Page 1 of The Scarab's Game

Chapter 1

Emmett

I had nothing.

Seven high. Offsuit.

If I were playing a proper head-to-head game of poker, I would have offered to make things interesting.

Two of the men at my game—Americans traveling with their wives who were elsewhere—would have been up for additional stakes. The man from Australia would have said no. The woman from Germany was an unknown.

But in the Casino de Monte-Carlo, the game was Texas Hold’em Ultimate. And despite the four others at the table, my only real opponent was the dealer.

It was little more than blackjack—odds and luck over strategy and psychological warfare.

“I see him,” came Drew’s voice in my hidden earpiece. We’d kept the comms tight for this evening’s reconnaissance. Drew and I were working the casino while my sister Scarlett coordinated support from our headquarters. “He’s given his keys to the valet. Entering with his assistant, his son, and a woman I don’t recognize.”

Our intel told us the mark would arrive at the Casino by eight o’clock, but not whether he’d be heading into the restaurant orone of the private rooms. My job was to sit at my table with its full view of the entrance and watch what he did when he arrived.

I probably should have abandoned the table—left my bids, tipped the dealer, and taken my chips. But games of Ultimate were fast. I had at least two hands left in me.

I dropped four hundred onto the Play box.

The pair of Americans raised, while everyone else checked.

I scanned the Salle Europe—the first of three main gaming rooms. It was the same as always, with its ornate paneled walls, soaring ceilings embellished with gold rosettes, and stunning crystal chandeliers. Huge paintings of French pre-Revolution opulence decorated the walls, while the luxurious blue and gold patterned carpeting absorbed the sounds from the crowd of people murmuring all around me.

“What brings you to Monte Carlo?” I asked the man next to me—the only one who’d followed my lead with four times on his raise. “Gambling? Culture? Food?”

He took a sip from his glass, gaze as neutral as someone who watched too many rounds of televised poker and practiced in the mirror. Underneath it, his eyes sparkled the same way they had when he’d held two queens five hands ago. “My wife’s here to shop.”

The man on his other side chuckled. “You’d better win more, then.”

The dealer revealed the flop. Three cards face up, and my seven high became two of a kind.

Drew said over the earpiece, “He’s moving through the lobby toward the casino entrance.”

I glanced past the dealer as play continued.

If our target steered toward the restaurant, Drew could book us a table while I cashed out. Inside, we’d watch him from a distance before making an approach. That would be a better idea than an early intercept, which provided too muchopportunity for his assistant to divert me and suggest I make an appointment.

The dealer flipped over the remaining cards, and my two-of-a-kind became four. Ten-to-one payout as the dealer couldn’t beat me. My shit luck from the past four months was finally turning.

“They’ve split up,” said Drew. “The mark and his assistant are heading into the gambling rooms. The son and woman have paused in the lobby. She’s taking photos.”

Massimo de Rossa came through the main doors and crossed to the restaurant. He wore a loose, camel-colored shirt with long sleeves and more than one gold necklace. White hair hung to his shoulders, combed back with waves curling at his neck. At sixty-five, he maintained his model good looks, which had no doubt helped him build his tremendous fortune in business and the art-collecting world.

His assistant wasn’t much younger but dressed in all black, which kept the focus off him.

“Have any of you tried the Rose Salon restaurant?” My question would seem like an innocent inquiry to the players at my table, but it was actually a tip-off for my team.

The dealer dealt their two cards and revealed them, qualifying with a pair. Not enough to beat me, so I won, as did Sparkly Eyes.

“Scarlett, can you arrange for a reservation?” Drew may have been new to the team, but he recognized my subtle hint. The CIA had created the perfect crew member.

“We can’t hack into their system fast enough,” said Scarlett. “If the maître d’ doesn’t have anything available now, slip him a hundred.”

The German woman at my table said something about the restaurant as the dealer collected cards and chips, doling out winnings.

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