Rainier laughed softly. “I was feeling good for a minute there. You just shot that down.”
“That’s the nature of the gambling beast,” Vienna said, joining in his laughter.
“You seem to do fairly well. Did you expect to make it to the semifinals?”
“I expect to win,” Vienna said. “I’ve been playing for quite a few years now. It isn’t like I just walked in off the street. I was invited to the tournament, and it just so happened that Stella wanted to do a few fun things in Vegas, so I thought I’d come ahead of the rest of my friends and do a little work. I prefer to play online.”
“Why is that?” Rainier asked.
“I’m not terribly fond of having my photograph plastered all over the casino. I like to sneak around under the radar. You should know something about that. You don’t even use your real name.”
Was Zale even his real name? Had she slept with someone and had no idea who he really was? Probably. She didn’t look at him. She detested that she meant nothing to him at all when, in her mind, he’d been the one. She had never been that kind of woman. She didn’t build fantasies around men. She’d never grown up thinking she needed a man to rescue her or complete her. She worked hard and took care of her mother and herself. She was happy. Zale had been . . . unexpected.
There was a knock at the door. Zale snapped his fingers and indicated for Rainier to go to the other room. Both men were suddenly all business, expressions sober and weapons out. Zale concealed himself in the shadow of the bathroom off the living room. He left the door partially open in order to cover her.
The cart was rolled in and the dinner put on the dining room table. Plates and silverware were used, not Styrofoam takeout boxes. Linen napkins were set beside each dish along with wineglasses and water glasses. When the servers left, she made certain the door was properly locked while both men took out small devices to check the room for any listening bugs.
Vienna seated herself at the table. “Interesting way you have to live.”
“We don’t usually live around other people,” Rainier said.
She nodded. “I’d forgotten that. Sam’s been away from it for quite a long time. We’re used to him. He doesn’t talk much, but he participates. He goes to the bar with us. Most of the time he’s our sober driver. He gets an earful. He works at the resort and fishing camp, but he normally works alone, unless he works with Stella.”
She took a bite of her food. She’d forgotten how hungry she was. She decided less talking and more eating was in order.
“Sam just walked off the job one day,” Rainier said. “He was like that. He’d make up his mind to do something and you couldn’t talk him out of it. He wouldn’t argue with you, he’d just do it.” He indicated Zale with his fork. “He’s like that. Decides and that’s it.”
“What’s there to argue about?” Zale said.
“There’s nothing wrong with discussions,” Vienna said, savoring the roasted brussels sprouts. “Discussions are fun.”
“That’s not the same as arguing,” Zale said. “Arguments lead nowhere and usually end up in hurt feelings.”
“This is good steak,” Rainier declared. “As in great. Notice, there’s no arguing on the subject.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christine Feehan is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Carpathian series, the GhostWalker series, the Leopard series, the Shadow series and the Torpedo Ink series.