Page 19 of Secrets in the Dark

My heart stuttered. "I—"

She waved away my panic. "Relax. Your background doesn't concern me. Everyone in Vegas is reinventing themselves. Some just have better reasons than others." She straightened my corset with crisp efficiency. "But I sense you're running from something. Someone. Am I wrong?"

I considered lying, then realized the futility. "No."

"I thought so. The way you check exits, catalog faces, startle at sudden movements—classic prey behavior." She met my eyes again. "Listen carefully: my theater is sovereign territory. Whatever's chasing you stops at my stage door. Understand?"

"It's complicated," I managed.

"It always is." Her hand squeezed my shoulder briefly. "Just remember—quick release, flash powder, trapdoors. I've built escape routes into every aspect of the performance. Use them if needed."

Before I could respond, a stagehand called for Val's presence on set. She swept out in a billow of scarlet cape, leaving me staring at my corseted reflection, wondering how many other people had seen through my flimsy disguise.

The employee cafeteria buzzed with the controlled chaos of mid-shift breaks—dealers counting their morning tips, housekeeping staff grabbing quick meals before tackling the next block of rooms, entertainment personnel in various states of costume and makeup.

I navigated the crowd carefully, tray balanced in one hand. Finding an empty table in the back corner, I settled in with my salad and coffee, using lunch as an opportunity to observe without being observed. After Val's revelations about her stalker, my own paranoia had intensified. Was my pursuer here among the casino staff? Someone I passed daily without recognition?

"Mind if I join you?"

Roman King stood beside my table, his own lunch tray in hand—a sandwich and black coffee. Up close, in the harshfluorescent lighting of the cafeteria, he looked tired. Faint shadows beneath his eyes suggested the same sleepless night I'd experienced.

"Free country," I replied, gesturing to the empty chair across from me.

He sat with fluid grace that belied his exhaustion. "Busy morning?"

"Corset training. Apparently, I need to master the art of breathing without actually breathing."

A half-smile curved his mouth. "The illusion of impossibility. Val's specialty."

"Among other things." I studied him over my coffee cup. "You look like you could use a second dose of caffeine."

"Occupational hazard. High-limit room ran late."

I nodded, not believing him for a second. Whatever had kept Roman awake, it hadn't been overtime at the poker tables. The same vigilance I'd noticed before radiated from him—a coiled readiness beneath his casual demeanor.

"Want to see something?" he asked suddenly.

"Depends what it is."

He reached into his pocket, extracting a deck of cards still in its sealed wrapper. "Dealer's privilege. Always have a fresh deck."

I arched an eyebrow. "Planning to teach the magician's assistant card tricks?"

"Something like that." He broke the seal, shuffling the cards with hypnotic precision. His hands moved with mesmerizing fluidity, the cards dancing between his fingers.

I'd seen professional dealers before, but Roman's handling went beyond technical skill. There was artistry inhis movements, an effortless command that suggested years of practice beyond mere casino work.

"Pick a card," he said, fanning the deck face down.

"Seriously? That's the oldest trick in the book."

His amber eyes glinted with challenge. "Humor me."

I drew a card—the queen of hearts—and examined it without revealing it to him.

"Now place it anywhere in the deck." He held the stack toward me.

I slid the card into the middle of the deck, watching him closely for sleight-of-hand techniques. He shuffled again, his movements too quick to track.

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