The Winning Hand Read Free

wouldn’t regret it.
    It ran smoothly because he made certain it ran smoothly. It ran honest because it always had. It ran profitably because it was a Blade-MacGregor enterprise.
    He believed, absolutely, in winning—and always in winning clean.
    His lips twitched as a woman at one of the five-dollar tables hit twenty-one and applauded herself. Some would walk away winners, Mac mused; most wouldn’t. Life was a gamble, and the house always had the edge.
    A tall man, he moved through the tables easily, in a beautifully tailored dark suit that draped elegance over tough and ready muscle. The legacy from his Comanche heritage showed in the gold-dust skin pulled tight over his cheekbones, in the rich black hair that framed a lean, watchful face and flowed to the collar of his formal jacket.
    But his eyes were Scot blue, deep as a loch and just as unfathomable.
    His smile was quick and charming when a regular hailed him. But he kept moving, barely pausing. He had work waiting in his office high above the action.
    “Mr. Blade?”
    He glanced over, stopping now as one of the roving cocktail waitress moved to him. “Yes?”
    “I just came over from the slots.” The waitress shifted her tray and tried not to sigh as Mac gave her the full benefit of those dark blue eyes. “There’s a woman over at the big progressive. She’s a mess, Mr. Blade. Not too clean, pretty shaky. She might be on something. She’s just staring at it, you know? Muttering to herself. I thought maybe I should call security.”
    “I’ll take a look.”
    “She’s, well, she’s kind of pathetic. Not a working girl,” the waitress added. “But she’s either sick or stoned.”
    “Thanks, I’ll take care of it.”
    Mac shifted directions, moving into the forest of slots rather than his private elevator. Security could handle any trouble that threatened the smooth operation of the casino. But it was his place, and he handled his own.
    A few feet away, Darcy fed her last three dollars into the slot. You’re insane, she told herself, carefully babying the last bill when the machine spit it back at her. You’ve lost your mind, her pounding heart seemed to scream even as she smoothed the bill and slid it back in. But God, it felt so good to do something outrageous.
    She closed her eyes a moment, breathing deeply three times, then, opening them again, she grabbed the shiny red ball of the arm with a trembling hand.
    And pulled.
    Stars and moons revolved in front of her eyes, colors blurred, a calliope tune began to jingle. She found herself smiling at the absurdity of it, almost dreaming as the shapes spun and spun and spun.
    That was her life right now, she thought absently. Spinning and spinning. Where will it stop? Where will it go?
    Her smile only broadened as stars and moons began to click into place. They were so pretty. It had been worth the price just to watch, to know at least she’d pulled the handle.
    Click, click, click, shining stars, glowing moons. When they blurred, she blinked furiously. She wanted to see every movement, to hear every sound. Wasn’t it pretty how neatly they all lined up? she thought, and braced a hand against the machine when she felt herself begin to tip.
    And as she touched it, as her hand made contact with the cool metal, the movement stopped. The world exploded.
    Sirens shrieked, making her stagger back in shock. Colored lights went into a mad dance atop themachine, and a war drum began to beat. Whistles shrilled, bells clanged. All around her people began to shout and shove.
    What had she done? Oh God, what had she done?
    “Holy cow, you hit the big one!” Someone grabbed her, danced with her. She couldn’t breathe, flailed weakly to try to escape.
    Everyone was pushing, pulling at her, shouting words she couldn’t understand. Faces swam in front of hers, bodies pressed until she was trapped against the machine.
    An ocean was roaring in her head, a jackhammer pounded in her chest.
    Mac moved through the