Free Alone by Francine Pascal Page A

the table. “You don’t know what you want to play. That’s no way to win. You’ve got to be consistent.”
    â€œConsistency was never my strong suit,” Tom responded, looking down the table at Fenster, who was greedily taking in the luscious Natasha even as he spoke to Tom. “But you sound like a man who knows what he’s talking about.”
    â€œOh, I am,” Fenster squeaked, bouncing up and down in his chair ever so slightly. “I play my good-luck numbers. Stick to ’em, and they always pay out. It’s a question of averages.”
    Hmmm. Plays his favorite numbers, does he? That was when Tom noticed that Fenster’s green chips were ranged over the same pattern of numbers on every spin. All he had to do was glance at Natasha to know she’d seen it, too. He saw her concentrated stare as she memorized the series of numbers in her steel-trap, photographic memory.
    â€œSlow and steady, is that your game?” Tom asked. “You never take a chance on something unexpected?”
    The chair next to his was vacated as a small fortune was lost on one roll and the man who’d lost it threw his hands in the air and retreated to the craps table. Natasha oozed into the chair, sensuously descending, aware that all eyes—not just Fenster’s and Tom’s—were upon her.
    â€œThat’s right,” Fenster told him. “All that crazy betting is going to cost you in the long run. It’s bad business!”
    â€œAnd your business, it is a good business?” Natasha asked, her accent—or the accent of the woman she was pretending to be—as thick as the fog on a mountaintop in the Urals.
    â€œMy business is an excellent business,” Fenster said with conviction. “In fact. . .” He let loose a high-pitched giggle. Tom noticed a slight tightening in Natasha’s jawline at the unexpected noise and almost had to laugh out loud. “I’d probably take better care of someone like you than that crazy-betting guy you’re with. At least I’m dependable!”
    â€œYou better watch it, my friend,” Tom intoned, concentrating on the liquid movement of the chips in his hand as he bet a stack on number eleven. “This lady’s very special to me.”
    â€œOh, don’t be such a muddy stick,” Natasha chided him. “He is just being friendly.”
    â€œAll right, doll,” Tom murmured, with just a hint of threat in his voice. “Go be friendly, then.”
    â€œPerhaps I will,” Natasha pouted, her bottom lip growing a full half inch as she slipped out of her chair and seemingly floated down to Fenster.
    Tom watched her, outwardly playing the somewhat jealous sugar daddy, inwardly feeling a fiery rush of admiration for the skillful way she was manipulating the poor fellow.
    â€œTell me about your steady game,” she told Fenster, sliding Tom a reproachful glance.
    Nice touch, he thought. He watched her run an ivory hand up Fenster’s hairy, beet red arm and felt a shiver of—what? Jealousy? No, he wasn’t worried that Natasha would go too far in her assignment. He simply wanted her for himself. At the same time, he wished everyone in the room could know what she was up to—so they could admire her as he did.
    Fenster didn’t stand a chance.
    Natasha murmured something into Fenster’s ear and made him titter again, ordering him a big, fruity drink served in a ceramic tiki god festooned with umbrellas. He said something back to her, something that made her look sharply at Tom, dropping character for less than a nanosecond. She had something. Something they could use. He received the information with a jolt, and then she was gone again, vanished back into the vapid creature she was pretending to be.
    God, he adored her.
    This was what he’d always wanted. Work and personal life coming together as elegant as a tango. Working with a partner might be a good idea