The Player (The Game Maker 3)

I kept it noncommittal: "I'm local. I know better than to get involved with a tourist." This was true. No matter what they told you, they would always leave. Men and their promises.

Lucia smoothed her long, glossy hair over one shoulder. "Dmitri really likes you. A party this rowdy is a special kind of hell for him, but he's staying because you're having fun."

"He doesn't enjoy parties?"

"He's more of a lone-wolf type. This crowd must be trying for him." Almost to herself, she said, "I was so surprised he recommended we celebrate in Vegas."

I sipped my drink, logging info. "I can't believe he's single."

Jess snorted. "Despite my best efforts." She poured another round of shots. "But now I can rest."

As if he were no longer single? "It's all very sudden."

"You wanna know a secret?" Natalie asked with a hiccup. Only always, Dr. Nat. "That's how the men in this family are. Aleks told me he knew I'd be his wife after one look."

Wait, had she just said wife in a sentence even remotely associated with me?

Lucia nodded. "Maxim told me that as soon as he got close enough to see I had freckles, he knew he was 'fucked.' Clearly, we had some things to work out. But the point is, he knew within half an hour that I'd be his."

Jess was even more direct. "Dmitri's looking at you like he's been drowning for years, and you're a lifeline. Another Sevastyan brother gone at first sight. Dibs on wedding coordination services!" She started singing "Tale as Old as Time."

Could a gorgeous billionaire like Dmitri truly . . . want me want me? Or, more likely, were all these rich people crazy?

Silly, Vice. Every grifter knew that when you took your eyes off the immediate prize and your hands out of play, Lady Luck would frown upon you.

The lesson?

Never reach for the stars.

CHAPTER 5

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In the hallway, Pete and I argued in whispers, sounding like two hissing cats.

"Are they fucking with you?" he demanded. "Playing games or something? Rich gulls are weird."

"Yes! They have to be." Once Dmitri had returned from the terrace--a mere ten minutes later--he'd seemed even more determined to make me enjoy the night, plying me with drinks and fancy foods.

The servers began treating me as if I were one of the people staying in that fantastical penthouse!

"This is the Sevastyans' idea of a joke," I whispered/hissed. "Amusing themselves with the peasants and shit." Rich people and con artists were like cats and dogs. No love lost between them. "I need to bail."

"What if it's not a joke? Do you understand what this could mean?"

I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder. "That I maybe shouldn't have lifted Lucia's watch." We weren't usually straight-up thieves, much. And I'd never stolen from someone so nice.

No sins, still in?

"Vice!"

"I want to contribute, and even at fence value, the watch is a legit two-fifty." I'd stowed it in the false bottom of my purse. "Gotta be insured, right? They're so hammered, she'll think she lost it." The beauty of Vegas. Fresh marks flooded in every day, wearing their chum-pants as they dove into the shark tank. And they always left the city, which meant we never had to.

"You're drinking too," Pete pointed out. "Someone might've seen you lift it."

"The bodyguards don't even look at me anymore." And Vasili had disappeared. Good riddance. I could've strolled right into any of the bedrooms, and no one would've stopped me. "Besides, you try telling Jess you don't want a sixth tequila shooter."

"So now she's Jess? And Natalie is Nat? And you're regular old Vice, the plucky cocktail waitress with a heart of gold?" He swore under his breath. "Do I have to remind you? We're not like them. We're a different breed. . . ."

In a monotone, I repeated lines I'd heard all my life: "We're the last of the long-conners, the aristocrats of grifters. Living by our wits, smiled upon by Lady Luck. The only thing we can't cheat is fate. . . ."

"Yet you're melding with them? We do not meld with gulls." Feigning a look of realization, he said, "Oh wait, you already did once."

My ex-fiance. The one who'd betrayed me. The one who was still attempting to win me back. "Low blow, Pete."

"I'm trying to get your head in the game. I caught you looking at Dmitri with something like infatuation. You have to be cold to maneuver a guy like that."

"You're right. What am I doing?" I wobbled in my heels, the alcohol starting to hit hard.

"It's not too late to get it together. Vice, we might have a live one on the line. The Moby Dick of whales."

But nobody ever landed Moby Dick! "Pull the plug on this, man! We'll figure out a way to get Karin in here as primary. She's a lock. It's too big a score to blow, and I'm jinxed!" Pete was right; stock cons were way easier than this. Give me a greedy money-launderer or hard-up tax-evader any day!

Pete shook his head. "I've seen the way this guy looks at you. I can't describe it, but he seems addicted to you already. He won't accept anyone else. Trust me." We shared another laugh over that.

In reality, I did halfway trust my extended family of scoundrels. "So you're backing my play here?" I asked. "Backing me?"

"All in. Damn, you've already had the meet." He rubbed his chin. "I would've liked you to be in better lighting and not so tired from the week--"

"Come on!"

"I should've made sure you had the phone cloner." Which would've enabled us to see Dmitri's every text, e-mail, and online visit. "He handed you his telephone and turned his back." Pete looked disgusted. "That's on me." My cousin could give us all grief, but never more than he gave himself.

"The window was too short," I assured him. "Even with misdirection, I wouldn't have had enough time."

"Speaking of time . . . Where'd you tell Dmitri you were going?"

"I used my emergency-phone-ring app and said I needed to take the call. I should get back." And I really needed to pee.

"My host duties are done for the night." The party was winding down. "If I'm still here, it'll be weird not to join you guys. Can you handle this on your own?"

I raised my chin. "I've got it. All good." Please, Lady Luck, don't let me botch this!

"I'm a text away. Just watch yourself in there, Vice. And remember--we're a world apart from them."

So why had I felt so at home with that crew?

As I made my way back inside, Jess, Nat, and Lucia were talking to Dmitri. He looked antsy, his leg jogging.

Jess slurred, "Ever since you decided to mend fences with the big bro, I've been trying to set you up. Even though you were my last chance to go to Cirque du Cock."

Mend fences? Cirque du Cock? I ducked back into the foyer, listening in.

"Kuh-learly, I have now succeeded in setting you up, because I brilliantly invited every vegan here to our little party."

Nat hiccupped again. "The tribe has spoken, Dmitri. You are keeping Vice."

Lucia added, "We like her so much."

Jess said, "She's got these knowing eyes--you can tell she's seen things that leave a mark--but she blushes. Driving me fugging crazy! If you don't keep her, I will."

"Perhaps that is not at issue," Dmitri said. "Perhaps the crux is whether she will keep me."

My chest squeezed with panic. They weren't fucking with me. They thought I was a great gal who got their humor and matched their drinking. I fit in seamlessly and was hitting it off with one of their own.

How could they be so trusting? They had no idea what I was, yet they were letting me into their lives? I'd stolen a watch our fence would convert for a quarter of a million dollars, and I'd do it again. And dear God, the identity theft opportunities in those bedrooms . . .

I wanted to shake them. Stupid rich people.

Couldn't they see I was false gold?

I stared at the ceiling, my mind zooming to a memory from my early childhood. I'd been pensive and conf

used as I'd told my mom, "Gulls always say, 'If something seems too good to be true, it is.' That's supposed to be our secret, but it's out there, right in the open. Why don't they listen?"

"They get greedy and ignore what they know deep down," my beautiful mother had said. "Vice, never forget that we sell fairy tales. And fairy tales don't exist."

CHAPTER 6

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When I opened the door to exit one of the guest bathrooms, Dmitri was striding down the hallway, heading for me with an intent look on his face.

Intent on what?

My God, he was huge. I instinctively backed up, which only trapped me with him. But when he shut and locked the door behind him, I wasn't anxious; I felt excitement . . . expectancy.

What would he do? We certainly wouldn't be the first strangers to get busy in a Vegas bathroom. Should I go along with the scenario?

Maybe, but a show of resistance wouldn't go amiss. "Dmitri, I'm not the type of girl who hooks up in bathrooms."

"I know."

"But you still want us to?"

He reached for my purse, setting it aside.

I guess he does. "I'm not going to have sex with you."

"Understood. Let down all that lovely hair of yours."

After a hesitation, I removed my hair stick, and the length tumbled over my shoulders. My hair was platinum, courtesy of some distant Norwegian ancestors, and had a little curl to it.

Dmitri appeared captivated as he ran his fingers through it. "Like silk," he said absently seeming not to realize he'd spoken aloud. "I want to see all this blond hair fanning out in my bed."

Could be in your future.