Chapter 1

1

Even on quiet nights, all Shane Norton needed to relax was the background din of the slots and the tourists buzzing at the back of his brain. He put on his suit, stepped out onto the floor, and the very first assault against his eardrums smoothed any rough edges he might’ve had prior to arriving for work. Lucky and Stella discounted his theories, but Shane didn’t care. He firmly believed each casino in Las Vegas had its own tenor. The Bellagio was more melodious, the MGM kinetic. In the Rio, noise was as exotic as its décor, a vibrant cacophony of sound to match the explosion of color in the walls and lights. Shane needed it. He’d sooner switch careers than be forced to work at any other casino in Vegas.

The casino was typical for a Tuesday night off-season. Gamblers scattered themselves amongst the blackjack tables, most of them sipping their drinks and concentrating on their cards. Half the floormen weren’t even on shift. When the tables were full, Shane would get assigned three to manage, but nights like this meant spreading the wealth, so to speak. He’d come in to find he had seven to watch, and two of those now didn’t even have players.

He stepped up to the nearest abandoned table and smiled at Alona, the dealer. “If you want to punch out, I’m sure I can get Maury to sign off on it. We’re dead here.”

Her dark eyes darted to the overhead camera, more of a reflex than anything else since Maury was one of the few pit bosses who actually liked to get his hands dirty on the floor. “Nah, I don’t mind. It’s boring, but I could use the hours.”

“Brandon’s still taking those karate classes, huh?”

She sighed and tugged at her vest. “Not for lack of trying to get him out, that’s for sure. But as long as Josh is taking it, Brandon won’t give up.”

“It sounds like you should be working on getting Josh to quit then,” Shane joked, but his heart wasn’t in it. Alona bent over backward trying to make up for her deadbeat ex-husband to their nine-year-old son. Even if it meant working unnecessary shifts to help pay for lessons Brandon was terrible at anyway.

“You could talk to him.”

Shane blinked. “Who? Josh?”

“No, Brandon. He likes you.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d listen to me.”

“Sure it does.”

He grinned. “Because that works so well here at work?”

“Hey, I listen to you.”

“You? Sure. Erin?” He nodded toward a buxom blonde three tables over who was taking far too much pleasure leaning forward to smile at one of the five men at her table. Shane’s smile vanished. “Not so much.”

Alona cast Erin a cursory glance before rolling her eyes. “That’s because you’re too nice.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“It’s true.”

“You might as well call me dependable.”

She regarded him for several seconds, clearly waiting for the punch line. “You aredependable.”

Shane caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror against the wall. Straight. Slim. Not a red hair out of place. His suit looked like it had just been pressed. For a moment, he was tempted to stick his tongue out at the stuffy man in the mirror, but all he did was turn away.

“Brandon will probably outgrow it soon enough anyway,” he said, changing the subject back. “When you’re a nine-year-old boy, all it takes to distract you is something shiny.”

“Funny, that seems to work on twenty-nine-year old boys, too.”

A pair of twentysomething women stopped at the end of her table, momentarily diverting Alona from the conversation. Shane took the break to walk the length of his section, deliberately taking a path behind Erin that would force her to at least straighten and remove her ample bust out of her players’ immediate view. He shouldn’t complain. He loved his job. He was good at it. Probably because he wasdependable.

He just wished it didn’t sound like a death sentence when Alona admitted it out loud.

He spent the next half hour lingering several feet away from Erin’s table, watching a new arrival who seemed to be having a good spin of luck. Shane had first spotted him standing behind the other players. When he had played an unexpected hand and immediately won, Shane edged a little farther away to make himself less conspicuous. He didn’t want to alert the lucky player that Shane suspected him of back-counting, so he watched from a short distance, counting the cards himself. He was the best floorman in the Rio when it came to counting. If he’d been a little less responsible, he could’ve made a killing on the other side of the card tables.