Free Betting on Grace by Debra Salonen

takes dollar bills.”
    Glancing to his left, Nick saw a tall, angular man in his mid-to late fifties leaning against the bar. His mostly gray hair was trimmed short the way Nick’s father used to wear his. Nowadays, Pete Lightner shaved his head. And looked pretty damn good. This man didn’t seem to have to worry about a receding hairline.
    “I’m sure it does,” Nick said drily. “Probably more than I want to give it.”
    The man chuckled as he sat down.
    Nick glanced at the row of empty stools on either side of him and tensed. Was this some kind of pickup? Before he could discourage the stranger from crowding his space, the bartender returned with his drink. “And what can I get you this fine morning?” she asked the man, with a come-hither wink.
    Nick gave the guy a second look. Ordinary. Clothes off the rack at Kmart. A navy windbreaker not unlike the kind the FBI used, except it was lacking the big yellow letters.
    “Coffee, please. Black,” the man said.
    A tingle of awareness passed along Nick’s spine. The man was a cop. Nick would bet his well-hidden Beretta on it.
    “Are you a friend of Zeke’s?”
    In profile, Nick saw a smile slowly wrinkle the side of the man’s cheek. His longish face reminded Nick ofa beardless Abe Lincoln, only with a darker complexion. Latino or part black, Nick guessed.
    The bartender delivered the mug and picked up Nick’s fiver. “Both?” she asked, obviously assuming the two men knew each other.
    “Sure,” Nick said. “Why not?”
    The man lifted his mug and nodded his thanks. After a tentative slurp, he lowered the cup to look at Nick. “Not bad. Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome, but you didn’t answer my question.”
    “Name’s Zeke Martini. Yes, like the drink,” he added in a tone that said he’d heard the unasked question a thousand times.
    “Impressive timing. How’d you know I’d be here?”
    “Had a tail on the princess for a week. She’s not the greatest driver in the world, by the way. Hope your life insurance is paid up.”
    Nick chuckled to mask his surprise. He’d known Metro was interested in Grace because of her association with Charles, but he hadn’t realized they were watching her round the clock. Would that change now that he was in the picture? “We should talk.”
    “We will. I’ll let you get your sea legs first.”
    Zeke took another drink of coffee then stood up. Nick stopped him with his foot against his shin. “How do I reach you? Dial nine-one-one?”
    “I’ll be around,” Zeke said cryptically. “Nothing’s happening at the moment. Unless you know what that’s about,” he said, nodding ever so slightly toward where Grace and Charles were standing.
    The spacious—some might say cavernous—dining room was mostly deserted so the couple had relative privacy in a sunny alcove with floor-to-ceiling windows made of glass block.
    “I’m not in that loop—yet.”
    “Positive thinking. I like that,” he said. With a nod at the bartender, he tossed down a couple of singles then walked away, melting into the labyrinth of tables, slot machines and gamblers on the casino’s main floor.
    So that’s Zeke Martini. Not quite what he’d imagined, but something about the guy reminded Nick of his dad. A cop thing, he figured. All job, no bull.
    Staring into the distorted image of the mirror behind the bar, Nick tried to make out what was happening at the table in the alcove, but the only thing clear was Grace’s frown.
     
    “A ND I REALLY LIKE what he’s done with the restrooms,” Charles said, pointing to a spot on the plans he’d unrolled. “Get this—the only lights would be in the floors and behind the mirrors. Sounds very hip, doesn’t it?”
    Grace fought to keep her temper under control. Yes, this was exactly what she’d envisioned when she’d blurted out her idea last week over dinner at Aquaknox, her inhibitions lowered by a glass of primo Chardonnay.
    Charles had appeared cautiously interested. Then, not a