Death On the Flop Read Online Free PDF

equally otherworldly neighbor. Flanked by Luxor’s life-size pyramid, complete with Pharaoh head on the south end and the world’s tallest observation tower of the 113-floor Stratosphere on the north end and everything from palaces to treasure islands to genie’s lairs to medieval monstrosities in between, The Vegas Strip was truly an awesome grown-up playground, even for someone like me, for whom playing is uncomfortable at best.
    “You can say it, sis.” Ben jostled me with his shoulder. “I can see the ‘wow’ in your eyes.”
    “‘Wow’ doesn’t cover it.” I admitted with a slight headshake.
    Ben danced around me for a minute, then started to explain the three day poker tournament he’d be playing in at the newest hotel on The Strip, the Lanai. It involved about two thousand people, starting with two hundred tables of eight amateurs and one pro on each table. It was an elimination tournament and the final round would be televised live by ESPN. Steely Stan, Ben’s apparent self-proclaimed nemesis, would play in the final two rounds. The first round was two days away, starting at seven in the evening so even after it began, we had all the daytime hours for more fun and games.
    “Yippee,” I said with zero enthusiasm.
    “Mark my words, Bee Bee, you are going to have the time of your life here.” Ben flashed a grin that stopped foot traffic on the sidewalk. A roly-poly man poked his wife in the back when she paused to give Ben a second glance. A pair of coeds in ragged denim miniskirts and fur-topped Uggs giggled and whispered to each other. Ben winked.
    “We’re going to play blackjack at Caesars,” they called out before sashaying off with as much sway as their size zero hips would give them.
    “See you there,” Ben called back, adding pointedly, “After my sister and I check in at the Lanai, where I am playing in a Hold ’Em tournament. Look me up.”
    They giggled again and fluttered their fingers in a wave. The redhead bent her knee, flipping her furry suede boot up coquettishly. Sexy.
    “Think they come as a pair?” I asked, feeling like the sour old maid that I was.
    “Maybe, but I like to hold out for three of a kind,” Ben said, waggling his eyebrows.
    I shook my head. “Don’t tell me you are going to make sad poker-themed sex jokes this whole trip.”
    “You caught the poker reference!” He yanked my hair out of its bun.
    I shoved Ben out of reach, shaking the hair out of my eyes. “I’m not a total idiot.”
    “Says who?” Ben threw back.
    I felt a hand close on my right elbow, drawing me off the sidewalk and behind one of the manicured bushes on the grounds of the Bellagio. A hand that dragged conveniently across my rear end. A smooth voice sounded behind me. “You know, you don’t have to stand for that kind of abuse, you are too beautiful a woman.”
    I swung out of the stranger’s grasp and faced a staid silver-haired man. “Huh?”
    “I couldn’t stand by and watch this gentleman treat you so despicably,” he gave a half bow. I could see Ben out of the corner of my eye. He’d retrieved my suitcase, and was now rocking back on the heels of his black snakeskin Luccheses, grinning. Big help he was.
    “Uh, this is no gentleman,” I began.
    “Indeed!” the stranger interjected with a glare at Ben, who just grinned wider.
    “I mean, he’s my brother.”
    “Really?” The man raised his plucked eyebrows slowly, his contact enhanced blue eyes taking on a shiny cast. He was well dressed, in Bruno Magli loafers, an Armani sweater and a Loro Piana cashmere coat I knew cost several thousand dollars because we’d featured one like it in an ad for an exclusive men’s wear store back home. Ack. He was walking around wearing more than my bank account. “So he is your brother,” he said smoothly in his accentless voice.
    I looked for a hearing aid behind his well cut if longish hair. I spoke slowly, articulating clearly, “Yes, he is my brother. Same mother, father,