“Thank you,” Sam said. As soon as the man took off, Sam returned to the stairs, hoping something would draw the guard’s attention, allowing him to get by. Prepared to linger in the shadows for as long as it took, he was surprised when Remi approached the guard herself. She said something, laughed, then motioned the guard closer, pointing at the gaming tables. With the man’s gaze diverted, Sam slipped past the rope barrier, then up the stairs, grateful the door leading into the left wing was still ajar.
He walked through a foyer, then down the darkened hallway, stopping in front of the third door on the left. He pulled a pick set out, a souvenir from his covert op training at Camp Peary. Within a few seconds, he was in, closing the door behind him. Moving to the window, he parted a curtain, looking down at the veranda below. Remi was back at the craps table. Adrian was deep in conversation with two men at the roulette table. Dropping the curtain, he turned back to the room, headed to start his search at the carved mahogany writing desk facing the door. There was only one drawer, locked. He teased the pick in and out until the pins lined up, turned the tension wrench, then pulled it open.
No envelope.
What he did find, however, put the Kyril fortune into a whole new light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Remi placed a bet, then positioned herself with a clear view of the window, all the while feigning interest in the game as the man next to her rolled the dice.
“Eleven!” He looked over at her, grinning. “Shall we let it ride?”
She was about to reply, when she glanced over, shocked to see two of Kyril’s herculean guards heading toward the same staircase Sam had taken. One of them touched his ear, as though listening through an earpiece, at the same time looking up at the second level. The third window, she saw, was still dark. Even so, those two men looked way too interested. Worried Sam might run into them on the way out—or worse yet, they might catch him up there—she took her phone from her purse and started to text him.
On their way u
Someone in the crowd knocked the phone from her hand before she finished the text. The device skittered across the tiles. When she tried to retrieve it, a man bent down, picked it up, and blocked her path.
Adrian Kyril.
Her heart skipped a beat. She froze, praying he wouldn’t look at the phone screen—or recognize her.
He smiled, his white teeth gleaming against his tanned skin as he held it out. “Kuria, I believe this is yours.”
Recovering, she gave an embarrassed laugh. “Thank you. I was in a bit of a hurry.”
His dark eyes held hers. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, then leaned in slightly, whispering, “I really do need to find the ladies’ room.”
“That way,” he replied, nodding at the open pool house to the right of the staircase. The two guards had just started up.
“Thank you.” She made a beeline to the pool house, sending the text as she walked. The moment she saw Kyril’s attention diverted, she changed paths, stepping around the rope barrier, then up the stairs. At the top level, the door was ajar.
She slipped in, her footfalls cushioned by a thick Oriental rug as she entered the foyer behind the guards, who had just started down the hall. “Sam?” she called out in a loud voice.
The two men turned and saw her. “Who are you?” one of them asked.
She smiled, placing her hand on her heart. “I’m so sorry. I seem to have lost my husband. I think he’s had far too much to drink.”
“You shouldn’t be up here.”
“Yes. I know. I’m just not sure he knows.” She gave a dramatic sigh, hoping Sam was within hearing distance and taking her warning. “He’s probably sleeping it off somewhere, but I’m still worried.”
They exchanged glances, one of them saying something she couldn’t hear. He then looked directly at Remi, saying, “Guests are not allowed—”
A loud noise from the hallway—something Remi could only describe as a mix between a pig’s oink and a goose’s honk—caught them by surprise. Both men slipped their right hands beneath their jackets as they pivoted around, prepared to draw.
They relaxed their stance, one of them turning to Remi, asking, “Your husband?”
She peered down the hallway, seeing Sam slumped against the wall, his eyes closed, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He snored softly as one of the guards walked up to him, kicking his foot. “Get up!”
“I knew it,” Remi said, marching over and inserting herself in front of the guards. She bent over, opening her purse with one hand, patting Sam’s cheek with the other.
He opened his eyes, mumbling unintelligibly.
Remi tried to slip him the knife but couldn’t when the guard moved beside her. Instead, she took Sam’s hand, helping him to his feet. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to drink any more tonight.”