Hit: A Thriller (The Codename: Chandler) by J.A. Konrath, Jack Kilborn, Ann Voss Peterson Read Free Book Online

In the particular story Heath mentioned, two cheaters play twenty-one, which was one of the first historical mentions of the card game.
    That a Mexican bodyguard knew this intrigued me. But a Chicago hooker wouldn’t know it, so I didn’t say anything.
    “In or out?” I asked.
    Part of me was hoping he’d balk.
    Another part of me was hoping he’d go for it.
    “ Sí , yes, we play blackjack. But if I win, that better be one heck of a kiss, bonita .”
    He let me cut the cards, then dealt. Two cards each. Both of mine face up, only one of his face up.
    I had an eight and a king. Eighteen. The goal was to beat the dealer, by getting as close to twenty-one as possible without going over. The trick was trying to guess what the dealer had, since the player could only see one of his cards. If the player thought the dealer had a better hand, she could ask for another card.
    Although the dealer had a slight odds advantage, he also didn’t have any choices to make. He had to keep hitting until he totaled at least seventeen. Since face cards were worth ten points, and there were sixteen tens in a deck of fifty-two, it wasn’t too hard to guess what the dealer was holding in a single deck game.
    Especially since I knew how to count cards.
    Heath had a six showing. I stayed with my hand. He flipped over a jack, for a total of sixteen, and had to take a hit according to the rules. He gave himself a seven. Twenty-three. Bust.
    A hundred bucks for the mamacita .
    He dealt again. I got a king and an ace. Instant blackjack. He had two tens, and busted with a five.
    Two hundred dollars.
    “I do not like this game.”
    “Would you prefer I deal?”
    Heath demurred, dealing again. This time he gave me a six and an eight, and he had a queen showing.
    Fourteen wasn’t the best hand. But there were thirty-eight cards left in the deck, and only nine or ten of those were tens. Chances were pretty good that I’d draw a low card.
    I hit. Got a six. Heath flipped a jack. Tie.
    “What do we do for draws?” he said. “I can kiss your neck for fifty dollars?”
    I shuddered, hoping I concealed it. The right guy kissing my neck made me weak-kneed.
    “It’s a wash, you deal again.”
    This time he dealt me an ace and a five. Aces could equal either one or eleven, meaning I had a six or a sixteen. Sixteen wasn’t a good hand, but with an ace the odds said I should take a hit.
    Heath, however, also had a six showing.
    I stayed. He turned over a queen, had to hit, and busted with a seven.
    Three hundred dollars.
    “I think it is time for a shuffle, no?” Heath said.
    I shrugged as if I didn’t care. But I watched his hands closely and caught the son of a bitch dealing from the bottom of the deck.
    He was good. Magician-level good. But I knew the same trick and spotted it instantly.
    This guy wants to kiss me so badly he’d cheat?
    I thought about calling him on it and played out the scenario in my mind. He could admit it, or claim innocence. No harm in either. But if he got angry, that could compromise my mission.
    I let it go.
    Heath dealt me a twenty and gave himself twenty-one.
    “I am out a lot of money, Simone. Make this good.”
    “How about I give you a hundred dollars back instead?”
    I held out one of the hundreds he’d passed to me. His move was snake-quick, so fast he startled me.
    In one fluid motion he snatched my wrist and pulled me around the small airplane table and into his lap. I had my hand on my inner thigh, where I’d replaced the AmEx knife while dressing in the schoolgirl outfit, and I was ready to use it, but Heath’s eyes weren’t angry or threatening.
    Jesus. He looks like a lovesick Pepe le Pew.
    “You have earned your money, bonita . I will not take that from you. But I will take this.”
    He brought his lips to mine, barely brushing them, close enough for me to feel his breath. One arm had found its way around my waist, and the other lightly brushed my knee. I could smell the tequila on him, a lingering