The Gambler by Lois Greiman

awakening, but she didn't take her eyes from the lunatic before her.
    "Eloise Medina never married, Charm," he said now, his face expressionless. "Never had a child. She's eccentric, but not so eccentric as to forget such an event. And then there's a darkie named Cora who talks like she knows Chantilly, though she's never seen her. She too is waiting to hear what happened to the girl. You're going to have to work on your lies. You could have said Eloise was a friend. Or even..." He chuckled, looking not the least amused. "Even that you had no idea who she was. There's a fortune at stake, you know. But no. You don't know, do you? Else you would certainly have planned to take more than the Bible. Or did you? What else did Chantilly have on her?" he asked, and took a step forward.
    "I'll kill you!" She drew in her breath, holding the derringer in both hands. But terror made her shake, and doubt gnawed at her, making her fingers stiff. "Leave me alone. What do you want from me?"
    "The truth." He stopped. "Just the truth."
    "She was my mother," Charm said.
    In that instant Raven lunged. She squealed and twisted, but he held the derringer now. They spilled to the floor, crashing down together on their sides. They gasped for breath as they tussled for control of the gun.
    "Let go!" he ordered, his tone scraped and hard, but she fought back, trying to tear the weapon from his grip.
    "No!" she cried, but he was stronger, and she was losing the battle. Bending her leg, she banged her knee against his thigh. He gasped in pain, and seeing her advantage, Charm struck again. But this second assault seemed to do nothing but enrage him further.
    With a grunt, he yanked at her hand. The gun exploded. Charm shrieked, but in an instant she saw his face again, miraculously unscathed.
    The gun was suddenly beyond her reach. His hands encircled her wrists in a painful grasp.
    "What did you do to Chantilly Grady?" he barked right into her face.
    Charm sucked in sharp gasps, trying to control her terror.
    "What?" he asked, gritting his teeth and gripping her arms harder still.
    "Nothing! I didn't know her. I didn't!"
    "Then where did you get the Bible?"
    "I told you," she whispered. "My mother."
    "The devil!" he rasped.
    "It's true."
    He ground his teeth then smiled grimly through them. "Then you must be Chantilly Grady."
    She stared at him, unable to move.
    "Is that it?"
    Breathe. She had to remember to breathe. "No."
    "But you got the Bible from your mother," he said, his tone bitter. "So it must be. But there's a way to tell." He raised his brows at her, looking like evil personified. "Proof. You want to know how?"
    She failed to move, but stared up at him, transfixed, horrified.
    "A scar," he said. "Grady had a scar. On her thigh. So let me see yours."
    "No!"
    "No scar? But surely there must be one. Let me look."
    "You're mad!"
    "Could be."
    "Let me up."
    "Show me the scar."
    "Get up!" She tried to shove him aside, but he was much too heavy.
    "So uncooperative," he spat, "when in the name of fairness, you owe me proof. And Eloise Medina... your mother," he scoffed. "She'll want proof that she bore a child. Strange that she could forget such a thing. She'll be grateful when you refresh her memory, I'm sure," he said, and taking both wrists in his right hand, began pulling up her skirt with his left.
    Charm bucked against him, desperately trying to dislodge him. He teetered off her hip, and she lurched up, trying to scramble away. But he was on her again, pressing her back onto the floor.
    "Blast it, woman! I didn't start this, but I'm sure as hell going to finish it." Grabbing her skirt again, he yanked the thing up. She thrashed wildly beneath him, pummeling him with her knees. He grunted, trying to quell the shattering pain and managing to still her motion with the weight of his thigh across hers. "Tell me the truth," he ordered, staring into her face. It was flushed a bright red. "Tell me," he repeated, but quieter, for even now he felt himself