Carly Phillips - Lucky Streak

He was alone in the hotel room. Telling himself not to panic, he slowly walked to the closet and opened the door, praying he was wrong.

But the safe was open and the money gone.

All one hundred and fifty thousand dollars of it. And so was his new wife.

“I’ VE GOT YOUR FATHER.”

Amber hadn’t believed Marshall when she’d picked up a call from him on her cell phone while she was making coffee for Mike. She’d immediately hung up and dialed the nursing home, asking them to put her father on the line. He no longer had a phone in his room, since there really was no need. Carole, the day nurse, told her that Marshall had taken him out for lunch to meet Amber.

In the early days at the home, all her father had asked for was a weekly outing with Amber or Marshall, something to make him feel he still had the freedom to visit his favorite places with people he enjoyed. It had seemed a small thing to put Marshall’s name on the list of people allowed to remove him from the home for outside visits. Only Amber, Marshall and Amber’s closest friend, Paul, the bar owner who’d been her best friend since childhood, were allowed access. Paul was the second emergency contact.

As the days wore on and her father seldom roused himself from staring vacantly into space, the outings stopped. She only came to visit and talk, hoping to catch a spark of something in his expression. She’d forgotten about the list she’d given the home of people allowed to take her father out.

Marshall hadn’t. J.R. had told him about Mike’s winnings and that’s what Marshall wanted. Mike’s one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in exchange for her father.

Sweating in the un-air-conditioned taxi, she grit her teeth on the half-hour ride to the restaurant where Marshall had brought her father, wondering how her life had turned around so quickly.

One minute Amber had been feeling that everything was right in the world. She’d met Mike at the right time, when she was not only ready for a change, but needed one desperately. Marshall and the card-counting life she so despised were behind her. Instead, she’d go home to Boston with Mike, get settled and bring her father to a local nursing home nearby. She could get a job at a Boston hotel, get hired on as a concierge again, and somehow between them, she could make things work.

But as soon as her cell phone rang, she knew she’d been spinning fantasies that could never come true. Unless she got the chance to explain and make Mike trust her again when this was all over.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the cab came to a stop in front of the restaurant. Amber tossed the driver a generous amount of money, grabbed the hotel laundry bag full of cash and jumped out of the car.

She started to run, then caught herself. Marshall thrived on his opponent’s fear. If he sensed weakness, she’d lose whatever little bit of leverage she might possess. It was bad enough she was dressed in yesterday’s rumpled cocktail dress, her hair a tangled mess. She could, at least, act calm and unruffled.

Drawing a deep breath, she walked inside and headed to the back of the restaurant where her father sat in his favorite chair, staring at nothing in front of him.

Ignoring Marshall, Amber walked over to Sam and kissed his cheek. “Are you okay, Daddy?” she asked him.

No reply. Not that she expected one. It was enough that he was here and safe.

“Of course he’s okay. Mezze Luna is his favorite restaurant. As you can see I ordered him pasta Bolognese, his favorite meal. Join us.” Marshall gestured to the seat next to him.

Amber sat stiffly. She didn’t want to have an argument in front of her father because he tended to get upset if the dynamics around him were unfriendly. Until she had him safely back in the home and Marshall’s name removed from the list of visitors, she had to play the game.

“Would you like something to eat?” Marshall asked.

“No, thank you.”

“Really? I’m sure you and your new husband worked up quite an appetite last night,” he said, not bothering to hide the disdain on his face.

She narrowed her gaze. “How did you know about that?” She thought she’d lost J.R.

“The same way I knew about the money. J.R. was keeping an eye on you and he’s good at his job. You’re not just my meal ticket, Amber. I care about you and I promised your father I’d look after you. Didn’t I, Sam?”

Amber didn’t look at him. Whenever she’d thought of getting married, she’d always imagined her father walking her down the aisle of a beautiful church, packed with family and friends. Not a quickie Las Vegas ceremony. Ironically, it wasn’t the lack of frills that bothered her, it was the seedy way Marshall made her actions sound in front of her only parent. That and the fact that Sam couldn’t have been there, but she’d come to terms with his illness. She just resented Marshall’s using him as a pawn in his game.

“I’m not hungry, so let’s get on with it. I brought what you want. Now I’d like to take my father back to the home.” She placed the white bag on the table and rose.

“Not so fast,” Marshall said, ice in his voice. “Your father is still eating. Is it good?” he asked Sam in a softer tone.

Amber wasn’t fooled. Marshall obviously had more on his mind than her father’s meal.

“Besides, I’m not finished with you yet,” he added coldly, proving her hunch correct.

Her stomach rolled, but she refused to let her panic show. She lowered herself back into her seat. “You got your money. What else could you possibly want?”

“You. Me. One more game.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. I already told you I’m out.” Her voice rose to an unsettling pitch.

“You made my favorite meat loaf tonight?” Sam interrupted, from beside her. But he wasn’t talking to Amber.

He was talking to Amber’s mother, the woman he loved, and the days he returned to when he spoke at all. At times like this, he was having what the nurses called a bad day. Something-or in this case someone-had rattled him.

“It’s pasta,” Amber said in a soothing voice.

She shot a frosty glare at Marshall.

“It was your tone that got to him. Don’t blame me.” He held up both hands as if he had done nothing wrong.

Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth to keep the vile words inside her from spilling forward.

“One more job,” Marshall said pleasantly. “That hundred and fifty grand is my stake. I owe some nasty men two-fifty. Once I pay that back and I know my legs and other body parts will remain intact, you can go and never see me again.”

She should only be so lucky. “And if I refuse?”

He patted Sam’s hand. “Your dad and I go for a ride.” He leaned in closer to Amber and whispered in her ear, “And you never see him again.”

Amber knew she was cornered. But she wasn’t giving up without going for whatever she could, first.

She snatched the money bag back. “Half now and half before we buy in tonight. I want to get my father situated and safe first.” She’d have to find another nursing home, she thought. One where Marshall had no access to him. She couldn’t risk something like this ever happening again.

“Not a problem. When your father finishes eating, we’ll go together. We’ll take your father back, then you can go home and get cleaned up for tonight. I’ll watch TV and wait, then we can head out, get a few drinks first to loosen up, and do our thing.” He smiled at her.

She forced a smile back.

In other words, she was screwed. He wasn’t letting her out of his sight and she’d have no chance to contact Mike until this mess with Marshall was over. By that time, she doubted he’d ever want to hear from her again.

MIKE HAD BEEN CONNED. Hours later, after combing the coffee shops, restaurants and the casino of his hotel, after he’d spoken to the few remaining hotel staff who’d been on duty last night, and after he’d spent the better part of the day scouring all the places he and Amber had visited together in the hopes of running into her again, Mike had to face the truth.

She was gone.

He still shook his head in disbelief. He’d acted like a gullible kid, not a trained cop who knew better than to pick up a strange woman, drink enough to dull all his senses except his hormones, marry her, share the combination to his safe with her and sleep with her. In that order.

He’d had a good buzz going, but he hadn’t been completely intoxicated. He’d thought, really believed, he’d seen something honest in her eyes and felt something real between them.

If he was superstitious, he’d say that was the problem. He’d felt something for her, something he’d wanted to explore more deeply. And because he had, his father would say the damn curse had kicked in. He’d lost his fortune and his future love.

If he were superstitious.

At the moment, though, he just felt damn stupid.

Once he got home, he’d have the resources to track Amber down. Until then, he settled for asking Jillian, back at the station in Boston, to run a check on the name Amber Rose from Vegas. A few hours later, Jillian reported back. All he knew was that there was no Amber Rose in the criminal system. Either she’d been clean until she wiped out his hotel safe or she was that good.

Any further information would have to wait. Mike wasn’t about to explain about Amber to anyone else, a necessity if he wanted any cops in Vegas to do him the professional courtesy of digging into her past. That would mean sharing his stupidity. And he damn sure wasn’t ready to do that. Not with strangers and not with the friends he’d come to Vegas with.

But he wasn’t finished with his wife. Not by a long shot, he thought, fingering the marriage certificate on the table. The next time he had a few days off, he’d return to Vegas and do some digging on his own. He’d find Amber, if that was her real name, and get himself a quick explanation and an even quicker divorce. But both of those things depended on his finding her.