At first glance, it hadn’t seemed all that strange. But as he dug further, working through the cash flow with their analysts, he’d seen a subtle but strange pattern of medium to large scores that were out of proportion to the rest of the year. When he’d reviewed the year’s prior books and found a similar, smaller pattern of losses on the machines, he only grew more suspicious.
All of which had led him to pull video surveillance on the days where unusually high payouts had occurred. There were dozens, and it had taken him days to go through them, even with his keen eye and heightened perception. Eventually, he’d sensed a pattern that couldn’t yet be confirmed, but that he felt in his gut.
The same person was responsible for at least half a dozen of the wins. Maybe more.
Granted, she looked totally different each time. Sometimes she was taller, sometimes short. One day she was plump, two weeks later, as trim as a gymnast. Young, old, gray-haired and then platinum blonde. He even suspected she’d come in once or twice disguised as a man.
The only thing that never changed was the fact that she was at least part Asian. There were literally millions of Asian people who came through the Gold Mine every year, so before he voiced his theory to Slater or the rest of his team and made a fool of himself, Cain wanted to be sure.
No one could disguise themselves that well without plastic surgery. Or without years of practice and execution.
But Cain had persisted, ordering the security teams at each casino to funnel video directly to him if there were any unusual scores. He’d even quietly checked with associates working for some of Slater’s competitors on the Strip. No one else was seeing the repeated, apparently targeted, hits on their houses.
Which meant this mystery woman either had a beef with the boss or didn’t have enough sense to realize the kind of trouble she was courting.
And from the looks of her—from the near surgical precision with which she disguised herself and the stealth with which she’d made off with easily a couple hundred thousand dollars over time—she wasn’t lacking in the brains department. Nor balls.
So, that put him back to the only plausible motive.
For some reason, she had it out for Leo Slater.
And that meant, smart or not, she wasn’t likely long for this world.
If Slater’d had his way the night before last, the woman would already be dead. She’d almost gone undetected, garbed in a hoodie and loose sweats, looking like any one of the many skater boys and other assorted punks who walked around the Strip with pants halfway down their asses and unkempt hair hanging into their faces. But then she’d hit a winning number on the slots—almost as if she couldn’t help herself from trying another score. She’d evidently enlisted another gambler to collect her winnings for her, but by then it was already too late.
One of the pit bosses fingered her to some of Slater’s meatheads on the floor and the word came down from the executive office to teach the little cheat a lesson. Cain had been pissed as hell to learn the boss had turned the girl over to Gordo and his two cohorts without bringing Cain in on the decision.
If Slater had known about the bread crumb trail Cain was chasing, no doubt he’d have been the first person called to deal with the situation. After all, the chief qualification on Cain’s resume had been the sixteen years he’d spent as an assassin in the infamous Hunter program.
He’d expected his covert investigation of the mysterious thief to end abruptly the other night, but all he had was more questions. Especially after Gordo’s company vehicle had been recovered three miles off the desert road with no trace of the girl or any of the three men sent to kill her in cold blood.
And then, there she was again last night.
Back at Moda, garbed in yet another clever disguise. At least, for a little while.
Cain played back the surveillance video from the casino’s eye in the sky, fast-forwarding to the point where the crone with the humped shoulders made a beeline for the ladies’ room and never came out again.
He knew that wasn’t quite right. She had come out, but she’d ditched her prosthetics and costume and had apparently decided to hide in plain sight.
Cain didn’t have to look far to find her.
He ran the feed captured near the Monte Carlo Fortune Bonanza machine, and there she was.
Damn, she a knockout too.
Petite, shoulder-length black hair, and a gorgeous face that looked as innocent as it was enticing. He knew she wasn’t innocent, certainly not where Moda was concerned, but she hadn’t done anything wrong last night either. He’d watched the video over and over last night and this morning, finding no reason to suspect her of anything more questionable than arriving at the casino in stage makeup and a disguise.
As for the big jackpot, that million-and-some-change had gone home with the man seated next to her, a single twenty-something paraplegic who’d wept tears of elation for nearly twenty minutes as casino management walked him through the paperwork and tax forms that preceded the presentation of his big check.
And still, Cain couldn’t look away from his screen.
It didn’t help that he kept circling back to the fact that Moda had another unusual guest last night. None other than a fellow former Hunter.
Asher.
He paused and flipped through the rest of the night’s feed until he landed on the one captured from the other side of the casino, near the entrance. There was no disguising that massive bastard. He moved through the crowd with determined strides. A man on a mission.
No. Correction: A Hunter in search of his quarry.
