Page 7 of Black Ice
That’s where she should’ve been, outside running free and wild through the Black Hills. Whenever he thought of her, it was out on the creek or guiding a group on a walk through the trees, the colorful autumn leaves ablaze overhead. Winters had been for cleaning and repairing gear, for sledding and snowball fights.
What happened to drive her indoors to deal poker?
Today, the website showed an update that Cottonwood was closed for the season. Wyatt swore. Just two weeks ago, prepping for this trip, the site had advertised winter nature hikes. Evie didn’t deal poker like a newbie and she hadn’t been the least bit interested in cards or anything else when they were kids.
A text message reminder slid across his phone screen. Cordell was expecting the report of the casino and retail layout with initial observations on the staff. Within Cordell’s crew, Wyatt was supposedly the first man in at the Silver Aces. He didn’t actually believe the others weren’t here, not with such a big storm closing in, but he played along.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Maybe this thing with Evie didn’t have to be a big deal. He knew that whatever Cordell was up to, she wasn’t involved. So Wyatt had come face to face with the only person in this town whose opinion still mattered to him. He didn’t have time to let a chance meeting turn into something significant.
His feet felt heavy as he made his next circuit around the casino floor, again taking a visual inventory of the rows of slots and layout of gaming tables. The Silver Aces had a pretty good vibe for a place built to suck in every dollar in the vicinity. He wasn’t a big fan of casinos, knew firsthand how gambling wrecked homes, shredded hope and laid waste to happiness—present and future.
He dutifully sat down at a slot machine, his jaw clenched tight as he put in the token and hit the button. Lights flashed and the machine made noises as if the wheels spinning were mechanical rather than electrical.
No jackpot. He repeated the process, hitting that big flashy button time and again. He added money and did his rudimentary part in a system designed to separate him from his cash. While he ignored the machine, his mind drifted back to Evie, the girl who’d been his best friend all through school.
Then more than friends.
Back then, Evie had shared his distaste and distrust for the casino industry. Sure it brought jobs and money into Deadwood, but no one would ever convince him that the potential for serious collateral damage to local families was worth it.
His cell phone hummed in his pocket as the timer he’d set went off. He yanked his head out of the past. Being surprised could be deadly on this assignment and for the investigations business as a whole. The job ahead of him and the potential reward was too important to botch because he wasn’t focused.
Adding more tokens to the slot machine, he made mental notes of the patterns between waitresses, security, and staff moving money.
In the row behind him a slot machine went off with a big payout. Shouts of delighted shock and joy went up around the winner. Wyatt pretended to be as enthused and interested as the other patrons, though he stayed in his seat.
Like mother like son, he supposed. In fourth grade he’d broken his wrist on the playground during recess and Evie’s mom had shown up at the hospital, kept him calm, and taken him home after the x-rays were complete and the cast was set. Evie’s dad, along with one of his friends on the Deadwood police force, had finally pried Rosemary Jameson away from her favorite slot machine.
Working the plan Cordell outlined, Wyatt played until he was up a few hundred dollars and then left the slots. Passing the gaming rooms, he saw Evie was back at work. This time he stayed far away. From her, from the tables.
He moseyed along, toward the retail area where everything a person could imagine was emblazoned with the Silver Aces logo. He wasn’t the souvenir type, hadn’t been many places that he wanted to remember fondly. Not Deadwood. Not Afghanistan. Definitely not the military installations where he’d been stationed through his ten-year career.
He passed the jewelry store, Cordell’s planned target, noting the number and positions of the armed guards. Only one man was in uniform. Two others wore dark suits and stern expressions. If their goal was blending in, they’d failed. Knowing the men in suits were the bigger threat and more likely trained to notice curious people, Wyatt didn’t linger. He passed the display window and strolled on through the retail area that linked the casino with the hotel.
The silence and solitude in the elevator were welcome. He really had to find a way to be comfortable around people and crowds again. An easier task if he had any trust left to give. Odds were good he had a more cynical outlook on people than the suits downstairs guarding the jewelry store display.
In his room, he jotted a few notes while waiting to make his scheduled check-in call. He kicked off his shoes and rocked forward and back on his feet, stretching out the aching muscles and tendons. Although it was all compensatory pain and far less than he usually dealt with, it was still pain. If he let it get ahead of him, it impaired his quick-thinking and reaction time.
On this job, he couldn’t risk either weakness.
The room phone on the nightstand rang once. He stared at it. Had to be a wrong number since all communication withboth the FBI and Cordell was limited to the two cell phones he carried.
Maybe it was Evie a small voice in his head suggested. And maybe he was a complete fool.
Still, her face filled his mind along with memories of her soft, summer kisses under dappled sunlight near the creek that ran behind her house. Did she think of him when she walked that way? Or had she replaced those memories with new ones?
He was suddenly and inexplicably jealous of some faceless man kissing Evie’s petal-soft lips.
At the sound of a cell phone, he pulled himself back to the task at hand and picked up the burner phone. “You’ve got Jameson,” he answered.
“You know what to do,” the voice on the other end of the line said. One of Cordell’s assistants always answered these calls. If Cordell thought that would somehow distance him from any criminal charges, he was woefully misinformed.
“Target is in place,” Wyatt reported. A portion of the diamonds the crew meant to steal were prominently on display in the window. Admirers were urged to come into the store and see the famed Mae West Solitaire, an incredible stone, valued in the neighborhood of one million dollars thanks to her reputation along with the diamond’s weight and setting. “You’ll have the full twenty-four hour cycle report for the floor by morning. So far one uniform and two plain clothes at all times.”
“Candy from a baby,” Cordell’s voice drifted from the background.
Wyatt bit back a scathing retort. Not his job to make them successful thieves. Well, not really. His primary job was to guide them out of the area. “Looks that way,” he managed, hoping it sounded convincing.
