CHAPTER SIX
The mood of the crowd was electric as the four took their places at the final table. It could have been stifling with so many people pressed around the low cordons, but the crowd was a distance away. Still, even though the room was air-conditioned and well ventilated, when Vienna first walked in, she felt the walls closing in on her, shrinking, as if they were collapsing under the weight of so many people.
Her lungs burned. There was no oxygen, the bystanders sucking all the air out of the room with their cheering and calling out. The voices faded into the distance as her heart accelerated, and the pressure in her chest increased until it was an alarming vise-like pain. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She choked. Tried to clear her throat. Coughed.
Vienna forced her mind to work through the fog of panic. She inhaled, taking air into her lungs, and exhaled, not looking at anyone but pushing the clouds out of her mind. What was happening? She didn’t have panic attacks. Her mother did. She was familiar with the symptoms because she’d grown up seeing them on a regular basis. What would cause her to suddenly experience such a thing?
It had happened before, yes. She had been targeted by a serial killer, someone she had known as a friend for years. For just a few moments she had been gripped with the same terrible fear—or maybe it wasn’t fear so much as the knowledge that she was being hunted. That sent a shiver creeping down her back. Was it possible someone knew Zale had come into her room and stayed with her last night? Was he watching her now? He had eyes on her. Cameras that would broadcast to millions of viewers. There were spectators crowding around the barricades calling out to the players as they took their places at the table.
Leo, ever the gentleman, pulled her chair out for her, and she smiled up at him as she sank into her chair. “Thanks, Leo.”
“The Northern Lights always puts on a good show, doesn’t it?” Art said as he took his place.
No, it wasn’t the crowd or the cameras. She had always been sensitive to atmosphere, even as a child. Right now, there was a feeling of malevolence emanating from someone in the crowd of spectators. The impression was especially strong on her right. She didn’t look that way.
“This is the first time I’ve been here,” Vienna admitted. “It’s a little overwhelming.”
“You don’t play like it’s overwhelming,” Jameson said.
Jameson sat to her right, so it was natural for her to look that way. She turned her head to respond to him, smiling, flicking her gaze upward toward the crowd. “We’ll see. It’s all about the cards.”
“Is it?” Leo asked. “I always thought it was about my genius play.”
She’d always been a good observer, taking in details even with a quick glance. She didn’t see anyone she recognized, or anyone looking particularly dangerous, but then, Zale didn’t look dangerous all the time. He could fade into the background when he didn’t want to be seen.
She laughed with the others at Leo’s comment and turned her attention to the table. She was there to play cards. To win. She’d spent far too much of her time and energy on playing in order to get where she was to blow it because she felt someone was watching her. Unless . . . there could be a very simple answer that had nothing to do with Zale.
“Is Benny still in Vegas?”
“Sure, he’s still in the hotel,” Art said. “I saw him last night. He lives here, owns a couple of successful businesses, but he’s staying at the hotel.”
“Yeah,” Jameson confirmed. “He likes to stay until the tournament is over. He never leaves until it’s done. He’s somewhere here.” He looked up into the crowd of spectators straight ahead of him as if looking for Benny.
To Vienna, Jameson’s looking for Benny in the close crush of viewers meant Benny could be the one making her uncomfortable. After the warning she’d been given, that made total sense, and she was willing to accept that explanation for the moment so she could get down to the business of playing cards.
The moment the dealer sat down, the familiar heat rushing through her veins signaled that her gift pouring into her was already strong and growing even more so. Awareness strengthened in her, intensifying and spreading outward, registering the smallest movements, no matter how subtle, of the players and dealer.
Art was in his usual position to the left of the dealer, and he started the round off with a hundred thousand. Leo raised his eyebrow and went in immediately without even looking at his cards. Jameson did the same. Vienna followed suit. She knew what she had. A pair of tens. The dealer revealed the flop. The ten of hearts. The three of diamonds. The king of spades. That gave her three of a kind.
Art glanced back at his hand, then at the flop, and decided to check. Leo cupped his fingers around his cards and lifted the edges in order to look. He cocked his head slightly to the right while he dropped them to the table and immediately doubled the bet. Jameson looked at his cards, shook his head and folded. Vienna stayed in. Back around to Art, and he quickly folded.
The turn was the three of clubs. That gave her a full house. She studied the cards and Leo’s face. He was too experienced to give anything away. She absolutely knew he had nothing worthwhile, but he bet two hundred and fifty thousand with total confidence. She met his bluff and raised him two hundred and fifty thousand. If he wanted to throw money away, she was willing to take it.
Leo again stared at her face for a long time. Art and Jameson did as well. Assessing. It occurred to her none of them knew when she was bluffing or not. Leo didn’t want to continue when he really had nothing at all. He wasn’t that kind of a gambler. Art sometimes played a bluff successfully, but Leo was a more cautious gambler. He folded. She didn’t show her cards. The disappointment at the table as well as in the room was perceivable. There was even a heavy collective sigh from the crowd.
“Are you certain you aren’t Irish?” Leo asked.
She shot him a smile. “I don’t think so, but far back on the ancestral tree, I could be. I know that’s where you get all your charm.”
Leo nodded solemnly. “I am charming. And a true gentleman, which is a dying breed.”
“That’s the sad truth,” Art said. “But it’s the times. No one wants a gentleman anymore, Leo. Women smack you in the face now if you open a door or offer to carry something heavy. You’re somehow seeing a woman as less because you notice they’re struggling a bit and want to help.”