Venom (Page 39)

As the two of us walked up the gangplank to the riverboat itself, I glanced over the railing. Below, the murky waters of the Aneirin River washed by, heading toward the far-away Mississippi River and ultimately the Gulf of Mexico. Oil slicks shimmered royal blue, purple, and green on the water’s surface, and all the soft, artful lights on the riverboat couldn’t hide the odd bits of wood, soggy fast-food wrappers, and other flotsam that clogged the shoreline. Or the stench.

I wrinkled my nose. The air reeked of rotten catfish. Ugh. The scent reminded me of the last time I’d been this close to the river-when I’d taken a nosedive off the top of the Ashland Opera House to escape the cops after a botched hit. It had taken me several hot showers to get the stench of rotting fish out of my hair.

Finn and I reached the top of the gangplank and found ourselves on the third, open deck, the epicenter of the event. The deck itself was larger than two ballrooms put together. Blackjack, baccarat, poker, and other gaming tables had been set up out in the open. The slap-slap-slap of cards being shuffled could be heard, along with the clink-clink of chips hitting each other on the felt tables and the whirring clack-clack-clack of the slot machines. Heaters tucked against the railing and under some of the tables kept the December chill at bay, helped immensely by the inflated egos of those already on board.

People dressed in tuxedoes, gowns, and flashing jewels were already waiting their turn to lose their money-all of which was supposedly going to charity tonight. I rather doubted that, since Phillip Kincaid was one of the riverboat casino’s primary owners.

Kincaid was another of Ashland’s underworld sharks, just like Mab Monroe was, with his own network of enforcers and heavy hitters. He was already on deck, a six-foot-tall man with a chest that looked as dense as concrete beneath his white tuxedo. His sandy blond hair was slicked back into a low ponytail, all the better to show off his chiseled cheekbones and striking blue eyes. I’d never had any dealings with Kincaid, but rumor had it that his father had been a dwarf, his mother a giant. Hence his solid physique. I didn’t know where he’d gotten the pretty face from, though. Didn’t much matter. I put Kincaid out of my mind, since he wasn’t my target tonight.

According to Finn’s sources, a formal sit-down dinner would be held later in the evening. Through the open doors that led inside the riverboat, I spotted waiters hurrying to and fro with glasses, silverware, floral centerpieces, and more in the dining room. The inside of the ship was hollow and ringed with balconies, so the folks on the fourth, fifth, and sixth decks could look all the way down to the third floor, where a stage had been erected for dinner shows. The lower two decks were enclosed. That’s where the kitchen was housed, along with the money cages. I knew because Finn and I had spent the past few hours going over the riverboat’s schematics, among other things.

Finn grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed one to me. "How do you want to play this?"

I took a sip of champagne. "Let’s split up. I want to take a stroll around the deck, see what the security is like in person, and find a cozy spot where Elliot Slater and I can chat privately later on tonight. You keep an eye out for Roslyn and the giant. Call me when you spot them."

"Okay," Finn said. "I’ll be around if you need me."

We broke apart. I sipped champagne and meandered through the gaming tables and small cliques of self-important people clustered together on the deck. The trophy wives, debutantes, and rich divorcees stood tall and resplendent in their jewel-colored designer dresses, peacocks preening for the penguin-suited men in attendance. And practically everyone-male and female-wore some small bauble that weighed in at several carats, whether it was a diamond choker or a ruby cufflink slyly winking from the end of a tuxedo sleeve. My Stone magic let me hear the gemstones’ proud whispers of their beauty, elegance, and fire, as vain and boastful as the people wearing them.

I shut the sound of the gemstones out of my mind and focused on the security detail for the evening. Several giants wearing dark suits roamed through the crowd, as was to be expected at one of these things. Several more stood with their arms crossed over their chests, keeping an eye on the players at the higher-end gaming tables. I counted five on this deck alone, and I knew that at least a few more would be patrolling the other levels and the interior of the riverboat, watching out for drunks and other potential problems. Each of the giants wore a large pin in the middle of his long tie that marked him as part of the security staff. The gold pins were shaped like the casino’s rune-a dollar sign superimposed over an outline of the riverboat. Classy.

The amount of security was troublesome but not surprising. The Delta Queen was a casino, after all, and there were lots of whales here tonight with cash to lose.

Including Owen Grayson.

The businessman sat at a table at the very tip of the boat playing poker with a couple of other high rollers. Instead of the plastic red, white, and blue chips some of the other gamblers were using, stacks of solid gold chips sat in front of each player, marking their value as hundred thousand dollar tokens. Given the stakes they were playing for, a crowd had formed around the table. I edged my way close enough to get a good view of the action.

Like every man in attendance, Owen Grayson had dressed up for the evening in a tuxedo, but his choice of navy fabric made his eyes seem more blue than violet. Even though he was sitting down, I was once again struck by how compact, sturdy, and strong Owen’s frame was. His violet eyes glittered in his face, even as his blue-black hair disappeared into the shadows cast by the lights wrapped around the railing behind him. The scar under Owen’s lips was a thin white line, but it wasn’t unappealing. If anything, it added more character to his features. Hard and tough and sexy, that’s how he looked to me.

I wasn’t the only woman studying him. Several regarded Owen with open, predatory interest, mentally weighing his figure and pocketbook against the other gentlemen to determine who was most worthy of their attention this evening. But evidently the others found him as appealing as I did, because none of them made a move to leave or go trolling past the other tables for more potential victims.

The dealer shuffled a fresh hand, and Owen used the lull in the action to scan the crowd around him. He stopped when he spotted me. Owen’s violet eyes trailed down my body, one slow inch at a time. Breasts, stomach, thighs, legs. He took it all in. A smile spread across his face, softening his hard features. I gave him a cool nod, acknowledging his approval of my dress. Owen’s smile widened, and he tipped his head in return.

"Sir?" the dealer asked Owen.