His 7-Day Fianc?e
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“I knew you would.” Kendall’s smile was smug. “I told you your luck was going to change tonight.”
“Maybe so.” Buoyed by that small success, she pushed the button again. Three lemons. Getting the hang of it now, she threw herself into the game. Cherries combined with sevens. Lemons were followed by bars. Bells dinged. Colored lights flashed. Credits accumulated, then disappeared. Beside her, Kendall cheered, groaned and clapped at her own progress. And a half hour and a free margarita later, Amanda felt like a seasoned pro.
“Ready for the blackjack table?” Kendall called over the noise.
Amanda glanced up. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute. I’ve just got a few pulls left.”
“Okay. It’s in the back.” Kendall drained her drink, hopped off her stool and then jiggled her legs to straighten her dress. “Don’t forget to take your ticket. We’ll cash out before we leave.”
Amanda waved her off and returned her attention to her machine. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Kendall collect her ticket and leave.
She pulled the lever. Lemon-bar-seven. Drats. She pushed the button again and won. She grinned, pleased with her take so far. Not too shabby for her first attempt at gambling. She was ahead by fifteen bucks.
And she had to hand it to her sister. It was fun to do somethingmindlessforonce,toforgetherproblemsand relax. Kendall had been right to insist that they come.
She gave the button a final press, then waited for the tumbler to stop. “Come on, jackpot,” she murmured. A seven stuck. Then another. She held her breath, her hopes rising, her eyes glued on the machine.
The scent of Wayne’s aftershave drifted past.
Her heart went still. Every cell in her body tensed.
The machine stopped. She stared at it blindly, her palms suddenly sweating, her pulse pounding so hard she could barely hear.
Wayne wasn’t here. He couldn’t be here.
Then why was this happening to her?
She gripped her purse like a lifeline, fought the urge to glance over her shoulder and check. She couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep panicking and falling apart. Dear God, it had to stop.
But the need to look back grew even stronger—the instinct to protect herself, take cover. Survive. Unable to stand it, she leaped from the stool and whipped around.
No one was there.
She didn’t move.
Lights flashed on another machine. A woman squealed and laughed down the aisle. Amanda hitched out her breath, ran her gaze up and down the rows, but there was no sign of the man who’d bumped her, no signof Wayne.
Thoroughly rattled, she turned back to her machine and printed out her credits with trembling hands. Had she imagined that scent? Was that even possible? Her mentally ill mother had hallucinated before she’d—
No. She was not losing her mind.
Maybe it was a flashback, a delayed reaction to stress. The past few years had worn her down completely—Wayne’s abuse, the constant fear for her daughter’s safety, the painful divorce and move. No wonder she was suffering now.
And she would conquer this fear. She would.
Her heart still racing, she inhaled to calm her nerves. Then she walked deliberately toward the back of the casino, refusing to let herself rush. There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing.
She paused at the end of the aisle, unsure which way to go. Taking a guess, she turned right.
The scent of aftershave hit her again.
Her stomach balled tight. Her heart sped into her throat. She picked up the pace, walking faster now, even though she knew there was nothing wrong. She was safe, safe.
She hurried past a group of noisy gamblers. A bell dinged, and someone cheered. Knowing she was acting foolish but unable to stifle the fear, she walked as fast as she could on the spindly heels. Run, run, run bludgeoned her nerves.
She reached the end of the aisle, turned again, then reached some swinging doors. Oh, no. She’d gone the wrong way. The blackjack tables had to be across the pit.
She stopped, started to turn, but Wayne’s scent swarmed her again. A hard, narrow object bit into her back, and she froze.
“That’s right,” the man said. “Stay quiet, and you won’t get hurt.”
Her knees buckled. A dull roar invaded her skull. The obscene smell of aftershave permeated the air.
“Walk over to the doors. Slow now.” He rammed the gun deeper into her back, and she stepped forward, trying to battle through the hysteria and think. It wasn’t Wayne. He had the wrong voice. But then what on earth did he want?
“Stop,” he demanded when she reached the double doors. “Now give me the ring. And no fast moves.”
“R…ring?” He wanted her jewelry? But she didn’t wear any. She wheezed in the too-thick air. “But—”
“Now.” His voice turned harsher. He prodded her again with the gun.
“But I don’t…”
The double doors swung open. A waitress stepped out, balancing a tray.
Now or never.
She lunged, slammed into the waitress. The woman shrieked, staggered back and dropped the tray.
Amanda didn’t hesitate. She ran.
The soft buzz of his private telephone line cut through the silence—muted, deceptively quiet, like the rattle of a Mojave Desert Sidewinder preparing to strike. Luke Montgomery stared out his penthouse window at the Las Vegas skyline shimmering against the dark velvet sky. He’d left instructions not to be disturbed. A call now could only mean one thing.