The Safe Bet (Hidden Truths #1)(20)

“What? Can’t a girl have real poker skills? A woman has to use her looks to win?”

“No, but I—”

“I do have talent, by the way. There is no eye batting. I wear my Red Sox hat and a pair of sunglasses.”

“To hide your tells?” he taunted, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I would still be able to read you.”

Kate’s chest constricted at his words. “There’s only one way to find out.” What am I doing?

“You want to be Julia’s replacement?”

“Nah. I can’t play you. It wouldn’t be fair. I’d take all your money.” Her confidence was back. Her brain thanked her heart for allowing it to take over.

It may only last five minutes, but she’d take it.

“I think that sounds like a challenge,” he responded, the deep baritone of his voice reminding her of the dangerous turn their conversation had taken. She shouldn’t have yielded at the sign—she should have made a complete stop before a sharp U-turn.

Poker, with Michael? With Michael’s friends? Am I out of my mind? Maybe her brain wasn’t in control when she was speaking, after all. What had she been thinking? She wet her lips and reached for her water. She was stalling. She didn’t know what to say.

“Come on, don’t back out now.” He leaned forward over the table a little, trying to get her attention. “It’s tomorrow night at my friend’s loft. Starts at nine. And don’t use work as an excuse.”

Shit. Spending more time with him was definitely not part of the plan. “Okay.” Her answer surprised her as it tumbled free from her lips.

“Great.” He sat back in his chair and looked up at the outdoor entertainment system, which was nestled in the corner of the building overhang. An English translation of a Spanish love song poured through the speaker, and he directed his attention back on Kate, his eyes resting on her mouth.

With an unsteady hand, she reached for her water again, feeling the need to cool off. She forced her gaze away from him and out onto the nearby street.

The unnoticeable shakiness of her hand turned into an obvious tremble as her eyes fixated on a man sitting on a bench along the street. He was on his phone and looking at her. Blonde. Athletic. Middle-Aged. Was it the same man? The man who’d given her the chills at the club on her first night in town?

It was impossible to remember exactly what the guy had looked like. It had been dark in the club, and she hadn’t taken a close look at his face. But for some reason, the same gut-wrenching feeling was climbing its way through her system.

“Kate? You okay?”

The man was watching her. There were no flashing lights like at the club to cast doubt on his gaze. And it wasn’t the stare of a man checking out a woman. This was different. She could feel it.

She inhaled as she watched the man rise to his feet, phone still at his ear. He gave her one last look as his lips pressed together, and then he walked away.

“Kate?” Michael waved his hand in front of her face.

“Huh?” She shook her head, freeing herself from the spell of fear that sliced through her. Had she laid eyes on her stalker? If so, who the hell was he? And why was he following her?

“What happened?” Michael asked, his voice registering concern.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry.” She pushed a fake smile to her lips, but she doubted he was buying it. “Just thinking about my mom.” She noticed his body ease and grow less rigid.

“Oh. Sorry.”

The waiter appeared at their side. Thank God. He couldn’t have come at a better time.

*


The red envelope sat on her hotel bed, taunting her—again. She rubbed her hands together, balling them into fists, hoping to calm her nerves and release her tension.

Kate looked at her watch. It was almost eleven at night.

She had decided to head back to her hotel after lunch with Michael. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid he would sense her worry, or afraid he would sense the desire she couldn’t seem to curtail.

She’d told Michael some lame excuse about needing to bounce around the city and run errands tomorrow so she wouldn’t have to see him until the poker game. Avoidance—her only way to stifle her bodies’ craving of the man. Sex would be good with him, though, wouldn’t it? More than good, she was sure.

She blew a hair out of her face and looked back at the blood red envelope.

Blood . . . Jesus Christ.

Yeah, maybe she should’ve been more worried about some creep following her—wanting to kill her, or whatnot, instead of fixating on Michael’s ass or the sound of his deep voice.

“Just do it.” She unclenched her fists and reached for the envelope. She held her breath as she opened it, as though some deadly powdery substance might drift from its folds.

Surprise flooded her system when she found herself staring down at a picture of Michael and an unknown woman. He was embracing a raven-haired woman on a dance floor. Their bodies were pushed together, and his mouth appeared to be nuzzling her neck.

She shuffled through four more photos, all of Michael. All the images were of Michael with different women. But the fourth photo was of a woman Kate recognized—the redhead from the office. Michael was sitting at a dinner table with her. White linen. Fancy. Half empty wine glasses between them.

But the last photo . . . it was of Michael and Kate dancing at the club Saturday night. “What the hell . . .” She dropped the photos on the bed and rubbed her hands over her tired face. Her emotions were spiraling in all different directions, and she couldn’t make sense of anything. When she looked back down at the photos, she squinted in surprise, picking up one of the photos that had flipped over. There was writing on the back.