As it was, he was asleep ten minutes later, gently snoring. The four Nembutal Carol had mixed in his coffee knocked him out for the next few hours. Carol unlocked the side door to the warehouse. She watched in nervous silence as Jack removed three large cardboard cases from the trunk of his Ford. He lugged them, one by one, into the warehouse and onto the shipping desk. She helped him unload the decks of cards, each wrapped and sealed like a fresh deck. She knew better than to ask questions, especially when she already knew the answers. They were duplicates of cards used by the Green Wheel in Reno, a steady custom of Apex. They were marked, probably with very subtle marks almost impossible to detect. It would be a simple matter to get a shrink-wrap machine to seal the cards, but she couldn't guess where he'd originally gotten them. And she didn't dare ask.
Next she helped him unload the three cartons of cards ready for shipping to the Green Wheel tomorrow, which he put in his original boxes. Together, still in silence with their breathing rasping loudly in the huge warehouse, they filled up the original shipping cartons with Jack's decks. Then he watched her tensely as she worked the Apex sealing machine on the cartons. He lugged them back to their original position near the shipping desk.
"They'll go out early in the morning," she said in a low voice. Tears filled her eyes when she realized she wouldn't see him for two whole weeks. She suddenly hugged him desperately.
"Don't do it, Jack, please!" she begged. Gently but firmly he disengaged her arms, his eyes icy with purpose.
"I gotta go," he said. "Wait for me, Carol. I'll send for you, but wait for me! Understand?"
She wiped her cheeks and nodded eagerly. "I'll wait, Jack, I swear I will. Be careful, please be careful!"
He grinned his easy charming grin and she watched him lug the original decks of cards to the trunk of his car. When he was in the driver's seat, she poked her head in the window and kissed him furiously and with all her passion.
"I love you so much I'm almost crazy with it," she murmured.
"Wait or me," he said and then his Ford swiftly pulled away. Through the haze in her eyes, Carol Shaw watched her handsome thrilling lover disappear into the night, watched the bright red taillights recede and vanish.
Wait for me, he'd said. She stared into the night, a sudden breeze billowing her long blonde hair, drying the tears on her cheeks. His words began to burn themselves into her mind, etch themselves into her brain like trails of acid.
Wait for me.
She would fall asleep with those words on her lips every night like a prayer, wake to them every morning, chanting them in her mind, echoing them in her loneliness.
It was those three words which would guide her to her destiny, to her vengeance – a beautiful, icy, everlasting vengeance – and she felt curiously pure and like an angel a she stood in the night, whispering, "Wait for me."
CHAPTER THREE
She huddled in the far corner of the front seat as Lane sped his Caddy through the quiet expensive suburb of Reno. Lane glanced at her, the erection in his pants a fierce constant ache now, prodded by anticipation of the bizarre adventures coming in the next few hours.
The blackjack dealer's name was Shawn and she was still trembling with fright. She was only twenty-two, with a wealth of honey-colored hair, lustrous green eyes and a softly curved body that Lane knew would drive his wife insane – although she had a head start in that direction anyway. Her boyfriend, she'd told Lane in a trembling voice after he'd shown her the developed film of her cheating had told her it would be as easy as shooting clay pigeons, that they would knock off at least two thousand a night for a straight week before it got risky.
When Lane had heard that, he'd arranged to have the boyfriend put in the hospital for a few weeks, instead of a gentle slapping around. He'd see how easy it was next time, with a few broken ribs, an arm or two in splints and a very sore ass from brutal kicking. Besides, the dealer was so young and sexy he wanted the boyfriend out of the way for a while in case Vera really liked her.
Shawn had been crying softly when he'd told her what could happen to her for fucking with the big boys' money. When he got done offering her the alternative, she was crying with relief instead. He knew what she really feared was having her smooth young looks marred by a beating, but she needn't have worried about that. She was a ripe honey from a small town in Utah, still naive about the intricate and treacherous world of gambling. She'd been conned by a fast talker into trying to take the house, that was all.
In fact, Lane had already decided to violate house policy and give her job back to her. With her boyfriend out of the way, and with Shawn scared shitless over her close call, he had her in a very tight spot and she knew it. By letting her keep her job, he'd have her on tap for quickies.
If, that is, she survived Vera's savage brand of sex tonight.
He wheeled the Caddy into the driveway of his house, and guided Shawn to the front door. He knew exactly what was going on in her simple mind. She was overwhelmed with relief, so grateful for not being subjected to pain and possible disfigurement that she was willing, eager in fact, to give him her hotly curved young body in return. To her, it would be a simple trade. By the time Lane's wife got done with her, she might wish she'd chosen the beating.
He brought her into the living room, and Vera came sauntering from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. When she saw Shawn she almost dropped the tray. Lane stared at his wife narrowly. Was the bitch sober? He decided she was – for the most part, anyway.
"Shawn, this is my wife, Vera," Lane said and the two women smiled at each other. Lane had already explained to Shawn that his wife swung both ways, but that she was young and gentle and sweet – which was the most outrageous lie of the century. But if you didn't know Vera, she'd give that impression at first.
Lane's wife was twenty-five, petite with a plumply curved body, short curly dark hair and enormous shining eyes. She was far from beautiful and just barely pretty, but she reeked with heat, her tawny skin glowing with hot sex, her huge eyes so hungry she could turn a man on in a single burning glance. She was a born nymphomaniac, a drunk, a switch-hitter, a vicious tease, and the hottest, most nerve-shattering suck and fuck of Lane's jaded life. He was twenty years older than she was, but he was still lean and hard and cold. He was about to have her thrown out of his casino one night because she was drunk and obnoxious, when just for the hell of it he decided to do a one night stand instead. That was three years ago. In that long night, she'd sparked his lust violently with her frenzied ripe mouth and magnificent little pussy, insisting, demanding he fuck her in the ass and tits, waking him up in thirty minutes for another fantastic blow-job, blowing his harsh, cynical mind along with his cock so thoroughly that Lane simply couldn't bear to go home and not find her waiting for him.
So he'd married her. He knew what he was in for, with her crazed drinking, her occasional disappearances for two or three days when she'd go out and suck and fuck everything in sight, male and female, and come home in tears, begging forgiveness like a naughty kid. He always took her back. He was a gambler, a pro, and he'd calculated the odds when he'd married her and decided it would be more than worth it.
Not only did Vera turn him on to the point of feverish excitement – everyone thought his blood was so cold it was quick-frozen, which it was except with Vera – she was pure wanton delight in action with another girl. She was like an obscene wind-up toy that never wound down. But Lane knew that with her drinking and her crazed streak of lust she wouldn't last another ten years. He'd figured that in the odds, too.