Endless rows of elaborate chandeliers that might have been designed for a Hollywood movie set cast their flattering light on everything from Bermuda shorts to tuxedoes. The continuous metallic clang of slot machines provided a background noise that somehow complemented the intensity around the card tables. It was nearly midnight and the casino was in full swing.
Gideon had arrived on the seven-fifteen flight from Tucson and had checked into the same towering hotel on the Strip where he always stayed. Then he had dressed in the dark evening jacket and slacks and the crisp white shirt he always wore at night in Vegas. Habit. The word was still haunting him, just as the memory of Hannah’s deck of cards haunted him.
It was time to give the tables a break. Deprived of his normal concentration, his luck had become far too erratic tonight. Something else was missing, too. The small shot of adrenaline he usually got when he put money on the line didn’t seem to be taking hold this evening. He could only hope that Hannah Jessett hadn’t ruined Vegas for him. Gideon headed for the bar that overlooked the gambling floor. Maybe another kind of mood elevator would prove more helpful.
The twelve-year-old Scotch produced by a pretty woman wearing a very small, sequined tutu did something, but fifteen minutes later Gideon wasn’t certain exactly what had been accomplished. The ambivalence was new. He didn’t like it.
Vegas had always been the flip side of his daily life, the alternative version of the war he waged in the business world. It was supposed to offer more of an element of unpredictability as Hannah had guessed, but somehow the yearly visits had become as predictable as the results of a corporate raid. She had been right. It wasn’t that he always won here; it was that he always came away with the same fleeting sense of excitement from the action.
Almost always. Tonight he wasn’t even getting that much out of it, and the knowledge was beginning to eat at him. It was more than just the gambling that wasn’t working right lately, it was his whole life. For the first time in a long while he wondered what would have happened if he’d taken a different path nine years ago.
There had been other things in his life then. The cartography had been important. There was a woman who had been important. There had been a sense of adventure about the future, a feeling that he was making progress. Tonight he could see only a flat, endless road stretching before him; his business and his yearly visits to Las Vegas were the only destinations. Neither seemed able to draw any spark of enthusiasm or optimism from him this evening.
A little guidance counseling was a dangerous thing, Gideon decided.
He took his time with the Scotch, seeking the sensual pleasure he knew he should be getting from twelve-year old liquor. But it seemed as elusive as the card-playing adrenaline. He wondered how much of a lesson Hannah Jessett had really learned from him. Gideon was contemplating that in great detail when he finally decided that the nagging feeling of being watched could no longer be ignored. Idly he leaned back in his chair and let his eyes sweep the crowd in the bar.
When he saw Hugh Ballantine lounging on a stool no more than fifteen feet away, Gideon acknowledged that there were some serious drawbacks to being a creature of habit. Ballantine’s familiar blue eyes met his and the younger man smiled. The smile was vaguely familiar, too. So was the red hair. Hugh Ballantine was the reincarnation of his father.
Gideon lifted his glass half an inch in response and waited. Slowly, as though there were all the time in the world, Ballantine came down off the stool and started forward. He was very cool, very controlled, an element of caution in his riveting blue gaze. Gideon recognized the manner. He hadn’t forgotten the feel of discovering the sense of power brought on by the first big hunt. A wise man respected that power and was wary of it. A fool rushed headlong into the euphoric fog and ended up at the bottom of a cliff. Ballantine was not a fool.
Gideon spoke first, deciding to spare Hugh the necessity of finding a brilliant opening line. Finding those lines was a strain at times when you were thirty years old.
“An acquaintance of mine warned me that I was becoming a creature of habit. You’ve just proven her point. Does everyone in the whole world know when I head for Vegas?”
Ballantine shrugged and sat down on the other side of the small, round table. “Anyone who wants to know. You come here a couple of times each summer. It wasn’t hard to find out which hotel you favor, either.”
“You find my lifestyle so fascinating?”
Hugh leaned his elbows on the table, his drink planted squarely in front of him. He smiled again. Gideon studied the feral expression and thought about how frequently he, himself, used it. It could be extremely intimidating to a potential victim. No one found it comfortable to look at a grinning shark, not even another shark.
“I find everything you think, say, or do fascinating, Mr. Cage. I’m sure you know the feeling.”
“Admiration from the younger generation is always gratifying.” Gideon tried some more of the Scotch. “Are you going to start following me around like a lost puppy?”
Ballantine shook his head. “I’m here tonight only because I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes. Alone. I would like you to know what I’m doing.”
It was Gideon’s turn to smile. “You don’t have to spell it out,” he said gently. “I know exactly what you’re doing. Do you think you can pull it off?”
The brilliant blue eyes flared for an instant the way a predator’s gaze flickers before the final leap. “I’m more interested in finding out if you think I can do it.”
Gideon gave him a considering glance. “It depends.”
“On what?” Ballantine was genuinely curious. A smart younger shark was always willing to learn.
“On how badly you want to win,” Gideon said.
“I want to win, Cage. I want it very badly.” Absolute conviction underlined every word. “I’m going to crush you.”
“Practice the melodrama while you shave, not in front of the opposition.”
Ballantine regarded him with interest. “That’s a tip?”
“I took a guidance counselor to dinner a couple of weeks ago. She was fond of handing out tips. Thought I’d try it myself. It makes for light, casual conversation, don’t you think? Especially when you know the other person probably won’t act on it.”
“You underestimate me, Gideon. I’m more than happy to learn from you. In fact, I want to pull this off in a style that will bring back some memories for you. I’d like you to be aware of all the subtle similarities between what’s going to happen this year and what happened nine years ago.”
“I’m sure your father would be proud,” Gideon murmured.
“Yes.” Ballantine waited for a heartbeat. “Too bad he isn’t around to appreciate the final results.”
Gideon read the fierce accusation in the other man’s face and sighed. “Believe it or not, I’m sorry he isn’t around, too.”
“The hell you are.”
“I didn’t kill him, Hugh.”
“You killed him. As surely as if you’d slit his throat.” Ballantine stood up.
Gideon watched him. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m beginning to think he’s had his revenge?”
“Bullshit.”
Gideon smiled thinly and swirled the Scotch in his glass. “Somehow I thought you’d see it that way.”
Ballantine stared down at the table, following the movement of the amber liquid in the glass for a few seconds as if mildly fascinated by it. “I just wanted you to know. I wanted to tell you in person.”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
Ballantine nodded abruptly. “I can see that now. You already know what I’m doing and why.”
“You’re Cyrus Ballantine’s son,” Gideon said. “I knew him better than I’ve ever known any other man. Therefore I know you. That’s your biggest single disadvantage, Hugh.”
“Because you think you’ll be able to predict my actions? No, Cage. It may well turn out to be my ace in the hole. I’m not just a copy of my
father, but if you believe I am then you’ll make some interesting mistakes.” He turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Gideon sat for a long time at the table. He finished the Scotch and ordered another. Halfway through the third one he decided to make a phone call.
Steve Decker was half asleep when he came on the line. Gideon almost envied him for a moment. Decker’s wife, a warm, happy woman who was utterly devoted to her husband, was probably waiting impatiently in bed. She would undoubtedly have a few choice words to say about her husband’s boss, who thought he could call at any hour of the day or night. Angie Decker was very protective of her spouse. It might be interesting, Gideon thought, to have a woman feel that protective about him.
“I’m sorry to get you out of bed, Steve, but I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to call in the morning and I didn’t want anyone trying to leave a message for me here at the hotel tomorrow. You know how Mary Ann panics if she can’t find me when she wants me.”
Steve’s agile brain leaped to the most important question. “Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d go on up to Washington.”
“Washington! But that Maryland project is under control. Why on earth do you want to go there?”
“State of, not D.C.”
“Seattle? You’re heading for Seattle? But why?”
“Thought I’d tie up a few loose ends with Accelerated Design.”
Decker sounded utterly bewildered. “But, Gideon, there are no loose ends. There never are any loose ends!”
“I’m not so sure,” Gideon said, trying to sound appropriately shrewd and businesslike.
“Well, I am. I put through the last of the paperwork yesterday. Gideon, you’re supposed to be in Vegas for a week. You always go to Vegas for a week at this time of year!”
“Does it strike you, Steve, that I have become somewhat predictable?”
“Good God! Is that what this is all about? Are you worried about becoming predictable?” Decker’s tone carried the profound shock of a man who values above all the comforts of a predictable life.
Maybe he’d value them, too, Gideon thought, if he were getting the comforts. All he seemed to have acquired from predictability was a sense of weariness. He almost wished he could relive the rush of emotion that he knew Ballantine was feeling tonight. “Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this tonight. I just wanted someone to know that I’d left Vegas so no one would get overly excited tomorrow when he or she couldn’t reach me. I’ll check in with you in a day or two. In the meantime, hold the fort for me.”
“But, Gideon…”
“There’s one more thing, Steve.”
“What’s that?” Decker asked warily.
“I need the address of Nick Jessett’s sister. The woman with the cane.”
There was a long silence. “You need it tonight?”
“I’m afraid so,” Gideon said apologetically. Angie was going to be furious.
Decker let out his breath in an unheard oath. “I’ll have it for you in an hour.”
“Thanks, Steve.” As politely as he could, Gideon hung up in his assistant’s ear. Then he started dialing airlines.
Back in Tucson, Angie Decker sat up in bed, frowning. “That was Cage?”
Decker finished replacing the receiver and nodded. He yawned as he ran a hand through his thinning hair. “That was Cage.”
“Is something wrong?” Angie was willing to hold her fire until she determined whether or not the phone call had been generated out of a real emergency.
“Not unless you consider Gideon Cage going crazy as something wrong,” Steve said thoughtfully.
To his surprise Angie didn’t explode. “Actually,” she said calmly, “it’s a rather interesting idea.”
HANNAH WAS STRUGGLING with the cane, her tote, an umbrella, and a bag of groceries as she approached her front door the next morning. A familiar morning drizzle had made the walk to the grocery store more of an event than usual. The cane tended to slip a bit on wet surfaces, and it had been impossible to keep the umbrella properly positioned while she carried the bag. In the end she had abandoned the rain protection in favor of concentrating on her footing. As a result her hair was damp and turning frizzy.
She was debating about the wisdom of trying for the mail on top of everything else, when she stepped into the apartment building entranceway and saw Gideon Cage lounging on the bottom step. He got to his feet at once.
Hannah said the first words that came into her head. “People in this building are getting far too casual about security. Who let you inside the gate?”
“A very nice man who looked like James Dean. He and his boyfriend said they were your neighbors.”
“What are you doing here, Gideon?”
“Would you believe me if I said I came by for a little counseling?” He smiled at her as he reached out to take the sack of groceries but there was a strange wariness in his eyes.
Hannah brushed aside his dry question. She looked at him searchingly. “My brother said it was all over. He said you were out of the picture.”
“There are a few minor loose ends,” Gideon began carefully.
“I don’t believe you. Have you changed your mind? Decided to try to take over the company after all?”
“If I said yes would you offer me another game of cards?”
“I can’t make the offer, can I? You stole my deck.” She realized that she was following him up the stairs to her apartment. There wasn’t much else she could do. He had her groceries.
“I didn’t steal the cards. I kept them as a souvenir.” He paused outside her door, waiting for her to fish out the key. “Do you always dress as if you’re heading out on safari?”
She chose to ignore the question. “Gideon, tell me what this is all about. I’m busy getting ready for my trip to the Caribbean. I don’t have time for playing games with you.” She shoved the key in the lock and twisted it with a vengeance.
“I don’t need any more games. I’ve been trying to play them in Las Vegas for the past twenty-four hours. No fun.” He unzipped the lightweight windbreaker that was all the protection he had against the rain.
“My heart would bleed for you except that I’m kind of busy at the moment.” She dropped the leather and linen tote bag and sank down wearily into the nearest cushioned rattan chair.
“The leg still hurts?” Gideon put the groceries in the kitchen and came to stand in the doorway.
“Occasionally it hurts like hell.”
“Is now one of the occasions?” he asked.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Gideon. You don’t waste any false sympathy on me and I won’t waste any on you, okay?” She closed her eyes and reached down to lightly massage the knee through the fabric of her olive green bush pants. She shouldn’t have tried walking to the store this morning. It was about one block too far for comfort. Now her leg would ache for a good hour.
She didn’t hear Gideon cross the room but the instant his fingers settled in the vicinity of her knee she stiffened. Without opening her eyes, she said very evenly, “Touch that leg and you’re a dead man.”
He pulled away. “I get the feeling you mean that.”
Hannah looked up at him from under half-closed lids. “The last person who tried to do me the favor of massaging my knee had a Ph.D. and she nearly killed me. Your qualifications aren’t nearly as impressive. No telling what might happen if I let you try your hand at massage. I might never walk again.”
“You don’t trust me.” It was a statement, not a question.
“About as much as I’d trust a junkyard dog,” she agreed cheerfully. Hannah watched as he moved across the room to examine her bookcase. “What are you doing here, Gideon?”
“I’m not sure.” He reached up and pulled down a copy of The Amazons of Revelation Island. “But if we’re going to talk trust, it seems to me I’m the one who should be cautious.” He glanced up from reading the inscription on the flyleaf of the book. It was to Hannah from her aunt
.
Hannah had memorized the inscription long ago. It read: “To Hannah with a reminder that we must sometimes shape our own reality.” She met Gideon’s eyes. “If you’re here to complain about the fact that I rigged the cards the night I invited you to draw for the shares, forget it. The game was irrelevant, anyway, wasn’t it?”
“No sense of shame at all?” he mocked, closing the book and replacing it on the shelf.
“None, I’m afraid. I had my priorities that night. My honor as a gambler wasn’t high on the list.”
“Way behind your brother’s best interests.” He nodded. “I can understand that.” Gideon took the large, fan-back wicker chair across from her, his mouth curving briefly in amusement as he dodged a huge fern that hung from the ceiling. He looked around at the rest of the furnishings.
“Gideon, for the last time, why are you here?”
“I flew in from Vegas early this morning.”
“Oh, yes. The second trip of the summer.”
“How well you know me,” he murmured.
She rubbed her knee. “You always go to Vegas at this time of year.”
“I know,” he sighed.
“So why did you leave the bright lights of the Strip for the drizzle of Seattle?”
He leaned his head back against the fanned back of his chair. “I’m still not sure. I think it has something to do with getting a firsthand look at history repeating itself.”
Hannah sensed the odd weariness in him and frowned. “Gideon…”
“Could I have a cup of coffee? I didn’t get much sleep.”
She gritted her teeth briefly. “Help yourself.”
He uncoiled from the chair and disappeared into her small kitchen. Hannah listened to him opening cupboard doors and filling the kettle. He was going to make instant. At least he wasn’t complaining, as her brother did, that she didn’t own an espresso machine or keep unground coffee beans safely stored in the freezer to maintain their flavor. When he came back into the room a few minutes later Gideon carried two cups. He set one down beside Hannah, who had to bite off the automatic thank you.
“All right. Tell me about history repeating itself,” she invited as ungraciously as possible.