1. Emmett

Chapter 1

Emmett

I had nothing.

Seven high. Offsuit.

If I were playing a proper head-to-head game of poker, I would have offered to make things interesting.

Two of the men at my game—Americans traveling with their wives who were elsewhere—would have been up for additional stakes. The man from Australia would have said no. The woman from Germany was an unknown.

But in the Casino de Monte-Carlo, the game was Texas Hold’em Ultimate. And despite the four others at the table, my only real opponent was the dealer.

It was little more than blackjack—odds and luck over strategy and psychological warfare.

“I see him,” came Drew’s voice in my hidden earpiece. We’d kept the comms tight for this evening’s reconnaissance. Drew and I were working the casino while my sister Scarlett coordinated support from our headquarters. “He’s given his keys to the valet. Entering with his assistant, his son, and a woman I don’t recognize.”

Our intel told us the mark would arrive at the Casino by eight o’clock, but not whether he’d be heading into the restaurant or one of the private rooms. My job was to sit at my table with its full view of the entrance and watch what he did when he arrived.

I probably should have abandoned the table—left my bids, tipped the dealer, and taken my chips. But games of Ultimate were fast. I had at least two hands left in me.

I dropped four hundred onto the Play box.

The pair of Americans raised, while everyone else checked.

I scanned the Salle Europe—the first of three main gaming rooms. It was the same as always, with its ornate paneled walls, soaring ceilings embellished with gold rosettes, and stunning crystal chandeliers. Huge paintings of French pre-Revolution opulence decorated the walls, while the luxurious blue and gold patterned carpeting absorbed the sounds from the crowd of people murmuring all around me.

“What brings you to Monte Carlo?” I asked the man next to me—the only one who’d followed my lead with four times on his raise. “Gambling? Culture? Food?”

He took a sip from his glass, gaze as neutral as someone who watched too many rounds of televised poker and practiced in the mirror. Underneath it, his eyes sparkled the same way they had when he’d held two queens five hands ago. “My wife’s here to shop.”

The man on his other side chuckled. “You’d better win more, then.”

The dealer revealed the flop. Three cards face up, and my seven high became two of a kind.

Drew said over the earpiece, “He’s moving through the lobby toward the casino entrance.”

I glanced past the dealer as play continued.

If our target steered toward the restaurant, Drew could book us a table while I cashed out. Inside, we’d watch him from a distance before making an approach. That would be a better idea than an early intercept, which provided too much opportunity for his assistant to divert me and suggest I make an appointment.

The dealer flipped over the remaining cards, and my two-of-a-kind became four. Ten-to-one payout as the dealer couldn’t beat me. My shit luck from the past four months was finally turning.

“They’ve split up,” said Drew. “The mark and his assistant are heading into the gambling rooms. The son and woman have paused in the lobby. She’s taking photos.”

Massimo de Rossa came through the main doors and crossed to the restaurant. He wore a loose, camel-colored shirt with long sleeves and more than one gold necklace. White hair hung to his shoulders, combed back with waves curling at his neck. At sixty-five, he maintained his model good looks, which had no doubt helped him build his tremendous fortune in business and the art-collecting world.

His assistant wasn’t much younger but dressed in all black, which kept the focus off him.

“Have any of you tried the Rose Salon restaurant?” My question would seem like an innocent inquiry to the players at my table, but it was actually a tip-off for my team.

The dealer dealt their two cards and revealed them, qualifying with a pair. Not enough to beat me, so I won, as did Sparkly Eyes.

“Scarlett, can you arrange for a reservation?” Drew may have been new to the team, but he recognized my subtle hint. The CIA had created the perfect crew member.

“We can’t hack into their system fast enough,” said Scarlett. “If the ma?tre d’ doesn’t have anything available now, slip him a hundred.”

The German woman at my table said something about the restaurant as the dealer collected cards and chips, doling out winnings.

“I’ll try it out after this hand. Which means it’s time to up my wager.” I tossed five hundred on the Ante and Blind, adding two for Trips.

“Has anyone ever told you,” said Drew over the earpiece, “your team spends money too quickly?”

Scarlett hummed aloud. “Whatever works. And I think you mean our team?”

“Every hundred spent is a hundred less we can use to get the scarab.” Whether Drew aimed that at me for gambling or Scarlett for the bribe, I couldn’t quite tell. He was right, in part, but first, we had to find the scarab.

The ancient Egyptian jewel had been stolen from a museum in Cairo. Our job was to recover it, and our intel said Massimo De Rosa had it.

The dealer spread out the river, face down, and handed out the hole cards. That gave me a nine and a jack, both clubs. If my luck was back, this was a good start. If it wasn’t, I’d thrown my money away. I raised four times the ante, as did the American I’d been speaking to, while everyone else checked.

Drew made his way through the room, stopping at the stand outside the restaurant. He spoke to the ma?tre d’, who accepted his offer of two hundred euros to jump the reservation line.

The flop gave me two more clubs. Eight and queen. A tiny adrenaline spike hit me. I was heading for either a flush or queen high.

“Table will be ready in thirty,” said Drew. “The mark is being seated now.”

Scarlett said, “Drew, send me a photo of the unknown woman who came in with Massimo. We’ll run her through our databases and see if we can ID her.”

His gaze cut to me as he turned toward the entrance. “The son had eyes for her. I’m assuming date, with the hope of more.”

“In case she’s a factor in the job, send me the photo.”

“Will do,” said Drew as he disappeared.

Everyone at the table checked, based on the flop.

As the dealer flipped the final two cards, Scarlett gasped, “What the fuck is she doing there? She was supposed to be flying home from Nice today!”

My adrenaline lifted higher. My sister was always in control. She never lost her cool on a job. What was going on?

The cards were the five of diamonds and ten of clubs. I’d won on the Blind and Trips. It was a huge win, but it barely registered.

Don’t stand, Em. Don’t ask what’s wrong. Scarlett will tell you.

Everyone who was still in revealed their cards, and the Americans gave me a slow clap for my straight flush.

Scarlett must have been reacting to the photo Drew had sent. Who was the mystery woman? Talk to me, Scar.

“You know her?” asked Drew.

The man next to me slapped my arm, offering congratulations I didn’t quite catch.

“Thanks.” Distracted, waiting for Scarlett’s words, I began racking my winnings, a nervous energy building in my chest. What was causing it? Scarlett’s reaction? Or was I rattled closing out my first poker game in four months that didn’t end with a gun in my face?

I slid a tip to the dealer and stood, my left hand digging into my pocket before I could stop it. My fingers slid over the textured surface of the hidden poker chip I kept in that pocket every day. The hole pierced through its center. The blue surface. The white edge spots.

Calm down, Em. This is your happy place.

I nodded to the other players, then strolled to the cage, focused on appearing calm to anyone watching. The voices over my earpiece were hurried, keys clacking in the background. The team was furiously researching something. When I was far enough away from the table, I asked, “Scar, who’s the woman?”

My sister took in a slow breath, her normal self-control returning. “Jenn.”

My step stuttered, and I nearly lost my winnings. There was no way it was that Jenn. “Not…”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Jenn Thatcher, my best friend.”

“Shit.” That was going to complicate things. Unless… “This is perfect. She’s our in with the mark.”

“No,” said Scarlett. “We go with tonight’s Plan C. Observe and forgo the initial meeting. You make an approach tomorrow instead. Don’t let her see you.”

I placed my chips in front of the cashier, who began counting out my money. “I can’t approach as Reginald Stone.” That was my standard alias for sensitive inquiries.

“And you can’t use Emmett Reynolds,” said Scarlett, “if they know the company name. This isn’t a wise plan.”

“Hear me out.” I accepted my winnings and slid everything into my long wallet. “How about a compromise?”

“I’m listening.”

I weaved my way around tables to take up residence by the bar opposite the Rose Salon. From there, I had a clear view of the restaurant. We had fifteen minutes left until our reservation. If Jenn wasn’t inside by then, I’d wait, and we’d re-evaluate. “Emmett Stone. My business cards only have Stone Antiquities written on them, so that covers the De Rosas. And if Jenn balks, I’ll wink at her.”

“Wink at her?” Drew may have been a talented recovery agent who understood my hints, but he didn’t completely understand me yet. “What is she? Twelve?”

Scarlett made a noise of assent. “That should work—she knows I’ve checked into hotels as Ms. Stone for privacy in the past. As long as she remembers that, you’re good. Either way, I’ll be on comms with you, so if things go off the rails, I can call her. Innocently ask about her trip. It’ll be enough to distract her, and if you need more time, I’ll pull her entirely out of the conversation.”

“Exactly.” I caught the bartender’s eye and gestured to a bottle of scotch behind him. “It’ll kick-start the relationship with De Rosa.”

“All right. You’re a go,” said Scarlett.

I was the lead on this job. I didn’t need her authorization, but it settled the queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The one reminding me I was going to use Scarlett’s best friend as a source.