don’t know who you’re looking for?”
“A young woman,” Holt said easily. “About your age, actually.”
“Uh-huh…and you think she’s here in Vegas?”
“I think she might be, yes.”
“All right, here’s the thing.” She dropped the cookie onto her plate, barely noticing that it landed in the pudding. “If I seem like I’m being a little bit cautious, it’s because I’ve had to be. You understand? I’ve been in this town a long time. Nowadays, poker is pretty respectable, mainstream, but back when I first started playing, some of the people you brushed elbows with might not be the most upstanding citizens, if you know what I mean.”
The detective nodded. “Like Miley Todd?”
She let go a little bubble of laughter and was grateful again for her shades. She picked up a grape and popped it into her mouth. “O—kay…so you’ve been checking up on me. Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m an investigator,” he said with a shrug. “It’s what I do.” He pushed aside his plate and leaned toward her, forearms on the table. “Look, I know you and this guy, Todd, used to be partners, and that a few years back he got caught cheating and banned from the casinos.”
Billie gave a huff of disdain. “He was an idiot. Card-smart, maybe, but people-stupid. A little bit of success and he started thinking he was smarter than everybody else.”
“So, how did you get involved with this guy?”
She didn’t move or gesture, but he could almost hear the doors slamming shut. It occurred to him that even without being able to see her eyes, he was learning to read her. “It was a long time ago. I was young—what can I say?”
He almost smiled at that, given how young she still was—a lot younger than he was, anyway. Instead, he said casually, the way he might have asked her if she liked wine, “What kind of partners were you? Professional, lovers…”
Unexpectedly, she smiled. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see that coming.”
He smiled back.
The air between them seemed to change subtly…become heavier, charged with electricity. She thought of the wild Texas thunderstorms she’d loved as a child, and realized with a shiver of fear that it was the first time in years she’d allowed herself to remember those times. She wondered why. Why now, with this man?
Still smiling, she hitched one shoulder. “I know how guys think. It was the first thing you thought of. But the answer is, no, we weren’t lovers. Not that Miley didn’t have ideas along those lines when he first met me.” She picked up another grape and crunched it audibly between her teeth. “Until I told him what I’d do to him if he ever laid a hand on me.”
“Ouch.” He gave a pained laugh and shifted in his seat. Moments passed, and Billie could almost hear thunder rolling away in the distance. Then his gaze sharpened, focused on her again. “So…your partnership was strictly professional, then. I’m not clear on how that works in poker.”
She shook her head, mentally reining herself in, sharpening her own focus. Reminding herself of her game plan. “Partnership probably isn’t the right word. Miley was more like my mentor, I guess you could say. Protector, too, sometimes. At first.” She paused. “Vegas could be a rough town, back then.” Don’t kid yourself, it still is. “I’ll tell you one thing, though.” She sat back in the booth, as far as she could get from that plateful of sweets, having lost her appetite completely. “He was a good teacher.”
He sat very still, regarding her without changing his expression, and it occurred to her that in a very short time he’d become very good at controlling those unconscious tells of his. Either that, or he’d been playing her all along. A small frisson of warning sifted coldly across the back of her neck.
“Do you ever take off those sunglasses?” he asked in the same soft, uninflected voice he’d been using to ask about her relationship with Miley.
“During a game, never,” she shot back just as quietly.
“That’s what this is to you…a game?”
“Sure it is. It’s a lot like poker. We’re both holding cards the other can’t see and would really, really like to.” She paused and gave him her game smile—confident, apologetic, serene. “And you know…sooner or later, one of us is going to have to call.”
He expelled air in an exasperated puff, then looked over at the buffet tables, frowned and muttered, “I need some dessert,” the way someone might say, “I need a drink.”
“Have some of mine.” Having obviously rattled him, she was enjoying herself again.
He aimed the frown at her, then at her plate. His eyebrows rose. “Is that pudding?”