The Prince and the Player Page 4

  “That’s hardly fair, Mum,” Cal jumps in. “Everyone knows what a stiff Ro is. So he had one slip up. Now all the old biddies can stop saying he’s gay.”

  “What the hell?” If I wasn’t angry before…

  “MacCallum Lockwood Tate! Don’t make me send you from this room.”

  My brother only laughs, but I ignore his jokes and address my mother’s concerns.

  “I understand what you’re saying, Mother. I’ll double-down on appearances. Perhaps I can do something with the regiment…”

  “It’s not enough.”

  Our eyes lock. We’re wealthy beyond belief. We’re sitting in a plush room with arched windows covered in gold-velvet curtains. Two couches are arranged back to back on a red-Persian rug, which protects gleaming wood floors. A gilded lamp sits on a small, round mahogany table. I’m trying to figure out how I can change what we are.

  “What more I can do?”

  “You have to show your focus. Engage in an act of maturity.” Her eyes harden. “It’s time the king took a wife.”

  The noise of Cal dropping the brass paperweight echoes from the desk behind me. My throat closes. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “You need to appear rooted and settled down, Rowan. Or at the very least focused on the future. France tolerates us, but if it appears Totringham is poised to invade, they will move. We’re not in a position to fight with this recession dragging on.”

  Everything she says is true. The country is in a precarious position and any indication of weakness in power makes us vulnerable. Still, I can’t tolerate the meaning of her words. I’m out of my seat and pacing. It’s my absolute last shred of freedom stripped away.

  “So I marry some cousin or daughter of an earl to save our independence? It’s ridiculous.”

  “Or you become a celibate, which is even more ridiculous.” She stands and does a little wave. “It’s time you settle down with someone royal and start producing royal heirs. Now get cleaned up.”

  She exits the parlor, and Cal rocks back in the chair, watching me with a smirk. “I sure hope that was one superior hummer.”

  A five thousand kilo brick is in my stomach, and I can’t think about this right now. “I need a shower.”

  A Proposition

  Zelda

  The water of the Atlantic gleams turquoise under a cloudless sky. I lie back on the catamaran and let the blazing sun beat down on my golden skin. The warmth and salt air combined with the lapping of the waves is delicious.

  “A perfect day after a perfect crime,” Ava says with a laugh, joining me on the bow of the sailboat. “Check it out.”

  Propping on my elbows, I look over at her latest acquisition. She holds up a thick gold herringbone men’s bracelet. I sit up all the way and reach for it.

  “Let me see!”

  She sits in front of me, and I turn the half-inch-wide gold strand over in my hands. “It’s very expensive.”

  “Yes, but what man wears a gold bracelet anymore?”

  “I can think of a few.”

  “Rap stars.”

  “So hook up with a rap star.” I blink up at her and grin. “Your pretty head would probably explode with all the jewelry you could steal.”

  That makes her laugh. “I wonder if I could get a diamond stud out of someone’s ear without him noticing.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Maybe if I used my mouth…”

  “Gross!” I throw my hands up. “Don’t tell me. Show me when you’ve done it.”

  My sister started her game of “trade” when she was only eighteen and helping me distract security guards in the Indian casinos in north Florida. She’d talk to them, flirt and giggle. She’d hang on their arms and ask them all about their jobs in breathless rapture. They wouldn’t even notice me counting cards and palming the decks.

  At some point in the night, she’d grow sad and wistful and tell the unsuspecting male how much like her late father he was. Then she’d give him a gift—either a gold cigarette case or a pair of onyx cufflinks. Or maybe a shiny brass Zippo. The men would be so flattered, they wouldn’t even notice her stealing their watch or money clip or whatever expensive item they happened to be wearing. In Ava’s mind, the gift made up for the theft of something new. It was her own private jewelry exchange.

  I watch as she wraps the thick piece of gold around her slim wrist. “Maybe I’ll have a few links removed and keep it for myself.”

  “But then what would you give your next victim?” I lie back, closing my eyes against the blazing sunlight.

  “I don’t know.” She’s quiet, and I glance over at her stretched out, long and lean, brown skin in a white string bikini.

  Suddenly her chin jerks in my direction. “Don’t you ever wish we could do something really exciting? Like rob an art gallery that has laser tracking? We could sprinkle powder everywhere and climb through it like Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment.”

  “No.” I frown at her, and she laughs, turning away again.

  “C’est la vie.”

  “What we do isn’t for kicks, Ava. We only steal so we can eat. And live.”

  “And take charters off the coast of Miami.”

  “This is a bonus, and you know it.” Sniffing, I take a sip of my rum punch. The sweet, fruity flavor fills my mouth. “That jerk was an asshole dropping his chip down my dress. He got what he deserved.”

  “Did you tell Seth?”

  I don’t answer, and the sound of the waves licking against the side of the boat fills the empty air while she waits. A seagull cries as it passes over, and I look up at it.

  With a little sigh, she relaxes on her towel, letting my non-answer pass. “How come you and Seth never hook up?” she asks instead. “He’s been with us since Tampa. You claim he taught you everything you know about scamming casinos. What’s the problem?”

  “He’s not my type.” Seth is about control, and I’ll be damned if I let any man control me.

  “Tell me,” she flips onto her stomach. “What is your type, Zelda Wilder? Some tall, dashing pirate with doubloons galore? Or a cowboy?”

  All these questions are harshing my buzz. “I thought we came out here to relax.”

  “I’m relaxed. I’m ecstatic!” She laughs and kicks both her feet up. “We’ve got four thousand dollars! Can you believe it? We can live on four thousand dollars for—”

  “About a month.” I take another sip of rum.

  “Not true! The hotel room is only three hundred. We can scrimp on meals.”

  “It’s still going to run out, and then what?” I’m not sure why my mood has taken a turn, but I’m less breezy and more reality all of a sudden.

  “Then we do it again!” Ava cries, and I hear the impatience in her tone.

  For a moment I’m quiet, looking at her stretched out in the sun smiling. My sister is smart and attractive. I might have saved her from abuse in the foster system, but what have I done for her?

  “I’m going to burn,” I mutter, pushing up and walking low to the back of the boat, my empty silicone glass in hand.

  Miguel, our captain, is stretched out smoking a joint. “Sexy Zee,” he says smiling. “Have a hit?”

  “No thanks.” I shake my head and give him a wave. “I’m not in the mood for grass.”

  “Drinks in the cabin.”

  Nodding, I start down the ladder, but I pause midway. “Thanks for taking us out today.”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t have anything else to do. Beautiful day, beautiful view.” He winks and nods toward the bow.

  “Yeah.”

  Miguel is harmless, and he’s always been nice to us since we arrived in south Florida. Our first few days, I snooped around the docks looking for scraps and easy work. He hired me to be first mate on a few of his snorkeling charters, and in return, I’ve sent him business pretty regularly. Him being at the dock today looking for tourists was a stroke of luck, and now three lucky breaks in a row has me looking over my shoulde
r.

  I spray sunscreen on my chest and arms then lean down and coat my knees again. A little more lotion on my face, a refill of rum punch, and I’m headed back up front to where my sister is sitting cross-legged, looking into the breeze.

  “I didn’t ask if you wanted anything, sorry,” I say, sitting on my towel again.

  “It’s okay. I’ll get something in a minute.” She’s looking up and down the shoreline. “One goes down, and another, bigger one springs up in its place.”

  Following her gaze, I think about where we are and where we’re headed. “We should try to get a job at one of those places.”

  “A nine to five?” She looks at me like I just sprouted an additional head.

  I trace a path along the frosted edge of my glass with my finger. The pink beverage inside is thick and sweet. “We gotta do better than this, Ava-bug. This is no kind of long-term plan.”

  She growls softly and stretches her legs in the sun. “You always get like this after a big job. You’re small-time, Zelda Wilder.”

  Her carnival barker voice makes me grin. “What are you talking about?”

  “The more zeros you bring home, the more you fret about changing the way we live. How we gotta do better than this.” She’s imitating me now.

  I think about how I’m feeling. “We are better than this. At least you are.”

  “Better than the cheating husbands who grab my ass? Okay, sure.” Scooting closer, her voice gets a little harder. “Better than the casino owners who rig the games to dribble out a little money at a time so the addicts keep coming back for more? I guess I’m better than them.”

  Lifting my glass, I smile as I take a drink. “See how smart you are? You should be in school somewhere learning how to run a business.”

  Ava eases back onto her towel, tilting her head to the side. “I’m no smarter than you are. I’ve learned everything I know from watching you.”

  I groan a laugh. “That’s not encouraging.”

  We’re still again, listening to the sounds of the ocean, the waves splashing gently as the catamaran cuts through the water, the birds overhead, the occasional tug of a cruise ship passing in the distance, taking off for some Caribbean voyage.

  In my mind I replay last night, my time at the table, the old man who slipped up behind me and tried to pull a fast one. My little sister at the bar touching security guards, leaning forward to give them a teasing glimpse of her cleavage as she steals their gold bracelets.

  “It never ends,” I answer. “Or it ends badly.”

  “Which is why you love it.” Her forceful reply snaps me from my melancholy thoughts. “You would be miserable doing anything else. You live for the adrenaline rush of going in there, taking chances, not knowing what might happen from one moment to the next.”

  “Maybe.” I can’t deny what she’s saying, but I can’t let her win that easily. “Still… Momma would’ve expected me to do better by you.”

  “Don’t you do that.” She grabs my arm in a surprisingly strong grip. Our eyes meet, blue on green, and I see the fierce protectiveness burning in hers. “You saved me. You got us away from those abusive assholes. Don’t you ever think Momma would doubt you. I never will.”

  We stare at each other, and as much as I don’t want it, my mind goes tripping back to that last night in foster care. To the sweaty, meaty hands running up my little sister’s smooth legs, higher… to the hem of her gown as she lay still as a statue shivering and praying. I saw the fear in her eyes, and I snapped.

  Bile rises in my throat, and I remember taking the lamp and smashing it over his head moments before we ran. “I didn’t have a plan,” I confess. “I just couldn’t let him touch you like that.”

  “You kept me from being hurt. I’ll never be able to repay you for that.”

  I exhale, straightening my legs and looking down at my drink. “I’m your sister. You don’t have to repay me.”

  I’m back in that concrete culvert holding her small body as she cries. I’m vowing to do whatever it takes to keep us on the road, free, even though I have no idea how the hell I’ll do it.

  I’m lost in thought as a blast of noise cuts through our tranquility. The loud buzz of a speedboat races toward our vessel.

  “What the—” Ava’s voice trails off as she reaches for her cover-up, and I turn in time to see a gleaming wood, clearly expensive cruiser glide up beside us.

  The captain reaches for the side of the catamaran and throws a rope across just as my eyes register his passenger. It’s the Frenchman from last night! Mr. Thousand-dollar Chip!

  “Miguel,” I scream. I scream until my voice cracks, but it’s no good. He’s asleep in the back, and the noise of the boat drowns me out.

  The speedboat captain puts one foot across to our boat, and before I can protest, he grips my arm roughly, jerking me off the catamaran and into the bed of his cruiser.

  “You too, Miss!” he yells at Ava, whose eyes are round saucers.

  Uncertainty ripples through her limbs, and I see her trying to decide whether to follow me, or run and try to wake Miguel.

  “Stay where you are, Ava!” I shout. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Zee?” That tremor of fear I haven’t heard since the night we ran is in her voice.

  The Frenchman steps up on the side of the cruiser and holds out his hand. “Please come with us, Mademoiselle.” His voice is low and smooth. “I won’t hurt you. We have business to discuss.”

  Her brow lines, and her eyes flicker to mine. She’s like a sparrow caught in a trap. I turn my attention to the well-dressed man speaking to my sister. Living on the street has taught me to read people, and one thing I’ve learned is when someone intends to hurt you, they don’t typically mention business. They don’t make requests. They push you down or pull out a weapon.

  Ava doesn’t move, waiting for my direction. With a fortifying breath, I nod. Her posture is defensive, but she scoops up my bathing suit cover before placing her small hand in his and climbing slowly across to the speedboat.

  Once she’s in, the man turns to me. “Sir Reginald Winchester.” He extends a hand, but I’m trying to figure him out.

  Today he’s dapper in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt with a navy blazer on top. His dark hair is streaked with grey, and that moniker sounds like royalty.

  “Zelda Wilder,” I say, not shaking his hand. “How did you find us out here?”

  “There’s very little money won’t buy, Miss Wilder, including the whereabouts of an attractive, street-smart blonde with a brunette who could pass for a model.”

  Chewing my lips, I silently acknowledge what Seth has been saying all along. It’s hard to fly under the radar with Ava.

  “Zee! Zee!” I look over my shoulder to see Miguel is up and waving frantically at us from the catamaran. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

  “Tell him you’re fine,” Sir Reginald Winchester says to me in a low voice.

  I survey the plush speedboat we’re in and the relaxed captain waiting for further instruction.

  “Will it be a lie?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

  “Of course not. As I told your sister, I have no intention of hurting you.”

  A few moments pass, and I study his steel grey eyes. I see something in them, something I recognize—and it’s not deception.

  Stepping to the side, I call back to our friend. “If we’re not back in an hour, call the police.”

  He hesitates, looking from me to the captain of the speedboat to the tall man standing beside me.

  “One hour,” he shouts, and I nod, giving him a wave.

  “Let’s go,” the man to my right says, and the speedboat roars to life. “Please, take your seats.”

  Ava is already sitting with her arms hugging her stomach. I take the seat beside my sister, putting a protective hand on her. Miguel doesn’t move as we turn and shoot away from where he’s anchored.

  “A thousand dollars for an hour.” The man’s accent is thick, and it mak
es his words sound slurry. “Your time is quite valuable.”

  “Then you’d better get on with it,” I snap.

  Unlike Ava, I’m sitting straight, unafraid on the outside, shaking like a leaf on the inside. This could be one of the dumbest decisions my curiosity has made.

  The man laughs as he reclines in the leather seat beside me. “I like your spirit, Miss Wilder. I was quite captivated by it last night at the tables.”

  “Is that why you pulled that stunt with the chip? You must think I don’t watch movies.”

  His eyebrow quirks, and his blue eyes twinkle. “Hats off to you. Few people would catch the Hitchcock reference.”

  “Our parents loved classic movies,” Ava’s voice is quiet.

  “No, I used the ‘stunt with the chip’ as you put it hoping I might secure a meeting with you.”

  “Perhaps you should look up the term backfire in your French-to-English dictionary.”

  His expression hardens, and he straightens his coat. “I’m an official in the Monagasco government, and the con you pulled at the roulette wheel last night was first executed in one of our most luxurious casinos. Only that time, they used a pack of cigarettes to activate the transmitter.”

  My stomach drops. He’s with the gambling commission! Ice filters through my veins, and my mouth goes dry. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do.” He’s smiling, but it’s like the cat that has the mouse cornered and is ready to pounce. “The trick you and Mr. Kentucky pulled involved your gold bracelet emitting a radio transmission that guided the ball into one of three possible trays.”

  Ava stiffens at my back, and I’m glad she’s wearing her dark sunglasses. My sister does not have a poker face—one of the many reasons I don’t let her gamble.

  “You must have watched one too many movies yourself, Mr. Winchester. I’d never laid eyes on that man from Kentucky before last night.”

  He’s quiet, smiling as we continue to bounce along the waves. A little spray of water shoots over the side, and he pulls out a cloth handkerchief to wipe it away.

  “That’s good,” he nods. “Very good. You lie in broad daylight as well as you lie in the evening. I suspected as much.”