Free Calling His Bluff by Amy Jo Cousins Page B

last was to the Romeo behind her, who had immediately
     whipped out an old-fashioned cigarette case and flipped it open at Sarah’s elbow.
     “Maxie taught me how to play the game.”
    “Knock it off, Phil.” Romeo’s snow-haired Juliet whacked him with her handbag.
    He relaxed. Sarah’s sister Maxie lived most of her life in worlds that existed only
     in her imagination. And in her costumes and uncannily accurate accents. She was a
     theater person through and through and only rarely condescended to play the part of
     an early twenty-first century woman.
    “I get it. So it’s like make-believe.”
    She rolled her eyes at him, winking at the old man as they all stepped out of the
     elevators onto the casino floor.
    “Yes, and tomorrow I’m inviting my dollies and teddy bears to a tea party. Would you
     like to come? I’m not five, Damico. The world is what you want it to be. And I want
     Vegas to be glamorous and exotic. So for me, it is.”
    Whatever. She could call it anything she liked, but if she was pretending, playacting,
     imagining, that meant that underneath all that smoky sex and come-hither attitude
     she was still just Sarah Tyler. Hardworking, low-key, regular Sarah Tyler.
    Thank god.
    “So, the slots for you, right?”
    “That’s right. The slots for me. Slots for me. Slots for me…”
    She kept it up as a running mantra as they strolled through the casino. He would have
     expected her to look around and ooh and aah, or even smile and flirt in her new persona,
     but instead she simply stared at the carpet scrolling beneath her feet as he led her
     by the arm to the slot machines.
    “The slots for me. The slots for me…”
    She didn’t seem to care which machine they stopped at, so when he reached the middle
     of an endless row of Red, White and Blue slots, he pointed her toward one. She sat
     down mechanically and stared at it as if she didn’t know what to do next. He pulled
     the roll of quarters he’d changed before going to her room from his pocket and presented
     it to her with grand formality.
    “I’ll check in on you in a little while. I have to call some people.”
    She smiled up at him. But she looked a little grim doing it.
    “Right. Great. And if I’m not here, check the blackjack tables. I might try a hand
     or two.”
    He patted her absently on the shoulder, his thoughts already on the luscious Beatrice.
    “Okay, I’ll look for you there.” He started to walk away when a jerk on the back of
     his coat yanked him to a halt.
    “That was a test, Damico.” Sarah glared at him. The sudden sirens and flashing lights
     from the row of slots behind them heralded another Vegas success story. “You’re supposed
     to say, ‘No, Sarah, why don’t you just stick with the slots.’”
    “Ooookay.” It appeared that the inmates were running the asylum today. With exaggerated
     care, he repeated, “No, Sarah, why don’t you just stick with the slots.”
    “Bah. You’re useless.” She faced the machine and scanned the information printed next
     to the screen.
    Feeling distinctly like he’d let the team down, J.D. turned again and walked away.
     He didn’t go two steps before he turned back to check on her again. She looked a little
     lost, sitting by herself in that spectacular dress, clutching a roll of quarters in
     one hand and staring at the dozen spinning icons of fruits and numbers in front of
     her.
    “Want me to send you a drink? Glass of champagne?” he asked.
    “God, no. This is hard enough without throwing liquor in the mix,” was her cryptic
     answer. She touched a fingertip to the screen and shook her head as the mix of pictures
     came up wrong.
    She’d be fine. And J.D. could finally…clear his mind.
    Two hours later, he was biting back curses as he stood on a balcony overlooking the
     casino floor, hands clutching the guardrail. Beatrice had not been at all pleased
     with him when he bailed on her before she could so much as hook a finger in his belt