“Branson and Carina rode the elevator down with me. I need to find him, in case the crowd noise is bothering him.”
She tapped her ear, to indicate Bran’s receiver, and Jarrett nodded, making a sharp left turn. “He’ll go straight to the craps tables.”
He wound his way through the milling crowds, and pointed as they rounded another bend. “There they are.”
On the opposite side of a table where people were yelling and clapping and throwing dice stood Branson and Carina. Bran’s fingers were gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles, his face strained. Though Carina hung on his elbow, she was talking to the man beside her. She threw her head back, laughing at something the man said.
Jarrett led them around the table, edging in on Bran’s right side, where the tiny receiver was barely visible, especially with sunglasses camouflaging the receiver wire. “Hey, buddy. Glad you made it down. Want a drink?”
Bran shook his head. “No, thanks.”
Something exciting happened on the table, and the crowd cheered. Stephanie had never seen craps played, so she had no idea what was happening. One person rolled the dice and everyone else seemed very excited each time he threw them.
“No drink?” Jarrett raised his voice to be heard over the commotion. “Remember… what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. You always have a drink or two while you’re here.”
“Not this time.”
“Why not? You need to relax a little.”
“You know I don’t believe in using alcohol to relax. That’s for alcoholics.”
“Give me a break.” Jarrett flung an annoyed hand, though Bran couldn’t see it. “You can’t become an alcoholic by having a drink once every two years.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Bran’s probably upset because Carina’s flirting. Or maybe the noise in here is making him tense. Steph slid her hand into her purse and turned on the transmitter.
“Hey Bran,” she talked quietly, her chin dipped toward the microphone. “Do you want this on or not?”
He gave a sharp nod. Out loud, he asked, “Hey, Jarrett? Where’s Stephanie?”
“I’m here,” she spoke up. “I’m on the other side of Jarrett. Wish one of you guys would explain what’s going on with this game.”
Jarrett and Bran both talked at once, using words like “come-out roll” and “pass line” and “field,” along with a bunch of random dice combination numbers that seemed to be significant.
“Got it?” asked Jarrett.
“Sure.” Steph huffed a chuckle. “Why don’t you guys play, and I’ll learn by watching?”
Both men traded thousand dollar chips for smaller denominations and placed bets on the table as a new person started rolling the dice—a woman who looked to be in her fifties, dripping in diamonds that sparkled almost as much as her eyes. The dice tumbled and stopped with a pair of twos showing, and the onlookers cheered.
“Four, the hard way!” called a man with a long crooked stick, as he raked the dice back to the roller.
“That person with the dice is called the shooter,” Jarrett explained. “And that woman is the stickman.”
“Who’s that other woman?” Steph asked. “The one who’s frowning, at the end of the table.”
“That’s the boxman. She’s in charge of the whole table. Has to watch everything like a hawk.”
Chips were added and taken away and moved around, and the sparkling shooter threw the dice again.
The crowd clapped when the dice stopped with a six and a four.
Bran mumbled something about “don’t pass” and handed a stack of chips to Jarrett, who placed them on the table and added some chips of his own. The shooter tossed the dice against the far side of the table again, and they stopped with a three and a four showing.
Everyone shouted, and someone gave both Bran and Jarrett a bunch of chips. Stephanie was more confused than ever.
“New shooter!” announced the man with the stick.
“Why aren’t any of these people upset?” Steph asked. “Some of them lost a bunch of chips.”
“Because it’s only a game,” Branson explained. “Everyone paid to play and no one is taking any money home tonight, not even the grand-prize winner.”
“Cole and Finn found a less crowded table,” said Jarrett, looking at a text on his phone. “Let’s go find them.”
“Finn usually plays blackjack the first three or four hours.” Bran’s brows furrowed, his voice full of suspicion. Steph hoped Finn wasn’t planning to make another move on her. She couldn’t watch out for Bran and fend off Finn’s advances at the same time.
Jarrett led the way, with Carina and Branson following and Steph trailing behind. She took the opportunity to enjoy Bran’s form from the rear. So handsome in the well-cut tuxedo, his broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. She knew exactly how his muscles rippled as he walked, having observed his workouts a multitude of times. She never tired of watching him.
Carina walked beside him, moving with easy grace on her stilettos. Something else for me to be jealous of. Steph had to admit the two made a striking couple. Carina appeared to belong with this crowd, while Stephanie would never blend in.
Reality sunk in and churned in her belly. She didn’t care for Carina, but had to find some kind of common ground with her. She couldn’t count on Finn breaking up the relationship, especially since she had no intention of helping him with his scheme. And she had to remember MawMaw’s advice and find out Carina’s sad secret. Maybe she could help her get past it. Maybe Carina needed a real friend.
Somewhere nearby, one of the slot machines got really excited, bells clanging long and loud like a railroad crossing. Passing another craps table, the circling crowd cheered and yelled encouragement. The noise bothered Stephanie, so she knew Branson must hate it. “We’re almost there,” she murmured in his earpiece. “Finn found a table in the far back corner, so maybe it will be a little quieter.”
With Carina clutching one arm and his cane in the other, Branson couldn’t wave to indicate he’d heard her remark, but Steph saw his head nodding, and decided now would be a good time to give a running monologue, as she customarily did during their workday lunches. She’d discovered, quite by accident, if she kept him distracted by telling stories, he’d linger at the table and eat more slowly. MawMaw had always insisted it was bad for you to wolf your food down. Though Branson had ridiculed her advice, Steph was convinced she’d made him healthier.
“It’s been a beautiful day, so far.” She lowered her chin toward the microphone in her scarf. “I want you to know I really appreciate this trip. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s so special. I loved it all.” That’s not quite true. I hated seeing you and Carina fight. And I didn’t enjoy her calling me fat, even by implication. But, the rest was wonderful. “Everything. The private jet. The fancy room. The show. The clothes. The food. And I appreciate whatever ridiculous fee was paid for my tournament entry. The fountain was the best part. Wish I could come back and show it to Ellie. She’d love it. One more thing to put on her bucket list. I hope Ellie gets to see it someday…”
