Kincaid’s Dangerous Game

Chapter 10

“It’ll be a lot different the second night of the tournament,” Billie said. “Quieter.”

“Hmm…” Holt’s hand was stroking up and down her back, keeping a lazy rhythm with the slow up and down movement of his chest beneath her cheek.

Her eyelids drifted down, and she had to fight to make her lips form words. “There’ll still be a crowd, just…most of ’em will be in the spectators’ gallery. There’ll be…I forget how many tables-around twenty, I think-each with nine players. The winner at each table advances to the next round.”

“So,” said Holt, “I guess there’s twenty players left for that round. How many tables?”

She managed a feeble head-shake. “Four tables, usually. But that’s when some of the big-name poker stars sit in, so it comes out to six players per table. And from that point on it’ll probably be televised.”

“And that’s tomorrow night?”

“Yup. So…even if by some miracle I make it to the semi-final round, that’s still only…”

“One more day.” His chest lifted, then slowly settled with a long sigh. His arms tightened around her and she felt a stirring in her hair and then the warm press of his lips. “Give us that, love, and we’ll find her.”

“Promise?” she whispered, smiling because she knew how silly a thing it was to ask. And aching in her throat because he’d said the word love and she knew it didn’t mean anything at all.

He responded, “Yeah, I promise.” But of course it wasn’t a sure bet and not even in his hands, so how could he make such a promise?

And yet…it was good to hear, and she felt her eyelids suddenly floating on a film of moisture she didn’t understand at all. It couldn’t possibly be tears, because for one thing, she never shed tears, wasn’t even capable of it. And for another, what she was feeling right then was his nice, solid chest under her cheek and the steady thump of his heartbeat in her ear, and his arms strong and warm around her. So why would something so sweet and good and wonderful make her cry?

Holt left Billie sleeping and stole out of the house at zero-dark-thirty the next morning. He’d asked Billie for one more day, and he didn’t want to waste a minute of it if he could help it. He picked up some fast-food drive-through breakfast biscuits and coffee and went straight on to police headquarters, figuring he’d be the only one of the team working the kidnapping in the squad room at that hour. Instead, he found Vogel and Sanchez and a couple of the others already there, sitting on desk corners scarfing down doughnuts and slurping coffee out of disposable cups. He handed around the sack of bacon-and-egg biscuits and helped himself to one before he picked a roosting spot on a desk opposite Vogel. He waited while the detective took a huge bite of his sandwich, chewed, then swallowed it down with coffee.

“Caught a break,” Vogel said, waving what was left of the biscuit in its paper wrappings in the general direction of the rest of the squad. “Sanchez managed to track down a cousin of Todd’s who says she loaned her RV to him the day before the kidnapping. Also gave us his current address.” He took another bite. “Evidently, he’s been bunking with his girlfriend. This cousin said he and the lady showed up asking if they could borrow the RV because they wanted to ‘go camping.’”

“You’ve been busy,” Holt said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt.

Vogel nodded as he chewed. “We got a unit sitting on the girlfriend’s place. Car in the driveway, no sign of the RV.”

Holt drank coffee and cleared his throat. “You figure one’s holed up there and the other’s staying with the kid in the RV?”

Again Vogel nodded. “According to what Todd told your friend Billie, finding him isn’t going to get us the kid, so my guess would be the girlfriend drew the short straw. Anyway, we don’t want to move on the girlfriend’s place until we know more about who’s where. What we really need is to find that RV.” He nodded toward the big screen in the front of the squad room. “Question is, how? It’s gonna be like looking for the proverbial needle in all that.”

Holt stared at the screen with narrowed eyes. He assumed what he was looking at were satellite photos of the search area. The Valley of Fire. A turbulent sea of red and gold, carved by wind and water over millions of years. Incredibly beautiful, but desolate. And vast.

“We’ll have eyes in the air at first light-” Vogel looked at his watch “-right about now, actually. But even with choppers and planes, it could take days. There must be a million places out there to hide an RV. And God knows how many RVs are out there right now. How the hell are we gonna know if it’s the right one?”

“I think I might know somebody who can help with that,” Holt said, reaching in his pocket for his cell phone. Opened it, found his batteries were on life support, shoved it back in his pocket and frowned at the room. “Anybody know the number for the Venetian?”

Vogel gave him a skeptical look. “You’re thinking the psychic? Even if I believed that stuff-and I’m not sayin’ I do or I don’t-how’s she gonna help?”

“She’s an empath-picks up on emotions. Figured maybe if she got close enough, she might be able to home in on the vibes of a scared little girl.” Holt gave an offhand shrug and downed the last of his coffee. He wasn’t about to waste breath trying to convince somebody of something he’d seen proof of with his own eyes. Something like that you either believed or you didn’t. “Figured it couldn’t hurt, right?”

Vogel stared at him for a moment, then tossed his empty coffee cup in the general direction of a trash can and pointed at his squad as he slid off his desk perch. “Sanchez-get me the Ven-”

“Already on it,” Sanchez drawled, cradling a phone next to her ear.

“Got another phone I can use?” Holt sent his trash after Vogel’s. “My cell phone’s…”

“Sure-use that one right there.” The detective was already halfway across the room, yelling at somebody else. “Hey, Turley, those choppers in the air yet? Get me the tower out at-”

Holt picked up the phone on the desk behind him and tucked it under his jaw while he took out his cell phone again and found the number he wanted in his phone-book. He put away the cell phone and punched in the number. After a couple of rings a sleepy voice answered.

“This better be Publishers Clearing House…”

“Tony, it’s me,” Holt said, then listened to some swearing. “Look, you know I wouldn’t call this early if it wasn’t important. Where are you? How soon can you get back to Vegas?”

“Never left,” Tony said, in the middle of a huge yawn. “Brooke’s on her way here. You didn’t think she was gonna stay away once I e-mailed her those pictures I took-you kiddin’ me?”

Somebody was definitely on his side, Holt figured. He let out a breath. “Man, you don’t know how glad I am to hear that. Need another favor, my friend. Listen, will that toy of yours carry three passengers?”

“Three? Sure, if I leave my cameras, and if two of you don’t mind sitting on the floor.”

“Okay,” Holt said, “get your gear and meet us at the airstrip. Can you be there in an hour?”

Billie woke up and knew before she opened her eyes that it was later than she’d ever slept before. A sickening lurch in her stomach reminded her she’d not only overslept, she’d also failed to show up for work.

Too late to worry about that now.

For a few more minutes she lay in her bed, listening to the silence of an empty house. Wondering why she’d never noticed before that the silence had a weighted, suspenseful quality, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to come and fill the void. A voice, a laugh, a country song playing on a radio, the morning news on television, the tinkle of silverware on plates…

She got up, pulled a T-shirt on and wandered out to the kitchen, where she found the light blinking on her message machine. Three messages, the digital readout on the police recorder said. She punched the button, heard two hang-ups, then Holt’s voice.

“Mornin’, sunshine. Don’t worry about going in to work. I called your boss. In case he asks, you’re having stomach problems. I figured that covers a lot of territory, so you can fill in the blanks however you want to. So…rest up, whatever you need to do, for…you know, tonight. I don’t know if I’m supposed to wish you luck, or not. So…break a leg, or whatever you say in the world of professional poker. Just hang in there, darlin’. And…I’ll call you later. Okay…’bye.”

She stood for a moment, her finger poised to play the message again, just to hear his voice. Told herself that was stupid, and went to make coffee instead. She was measuring coffee into the basket when the phone rang, making her jump so that the grounds went all over the countertop instead. She wiped most of them into the sink, brushed her hand off on the front of her T-shirt and picked up the phone, her heart already lifting into a quicker, more hopeful cadence, knowing it must be Holt, calling her back as he’d said he would.

“Hey,” she said with a softness in her voice she hadn’t even known would be there.

“Where you been? I been callin’ you all morning.”

Cold rage washed over her. She wrapped her arms across herself and shivered. “Miley.”

“Yeah, it’s me-who did you think? So, you did it, didn’t you? Went to the cops. I told you-”

“Don’t be stupid. The cops, the FBI-they’re all over it without any help from me. What did you think was going to happen? You grab a little girl off the street and her parents aren’t going to notice? Jeez, Miley, what were you thinking?”

“I told you what I’m thinking. You just need to win that tournament and everything’s gonna be okay. I know you made it to the second round, so that’s good. You just keep winning and everything’s gonna work out.”

“Miley, you know what the odds are of winning that tournament? Even if I was the best player in the world-”

“You just better be the best. You hear me?” His voice turned menacing. “You better win, Billie.”

There was a click, and then nothing. Billie looked over at the recorder the police technician had set up, but it had nothing to tell her, either. She carefully returned the phone to its cradle and pressed her knotted fist against the cold flutter in her belly. Stomach trouble-yeah, right.

Find her, Kincaid. Please…find her.

Holt shifted, trying to find relief for his backside without taking his eyes off the tapestry of red, purple and gold unfurling beneath him. On the other side of the plane, Wade was sitting facing backward with one knee drawn up, the other stretched out in front of him, face pressed against the window. In the front seats, Tierney and Tony were also staring down at the incredible desert-scape known as the Valley of Fire. Aptly named, Holt thought, especially considering whoever had come up with the name probably hadn’t had the opportunity to see it from the air, with the sun low in the sky, painting parts of the incredible rock and sandstone formations with scarlet and gold and casting others into purple-and-indigo shadow. He’d heard Tony cussing a few times, bewailing the absence of his cameras, but it had been a long time now since any of them had said anything.

They were running out of time. Out of daylight, and out of time. The odds against Billie making it to tomorrow night’s final table were…what? A thousand to one? He was no math wizard, but it had to be huge.

Hang in there, love…

But under that thought, his emotions were so much more. More raw, more complex. He didn’t realize how much more, until Tierney threw him a quick glance and he saw how haggard and strained her face was.

“Sorry,” he said softly, and she smiled.

Wade looked up at his wife. “How’re you holding up, babe?”

Her smile wavered, but she murmured, “I’m fine.”

“Anything?” Wade asked.

She shook her head. She’d reported some interesting pickups over the course of the long afternoon, so they knew what they were trying to do was possible, at least. But so far, nothing that might have been the emotions of a frightened little girl.

“We’re losing the light,” Tony said, telling them all what they already knew. The canyons below were more purple now than gold.

Holt watched the Cherokee’s tiny shadow undulate across the landscape, playing hide-and-seek with the shadows. Then watched it fade and disappear as the sun sank below the horizon. He strained to see a pinprick of light, but there was nothing but deepening darkness. It occurred to him it was like a vast ocean of sand and rock, and they were looking for a single tiny lifeboat.

“Let’s try one more pass,” he said. “A little bit more to the north this time.”

The plane droned on toward the north, and the silence inside the plane grew heavier. When the left wingtip dipped into a sharp bank, Holt’s heart sank with it.

“Gotta call it a day, folks-sorry,” Tony said. “Running low on fuel.”

“That’s okay, buddy, you did-” Holt got that far and was interrupted by a sharp gasp.

“Wait! Wait-go back!” Tierney turned to them, her face rapt, her blue eyes bright. She put her hand up to cover her mouth, because she was laughing along with the tears.

The accountant from New Jersey went all-in on a straight draw that didn’t come through for him, and Billie’s table was down to three-Billie, an Internet player from New Zealand who looked about fifteen and a middle-aged guy wearing several gold chains, who chewed constantly on a toothpick and kept staring at Billie’s cleavage. Which was actually okay with her, since she’d gone to some trouble to produce the cleavage by means of an extremely uncomfortable push-up bra she’d bought in a moment of insanity and she almost never wore.

Most of the other tables were done, or down to their last two players. Billie had been playing conservatively, biding her time, trying to hold on as long as possible. But inevitably, her pile of chips had shrunk, and it was clear her two remaining opponents were running equally low on patience. The looks Toothpick Guy sent her now were more annoyed than lascivious.

On the next hand, Billie drew pocket tens. The wonder kid from New Zealand, the chip leader, folded. Toothpick Guy checked, but looked a little too smug about it. Billie checked, too.

The Flop was ten, deuce, three. Billie stared at the cards, confident her glasses would keep her eyes from betraying her. She waited as long as she could get away with, then bet a thousand. Toothpick Guy promptly saw her bet. Exuding confidence, but not too much.

The Turn card shot onto the table. Another deuce. Again Billie stalled. A full house wasn’t a sure thing, but she was almost out of chips. This hand was probably as good as it was going to get, and besides, what choice did she really have?

She went all-in.

Toothpick Guy’s smug smile faded when he saw her full house. He had pocket queens, both red. Two pair, queen high.

Time really did seem to stand still. She knew she was holding her breath, and even her heartbeat seemed to have been suspended.

In slow motion, the dealer dealt the final card-The River. It was the queen of spades.

Toothpick Guy let out a gusty breath and leaped from his chair, hands clapped to the sides of his head in joy and relief. Billie sat motionless.

It’s over.

There was a shimmery noise inside her head that blocked out all other sounds: Her own voice saying the right things as she rose from the table and extended her hand to the two surviving players. The New Zealander, saying something sympathetic to go along with his rather sweet smile. Toothpick Guy, all teeth and graciousness now that he’d won. She felt people patting her on the back as she turned, no doubt wishing her well, and she didn’t hear that, either.

I failed, Holt. I couldn’t do it. Hannah Grace, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…

Blind and deaf, somehow she wove her way through the ballroom-through the casino, through the rows of slots with their garish lights and dinging bells and avid, oblivious worshipers…through the vast and crowded lobby, noisy with people enjoying the glitz, glamour and excitement of Vegas. Cold air slapped her in the face, and she came to with a start, realizing she was on the sidewalk apron just outside the main entrance, under the portico where limos and taxicabs deliver their passengers. She hesitated, shivering, then began walking rapidly, not knowing or caring where she was going.

“Billie!”

Somewhere, lost in the shimmering noise inside her head, she heard someone calling. Calling her? Or was it her imagination? Didn’t matter, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, or see anyone. She kept walking.

“Billie-wait!”

That voice. The voice she’d been both hoping and dreading to hear. She turned, quaking inside, holding on to her self-control by a gossamer thread. And saw Holt farther down the drive, making his way toward her, dodging around people, pushing past some. She started toward him, then halted, unable to make her legs take another step.

Then he was there, reaching for her, but she put out her hand to stop him from pulling her into his arms.

“I’m out,” she said, words coming rapidly in a hoarse voice, blunt and unforgiving. “I couldn’t do it. I tried, but I lost. I didn’t-”

“Billie-listen to me.” He was shaking his head, gripping her arms. And smiling.

None of that registered. “I’m sorry, Kincaid. I couldn’t-”

He gave her a little shake. “Billie, it doesn’t matter. Don’t you understand? It’s okay. We’ve got her.”

In that instant, time and space did strange and impossible things. Time stopped. The universe shrank down to the tiny space that included only herself and the man holding on to her…holding her up…holding her together. She stared at him and heard a distant voice asking, “She’s okay?”

And Holt’s lips moved and formed the words, “Yeah…she’s okay. She’s with her parents. Hannah’s fine, Billie. She’s fine.”

The bubble popped. Sound rushed in. Sound and movement and thought. “What about Miley?” she asked. “Did they get him?”

“He’s in custody.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

She asked it in a hard voice, but there was something about the way she held herself…Holt stared down at her dark lenses, reflecting bits of light from the neon circus of the Strip, then reached up and gently took them off. Her eyes gazed back at him, dark and defensive, and he marveled that someone with a heart so battered and bruised could still find room in it for a rat like Miley Todd.

“You care about him,” he said softly.

She hitched a shoulder. “I don’t want-I mean, he did save my life.”

Holt slipped an arm around her and tucked her against him as he started walking along the hotel drive. “I think the guy was actually glad to see the cops show up. Probably thinking, better them than the guys he owed money to. Anyway, he’s probably going to be talking to the feds about witness protection in exchange for telling them about the guys he was in hock to. Turns out they’re part of a pretty big organized crime syndicate the feds have been trying to bring down for a long time. Don’t worry about Miley Todd-I have a feeling he’s going to land on his feet.”

She drew a long, shaky breath. “I can’t believe it’s all turned out okay.” She hesitated, then craned to look at him. “She’s really all right? She must have been so scared. You’re sure-”

“See for yourself.” And while she stared at him uncomprehendingly, he lifted his arm and signaled to the LVPD squad car parked in a fire lane a little farther along the drive. The car door opened. “Billie,” he said gently, “there’s someone here I think you should meet.”

Billie froze, seemed to become rooted to the concrete sidewalk. “No.” Her voice was a terrified whisper. “No, no-I can’t…”

A little girl was getting out of the squad car, still clutching the teddy bear they’d given her at the police station while they were waiting for her parents to arrive.

Billie was silent, although he could feel her shaking. She lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips to her lips.

He watched the girl’s parents get out of the car. These were two very decent, ordinary people-not young and a little dowdy, maybe-the kind of people you’d expect to find at PTA meetings and on the sidelines at soccer games. The mom first-and she was the kind of mom you’d feel good about coming home to if you were a kid, Holt thought, because you’d know there was going to be something good to eat waiting for you in the kitchen, and a hug to go with it. Then the dad-the kind of dad you knew would be there to catch your bicycle when it wobbled, and who would tell you no when you asked if you could do something you knew in your heart was stupid and dangerous. The kind of people his own parents could have been. Would have been.

“They must hate me so much,” Billie whispered.

He looked down at her and smiled. “I don’t think these people are capable of hating.”

But she went on standing there, looking at the couple standing with their hands on their daughter’s shoulders, both protecting and encouraging. She seemed incapable of taking a step. She looked up at Holt, and the longing in her eyes squeezed his heart.

He gave her a nudge and, in a gruff-sounding voice he didn’t entirely trust, said, “Go on-go meet your daughter.”

Still she hesitated. “She…she knows who I am?”

He nodded. “Her mom said she’s been asking about her birth mother. She wants to meet you.”

“And…it’s okay with them? Her mom and dad?” She sounded both disbelieving and hopeful.

“Yes,” he said softly, “it’s okay.”

He took her hand, then, as if she were a child afraid of the dark. Guided her a few steps closer to the three people waiting beside the police car, then experimentally let go of her hand. She looked up at him and he smiled and nodded, then watched her walk on alone to meet her daughter. His face felt stiff, his throat tight and achy, and he folded his arms and straightened, making himself taller, sturdier, as if that would make him feel less alone.

Then he wasn’t alone, as Wade came from one side to clap a firm hand on his shoulder, Tierney from the other to slip her arm around his waist.

“Look at her-not a tear,” Wade said. He nodded toward his wife, who was openly weeping. “Tee’s a basket case.”

“Billie doesn’t cry,” Holt said. His arm was around Tierney’s shoulders, and he gave her a squeeze. “Hey, I thought you could block.”

She sniffled happily. “Who wants to block emotions like these? They’re the good stuff. They feed my soul.”

Holt didn’t answer her; he never got the chance. Because just then two things happened, almost simultaneously.

A taxicab came barreling up the drive and zipped into the space just ahead of the police car and right next to Billie and the Bachman family.

And Tierney stiffened, clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, “Oh, God.”

Instantly concerned for his wife, Wade said, “You okay, babe? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” she replied, laughing as new tears slid down her already wet cheeks. “Wait-just wait.”

The taxi’s back door flew open and a woman climbed out-a tall, blond, beautiful woman-followed closely by Tony Whitehall. Billie looked up and turned to face the newcomers, her face frozen in a puzzled frown. And Holt felt as if he was watching a tableau, all its players poised in the moment just before the scene’s dramatic climax.

Then…there was sound, and motion.

Brooke Fallon Grant marched up to her twin sister and said furiously, “Well, dammit, Brenna, you wouldn’t come home, so I’ve come to get you!”

And Holt watched in shock as Billie-or Brenna-burst into tears.

The tidal wave of emotion that swept over him then was more than he knew what to do with-and definitely more than he wanted anyone to witness. He spun around, hands lifted, chest heaving, searching blindly for a private place, a hole to crawl into, a shelter where he could be alone and find a way to deal with the upheaval within him. But instead of aloneness, once again he found himself surrounded, arms wrapped around him, a strong hand gripping his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Tierney whispered, hugging him tightly. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That’s family.”

And Wade said brusquely, “Well, Holt, my friend, looks like your job here is done.” He paused while Holt coughed, cleared his throat, looked up at the lights and tried to laugh. “Have you told Cory and Sam yet?”

“Ah,” Holt said, and cleared his throat some more. “Got a call in to them. Expect they’ll be here soon.” He hauled in a chestful of air and wondered why the achievement of something he’d been working toward for so many months didn’t make him feel happier.

Tony came wandering up just then, his pit-bull face looking like it didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He shook Wade’s hand with the two-handed grip that passed for hugging between guys, nodded toward Holt, sniffed and said, “Boy…this is something else, huh?” Then the three men stood silently and a little apart, arms folded on their chests, watching the two sisters. The two women had their arms around each other, heads close together, laughing, nodding, wiping eyes, laughing again…crying.

Tierney moved to stand close to Holt’s side, and he thought it was strange that he didn’t feel any need to widen the distance between them. There was something about her that he found comforting. Maybe, he thought, because he knew he couldn’t hide his feelings from her anyway, so why worry about it.

“Does she know how you feel about her?” she asked quietly after a while.

He gave a soft huff of laughter. “No, I’m sure she doesn’t. And I intend to keep it that way.”

“Why?” She waited for him to answer, and when he didn’t, she said, “If it makes a difference, she loves you, too.” He still didn’t reply, and he heard a sharp little intake of breath. “But it isn’t that, is it? I think…for you that almost makes it…harder.”

When she paused, his mind flashed back to the night before, in Billie’s bathtub, with her all slippery and weightless on his chest, the weight all inside, where his heart should be.

Life’s just one big poker game…

You don’t get any say in what cards you’re dealt, it’s all about how you play your hand.

You have to know when to walk away, when to run.

“It’s too big a gamble for you, isn’t it? Loving someone…”

He threw her a look he knew she didn’t deserve-hard and mean and born out of the darkness he could feel starting to close in around him. “If you mean, am I willing to risk losing somebody I love, the way I lost my parents-yeah, it’s too big a gamble.” I can’t do it.

It just hurts too much.

“Oh, Holt, this is Vegas,” Tierney said, and her voice was tender-not only the voice he heard with his ears, but the one he felt, deep inside his mind. “Don’t you know…the greater the risk, the greater the reward? And sometimes the reward far outweighs the risk.”

He could only shake his head, unable to speak.

Just then Billie looked up. Still flanked by and holding on tightly to her sister, she lifted her head and looked straight at him, and her tear-streaked face broke into a radiant smile. It was simply the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life, more beautiful than any sunrise. Could even the Grand Canyon be more amazing?

If I could just wake up to that smile every day, he thought, it might be worth the risk…

What the hell. He held out his hand and she let go of her sister and came to him in a blind rush. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face into her hair…took a deep breath, closed his eyes…and went all-in.