Free Alone by Francine Pascal

out and save her in some other way. He hoped he could. He had a bad feeling her life depended on it.

A Faint, Satisfying Click

    THERE WAS NOTHING LIKE THE FEELING of being on assignment and having everything click into place, Tom thought. He had spent his life working on endless cases, and each one had its own personality. Some were sluggish and unwilling to break, and working them was like slogging through mud. Some were amusing, with clues popping out of the strangest places. But rarely, if ever, had he felt so in control and satisfied with how things were going. It reminded him of why he had chosen this line of work in the first place.
    Dressed to the nines in a slick Armani suit, with Natasha on his arm in a dress that defied the laws of physics, Tom Moore was the very picture of a high-rolling playboy out to lose a couple thousand at the roulette table. The Caribbean was known for its lax gambling rules, but when so much money was at stake, all eyes were on the chips on the table, including those of the eye-in-the-sky camera poised above them. There was no room for error; fortunately, he and Natasha made a perfect team, and no errors were made.
    From the regular casino they could hear the clanging of slot machines and the distant rumble of thousands of people murmuring, an occasional cheer or roar of defeat punctuating the white noise. But here in the lush back room, the walls were a deep burgundy velvet, and the mood was much more subdued. The wheel spun with a smooth series of clicks as the ball made its way around the red and black numbers to rest on one.
    Tom and Natasha were not here for recreation, though they laughed and gambled like a couple of old-school players from a Frank Sinatra movie. They barely sipped the cocktails served to them and carefully watched their mark, three seats down from them at the roulette table.
    His name was Fenster, and Tom could tell he was a total and complete nerd. Glasses, balding, sickly skin—he was the real deal. Guys like that should at least do something for a living that was unexpected, but no: he was an accountant. Loki’s accountant. A high-level number cruncher who was here in the Cayman Islands to watch Loki’s bank accounts and move his money around at different intervals, to keep it one step ahead of the international authorities.
    But even a high-level number cruncher had to blow off steam sometimes, right?
    Tom’s operative had given him the tip-off earlier in the day, and he and Natasha had sprung into action. Their intention was just to watch this guy and wait for him to slip up. Enough patience, and he certainly would. And sure enough, the more he drank, the more money he bet. Getting sloppy, Tom thought. It won’t be long now .
    â€œYou know what, I’m going to put it all on the double zero,” he said to Natasha.
    â€œThis is so boring. Can’t we play craps?” Natasha moaned, the very picture of sultry lethargy.
    â€œCome on, baby! You know I like the numbers,” Tom told her, relishing the role that let him step out of his usual taciturn nature. He slid a pile of bright red chips onto the green number all the way at the tip of the table and watched the wheel spin. It came up nineteen-red.
    â€œDamn!” he said with a laugh. “I could have bought a small island with that.”
    â€œNo matter,” Natasha purred, bending over and nuzzling his ear. “There’s plenty more where that came from, right, baby?”
    â€œYou bet,” Tom told her, toying with his chips in expert fashion. With one hand he lifted the stack. . . split it in two. . . shuffled the chips. . . returned them to one stack. It was a smooth-looking party trick, a subtle use of his hands, but it caught people’s attention nonetheless. Helped him into his role. The warmth he felt emanating from Natasha’s body helped him relax into character.
    â€œYou’re all over the place,” Fenster chided him from his end of