odds.”
“Oh. I’ll take a hit.” She pulled a ten, then frowned. “I lost.”
“But you lost correctly,” the dealer told her with a grin.
She lost correctly twice more and, with brows knit in concentration, slid her last chip into place. And hit blackjack. “I didn’t even have to do anything.” She wiggled more comfortably on the stool and sent Mac an apologetic look. “I think I’ll play incorrectly for a while, just to see what happens.”
“It’s your game.”
With some surprise, he watched her play against all logic and build her little stack of chips up to ten, dwindle them down to three, then build them back up again. She chatted with Renoke, learned about his two sons in college and neatly stacked her chips.
A twenty-dollar stake, he mused, and she was up to two hundred. The woman was a marvel.
He caught the eye of a dealer at another table, a subtle signal of trouble on the brew. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured to Darcy, giving her shoulder a light squeeze.
It wasn’t hard to spot where the trouble was centered. The man in the first chair was down to threehundred-dollar chips. Mac judged him to be roughly forty, a little worse for liquor, and a poor loser.
“Look, you can’t deal cleaner than that, you ought to be fired.” The man jabbed a finger at the dealer while other players eased out of their chairs and looked for calmer water. “I can’t win more than one hand out of ten. And that little bitch who was dealer before you’s no better. I want some damn action here.” He thumped his fist on the table.
“Problem?” Mac stepped up to the table.
“Back off. This is none of your damn business.”
“It’s my business.” A subtle signal had his floor man, already moving toward the table, stopping. “I’m Blade, and this is my place.”
“Yeah?” The man lifted his glass, gulped. “Well, your place is lousy. Your dealers think they’re slick, but I can spot them.” He slammed his glass down. “Bled me for three grand already. I know when I’m being taken.”
Mac’s voice remained low, his eyes cool. “If you want to lodge a complaint, you’re welcome to do so. In my office.”
“I don’t have to go to your stinking office.” In one violent gesture, he knocked his glass from the table. “I want some satisfaction here.”
Mac held up a hand to hold off the two security guards who were moving rapidly in his direction. “You’re not going to get it. I suggest you cash in and take your business elsewhere.”
“You’re kicking me out?” The man shoved away from the table. On his feet he wasn’t steady, but he was big, burly, and his fists were clenched. “You can’t kick me out.”
Ready violence flashed into Mac’s eyes in a quick, icy flare. “Want to bet?”
Rage had the man trembling, visibly. But drunk or not, he recognized the cold fury staring him down. “The hell with it.” He snatched up his chips, sneered. “I should’ve known better than to trust some Indian dive.”
Mac’s hand shot out like a lightning bolt, grabbed the man by the shirtfront and hauled his bulkonto his toes. “Stay out of my place.” His voice was dangerously quiet, his eyes flat as ice. “I see you in here again, and you won’t leave standing. Escort this … gentlemen to the cashier,” Mac instructed his security team. “Then show him the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Half-breed son of a bitch,” the man shouted as he was led away.
Mac’s head jerked around when a hand touched his arm. Instinctively Darcy backed away from the frigid fury on his face. The muscles beneath her fingers were like iron and she quickly dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He was dreadful.”
“Plenty more where he came from.”
All she could think was if anyone ever looked at her with eyes that icy, that powerfully cold, she would shatter into tiny shards. “There shouldn’t be.” She bent down, started to pick up the glass the man had knocked to the
“Oh. I’ll take a hit.” She pulled a ten, then frowned. “I lost.”
“But you lost correctly,” the dealer told her with a grin.
She lost correctly twice more and, with brows knit in concentration, slid her last chip into place. And hit blackjack. “I didn’t even have to do anything.” She wiggled more comfortably on the stool and sent Mac an apologetic look. “I think I’ll play incorrectly for a while, just to see what happens.”
“It’s your game.”
With some surprise, he watched her play against all logic and build her little stack of chips up to ten, dwindle them down to three, then build them back up again. She chatted with Renoke, learned about his two sons in college and neatly stacked her chips.
A twenty-dollar stake, he mused, and she was up to two hundred. The woman was a marvel.
He caught the eye of a dealer at another table, a subtle signal of trouble on the brew. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured to Darcy, giving her shoulder a light squeeze.
It wasn’t hard to spot where the trouble was centered. The man in the first chair was down to threehundred-dollar chips. Mac judged him to be roughly forty, a little worse for liquor, and a poor loser.
“Look, you can’t deal cleaner than that, you ought to be fired.” The man jabbed a finger at the dealer while other players eased out of their chairs and looked for calmer water. “I can’t win more than one hand out of ten. And that little bitch who was dealer before you’s no better. I want some damn action here.” He thumped his fist on the table.
“Problem?” Mac stepped up to the table.
“Back off. This is none of your damn business.”
“It’s my business.” A subtle signal had his floor man, already moving toward the table, stopping. “I’m Blade, and this is my place.”
“Yeah?” The man lifted his glass, gulped. “Well, your place is lousy. Your dealers think they’re slick, but I can spot them.” He slammed his glass down. “Bled me for three grand already. I know when I’m being taken.”
Mac’s voice remained low, his eyes cool. “If you want to lodge a complaint, you’re welcome to do so. In my office.”
“I don’t have to go to your stinking office.” In one violent gesture, he knocked his glass from the table. “I want some satisfaction here.”
Mac held up a hand to hold off the two security guards who were moving rapidly in his direction. “You’re not going to get it. I suggest you cash in and take your business elsewhere.”
“You’re kicking me out?” The man shoved away from the table. On his feet he wasn’t steady, but he was big, burly, and his fists were clenched. “You can’t kick me out.”
Ready violence flashed into Mac’s eyes in a quick, icy flare. “Want to bet?”
Rage had the man trembling, visibly. But drunk or not, he recognized the cold fury staring him down. “The hell with it.” He snatched up his chips, sneered. “I should’ve known better than to trust some Indian dive.”
Mac’s hand shot out like a lightning bolt, grabbed the man by the shirtfront and hauled his bulkonto his toes. “Stay out of my place.” His voice was dangerously quiet, his eyes flat as ice. “I see you in here again, and you won’t leave standing. Escort this … gentlemen to the cashier,” Mac instructed his security team. “Then show him the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Half-breed son of a bitch,” the man shouted as he was led away.
Mac’s head jerked around when a hand touched his arm. Instinctively Darcy backed away from the frigid fury on his face. The muscles beneath her fingers were like iron and she quickly dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He was dreadful.”
“Plenty more where he came from.”
All she could think was if anyone ever looked at her with eyes that icy, that powerfully cold, she would shatter into tiny shards. “There shouldn’t be.” She bent down, started to pick up the glass the man had knocked to the
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