Lucky Stiff by Annelise Ryan Read Free Book Online

Each of us leans into the other, but we stop shy of touching. For a few seconds, I can imagine how life might be if things were different—if Hurley and I could pursue our mutual attraction. But things aren’t different. They are what they are, and Hurley and I have already discussed this.
    I turn away first; and as I do so, Hurley lets forth with a long, deep sigh. “Tell you what,” he says. “Why don’t we split the winnings fifty-fifty, giving credit to both my money and your luck?”
    “Okay, that sounds fair.”
    “Good. Let’s go cash out so we can get back to business.” He leans in close and finally drops his voice. “Don’t forget why we’re here. There might be a ruthless, conniving killer lurking in the wings.”
    I have to give Hurley credit; he sure knows how to sober up a moment.
     
     
    Forty minutes later, Hurley and I are both $250 richer and we’re standing off to one side of the cashier’s area, waiting for the casino manager. It’s been over half an hour since the manager was summoned; I’m starting to wonder if we’re being purposely ignored.
    I watch the gamblers closest to us, thinking how much fun it would be to play some more with my winnings. A blackjack table off to my right has two players and a couple of empty seats. Both players have a nice assortment of chip stacks in front of them. I’m about to tell Hurley that I’m going to take one of the empty chairs, when a tall, dark-haired man, who looks to be in his midthirties, approaches us. Judging from his jet-black hair, dark skin, and high cheekbones, I suspect he is Native American. He is my height and a little on the chunky side, though I wouldn’t go so far as to call him fat. The word “sturdy” comes to mind.
    “Are you the folks from Sorenson?” he asks.
    Hurley nods and offers a hand. “I’m Detective Steve Hurley, with the Sorenson PD, and this is Mattie Winston, a deputy coroner with the Sorenson ME’s office.”
    “Actually, the title is now medicolegal death investigator,” I say.
    The man shakes Hurley’s hand. “I’m Joe Whitehorse, an investigator with the Indian Gaming Commission. Carl Sutherland, the casino manager, is unavailable this evening and he has asked if I would step in to see what you need.” His voice is deep and very masculine, bordering on Barry White territory. He lets go of Hurley’s hand and reaches for mine. As we shake, he does a quick head-to-toe assessment before his gaze settles on my face. His brown eyes are so dark that they appear black, and I detect a hint of mischievousness in their inky depths. When he smiles, two adorable dimples appear, one on each cheek. I feel an instant sizzle of sexual tension as he squeezes my hand, and our handshake lasts a second or two longer than necessary.
    I glance over at Hurley and see that he’s scowling. At first, I think he might be jealous, but his next words quickly dispel that impression.
    “If the manager is unavailable, why didn’t the cashiers tell us that when we asked to see him?”
    Joe Whitehorse shrugs and flashes those deep dimples in a tolerant smile. “I suspect the employee you spoke to didn’t know,” he says.
    “And I suspect it’s more likely the manager doesn’t consider us worthy of his time,” Hurley counters. “Would it make a difference if I told you we are here to investigate the murder of one of your recent big winners, and that robbery appears to be the motive?”
    Joe’s smile fades faster than a picture drawn on water. “Who is the victim?” he asks.
    “A man by the name of Jack Allen. I understand he won around five hundred grand here, a couple months back.”
    Joe’s brow furrows a moment. “Yes, I believe I remember him,” he says. “He’s confined to a wheelchair, right?” Hurley and I both nod. “If memory serves, he won the jackpot on a progressive slot. But why would you suspect any of the casino employees? He won that money a few months ago, so surely his winnings were banked