Sin City Collectors Boxed Set: Queen of Hearts, Dead Man's Hand, Double or Nothing Read online

  Sin City Collectors

  Box Set

  Queen of Hearts

  Dead Man’s Hand

  Double or Nothing

  Kristen Painter

  Sin City Collectors Boxed Set

  Three novellas from the Sin City Collection

  QUEEN OF HEARTS

  Copyright © 2014 Kristen Painter

  DEAD MAN’S HAND

  Copyright © 2014 Kristen Painter

  DOUBLE OR NOTHING

  Copyright © 2014 Kristen Painter

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-941695-05-0

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  Table of Contents

  Queen of Hearts

  Dead Man’s Hand

  Double or Nothing

  The Sin City Collectors

  About the Author

  Many Thanks

  QUEEN OF HEARTS

  A Sin City Collectors Novella

  Kristen Painter

  Welcome to Vegas. Home of the Sin City Collectors. The job description is easy: Bring the offending supernatural in to the Boss and don’t ask any questions.

  Feline shifter Claudette Marchon traded life as a showgirl to become a Sin City Collector, giving up the glamour to earn some serious cash in order to buy her own business. Mission accomplished, she now runs a pawn shop specializing in gems and jewelry.

  Life is good until a Collection job requiring her specific skill set lures her back in. The Queen of Hearts, a museum-worthy ruby and diamond necklace has been stolen from the Boss’s private collection and she’s his last hope to do what two other Collectors have already failed to do. Bring in the necklace. And the thief.

  But gargoyle Jason Tennant isn’t quite the dangerous criminal Claudette expects. In fact, he’s not a thief at all. He’s former Special Ops and being set up by the real mastermind, forcing her to decide between the man she’s falling for and the man she works for. Proving Jason innocent may risk the Boss’s wrath, but Claudette’s heart says it’s a gamble worth taking.

  “This fun, fresh series ups the ante and takes you on a wild ride you won’t forget! Clever, face-paced, flirty—Viva Las Vegas!”

  ~ Gena Showalter, NYT Best Selling Author

  What’s Collected in Vegas, stays in Vegas…

  *All Sin City Collectors Novellas are stand alone novellas, all set within the world of the SCC. Our goal is for you to sit back and enjoy the ride as each author presents their unique story. The world of the Sin City Collectors is big. Places and characters will overlap, so be sure to look for your favorites and stay tuned for more novellas!

  To Amanda—I’m so glad we’re in this together!

  As Frankie buzzed in a customer, Claude straightened the new art deco sapphire bracelet she’d just taken in. The stones were gorgeous, cornflower blue, and the diamonds were flawless and colorless. It was a stellar piece, part of a large estate collection—almost all of it exceptional—and she was seriously considering keeping this piece for herself.

  “Claudette Marchon?”

  Claude’s attention shifted from the bracelet to the man walking into The Gem Exchange, her pawnshop. He had the look of someone on a mission. But, then, so did most people who came into this place. Vegas had a way of doing that to people. Of turning the ordinary into the desperate. “Can I help you? I’m her grandmother.” That wasn’t so much a lie as a defensive truth. Being able to shift forms had its advantages and disadvantages. Well, mostly just the one disadvantage—keeping one of those forms a secret.

  The man stopped in front of the counter where she was working. Decent suit with a nice fit and a respectable, if slightly flashy, tie. Good haircut. Little too much pomade slicking back his dark hair, but he’d held back on the cologne. Businessman in too deep? Insurance salesman, maybe. “Is she here?”

  Claude locked the showcase, securing the sapphires behind glass. “What do you want with her, sonny?” Pretending to be her own grandmother gave her a lot of leeway on sass.

  He held his hands up and smiled. A gold pinkie ring winked from his left. Used car dealer was a possibility. Or maybe he was mobbed up. This was Vegas. Bugsy Siegel might be long gone, but there were new kinds of Mafia in this town. “Nothing bad, I promise. I just have a message for her.”

  Claude held out one wrinkled but well-manicured hand. “You can give it to me. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  His smiled disappeared. “Sorry, ma’am. No can do. Has to be delivered in person. Boss’s orders.”

  At the word boss, Claude’s stomach sank. She’d been close on the mobbed-up guess. This was no businessman looking to pawn his Rolex to raise a little more cash for the tables. “I’ll go get her.” She nodded at her employee, Frankie, who was a good kid and a very distant cousin who couldn’t shift fully into anything yet but could maintain a decent half-form that gave him claws, yellow eyes and a rather amusing set of whiskers. “Watch the store.”

  Frankie nodded back with youthful seriousness, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Claude glanced at the man as she started for the back. “Time for Claudette to take over anyway. I have a spa appointment.” She slipped into the back room and closed the door. What did the Boss need her for? She was technically retired. And had been for almost two years. She blew out a breath and stared at the ceiling. Two years and not a word from headquarters. Long enough for her to think the Boss had forgotten about her. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

  Well, she’d always known it was a possibility. Didn’t mean she was going to jump for joy over the disruption to her life.

  With a shiver, she reverted back to her normal form of a thirty-two-year-old woman. She smoothed her hands over her no longer gray hair, changed out of her pants suit and into the little sheath dress and heels she kept on hand for such emergencies, which, thankfully, didn’t happen often.

  She yelled, “Bye, Gran.” Keeping the illusion solid was as important as keeping this part of her abilities secret. She’d made the mistake of sharing it with someone once. That had been enough of a lesson that she’d vowed never to do it again. Frankie knew, but he was family and understood the seriousness of protecting one’s gifts.

  A quick check in the mirror. Everything was as it should be. She headed back to the counter. A few new customers had come in, but they were just browsing.

  The man was still there. Fortunately, Frankie was farther down the counter helping someone else. She smiled reservedly. “Can I help you? My grandmother said you had a message for me?”

  The man nodded and reached into his pocket. She already knew what he was going to pull out.

  She held up a finger. “Wait.” Frankie wasn’t totally ignoring the customer in front of him, but his gaze was sliding in her direction enough to tell her he was more interested in watching what was going on with her. Considering he was always bugging her for stories about he
r past, it was understandable. But not his business. “Let’s continue this in my office, shall we?”

  “Your call.”

  “Come through there.” She pointed to the half-door between the counters as she reached under the one in front of her to unlock it. A buzzer sounded.

  The man pushed through the half-door, then followed her into her office. She stopped in front of her neat but crowded desk, turned and held out her hand. Thankfully, she’d put her grandma outfit in the bottom drawer. “Let’s have it.”

  With a wry look, the man reached into his jacket pocket again, this time pulling out the playing card she’d been expecting. Had he thought she was going to give him a hard time over this? She probably would, but she’d at least assess the situation first. He handed over the card. “Here you go.”

  She took it. Hand painted, like always. At the corners, instead of a number and a suit symbol, were heart-shaped faceted rubies. The center picture was Sloan Tower. “Are you kidding me?” She glanced up at him. “This involves Cristos the Incredible?” Cristos the Incredible was the stage name of Robert Sloan, the illusionist who’d turned his Vegas magic show into an empire.

  “Only because the supe in question works for him.”

  She looked at the card again. Underneath the picture was the name Jason Tennant. Beneath that the letters C and R. “A Collection and a Recovery?” That was twice the work.

  The card was how Collections were handed out to the Sin City Collectors (SCC), and the job parameters were cut-and-dried: Do what the playing card told you. A Collector’s objective was to bring the offending supernatural to the Boss. And that was that.

  Except she’d stopped being a Collector two years ago. It had been interesting, but she’d had different dreams. “Why am I being called in for this? You know I’m retired.”

  The man barely registered a response. “The Boss has his reasons.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Didn’t he always? But reason from a man who favored peanut butter, bacon and banana sandwiches was a relative thing. “You haven’t introduced yourself yet, you know.”

  “Sorry. I’m Romero and I’m your point of contact on this Collection.”

  She sat on the edge of her desk and crossed her legs, which thanks to Pilates, were as good as the day she’d stopped dancing and started Collecting. “You must be new.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You seem awfully confident I’m going to take this job.”

  He took the only other chair in the small room. “You have no choice. You don’t do it, the Boss will pull your pawn license. Besides, I know the deal you made. You retired with the stipulation that if there was an especially difficult Collection or one that you were deemed the most suited for, you could be called in.”

  She waved the card in the air. “I’m still waiting to hear why this one qualifies.”

  He took a long breath. “This is both difficult and something we feel you’re best suited for. Also, we’ve sent two other Collectors in undercover. Neither of them lasted long enough to get the job done.”

  A little ping of alarm zipped through her. “What kind of supernatural is this Jason Tennant?”

  “Gargoyle.”

  Crap. Gargoyles were an eleven on a one-to-ten scale of difficult takedowns. “So you think this Tennant killed the first two?”

  “No.” Romero frowned. “Sloan fired them. He’s a perfectionist.”

  That was something else entirely. “Back to Tennant. Gargoyles can sense threats. How am I supposed to get past that?”

  “Chances are the only threats he’ll be looking for are those against Sloan. He’s in the man’s show, but when he’s not, he also does personal security for Sloan. You should be okay.”

  Should be okay? Not very reassuring. And in a town like Vegas, it didn’t always pay to play the odds. “What am I recovering?”

  “The Queen of Hearts ruby. Eighteen and a half carats surrounded by diamonds and set on a diamond-studded chain. Tennant stole it from the Boss’s private gem collection a month ago.”

  Her mouth watered a little at the necklace’s description. She had such a weakness for pretty, sparkling things. She flicked the card against her fingernails and played it cool. “If he stole it a month ago, why is he still in town?”

  “We assume he’s waiting for the stone to cool off. Or he’s fenced it already. If so, we need to know who bought it.”

  “He hasn’t been in here with it.”

  “With your past as a Collector, we didn’t think he would have brought it to you.” Romero narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’ve started dealing in black-market goods?”

  “You know I don’t. And wouldn’t.” She tossed the card onto her desk and changed the subject before she let it get her angry. “So…Sloan’s got a gargoyle for a bodyguard. Talk about hiring by type.” Humans might think Sloan was just a talented magician, but supernaturals knew he was actually a sorcerer. His magic wasn’t sleight of hand, it was real. “I wonder what kind of boss Sloan is, besides being a perfectionist.”

  Romero’s mouth bent in a smirk. “You’ll find out starting tomorrow. We set you up to fill the job as his new assistant.”

  Claude stood. “An assistant? I was a showgirl, for crying out loud. I don’t know anything about doing that kind of work.”

  “His magician’s assistant. Not his personal assistant. All you have to do is put on some sequins and point at things. You’ll be fine.”

  That’s what civilians always thought stage jobs were like. Smile and look pretty. She glared at him. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  “Then I suggest you figure it out, sweetheart.” Romero pushed to his feet, the lack of concern on his face plain. “I’ve read your file. You were a good Collector, but that was two years ago. I think you’ve lost your edge. In fact, I wouldn’t have picked you to take this on.” His gaze ran over her like he was sizing her up. She was used to that. “I mean, you’re beautiful, but once that gets you in the door, then what? Can you protect yourself in a fight? What do you know about defensive—”

  She launched forward, grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off his feet. Her tall, slender build made a lot of people underestimate her. In most cases, she was perfectly okay with that. “Don’t call me sweetheart and don’t look at me like I’m a piece of meat. I was a showgirl, not a prostitute. If you read my file, then you should know I was an exceptional Collector. I have more strength and speed than half the supernaturals in this town. If you have a problem with me, I suggest you take it up with the Boss. Or would you like me to do it for you? Because I’m one of the few who’s got an open invite to visit him anytime.” That wasn’t totally true, but it was well known that the Boss had always had a weakness for pretty women. It was how she’d talked her way into Collecting the first time. But getting jobs done was how she’d held the position.

  The closest she’d come to actually meeting him was the flowers he’d once sent to her dressing room.

  Romero shook his head as best he could and squeaked out, “Understood.”

  She dropped him to his feet.

  He adjusted his collar and smiled. “Well done.”

  She squinted at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He tugged his jacket down. “That was just a test to see if you still had the fire in you.” He bowed his head slightly. “I’m happy to see you still do. I have no problem with you. In fact, I was the one who recommended you.”

  Her ire had yet to cool. “Then whose idea was that test?”

  He raised a brow. “Who do you think?”

  So the Boss’s then. Some of her anger leaked away. “That man needs a new hobby.”

  Romero laughed softly. “I have no comment.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Anything else I need to know?”

  Romero pulled a small envelope from his other pocket. “Here’s your new ID and your background info.”

  She opened it and pulled out the c
ontents. She stared at the driver’s license. “Claudia Smith? That took a lot of imagination.” There were a few sheets of paper, too. She unfolded them. There was a picture marked Tennant. Close-cropped dark hair, square jaw, steely gaze. He was that hard, dangerous kind of pretty that a lot of women probably went for. She knew the type. And she knew better. She held the picture up. “Ex-military?”

  “Yes. Special Ops.”

  “Awesome. Because being a gargoyle wasn’t enough.” Taking Tennant down might be the Collection of her life. She paged through the rest. “A résumé and a letter of recommendation from Louie Fiore.” She slanted her eyes at Romero. “Sloan hired me based on this?”

  “You know Louie. He can be very persuasive. Plus, I think he might have also made a phone call.”

  “Anything else?”

  The look in Romero’s eyes shifted to one of apprehension. “Just be careful. We really don’t know how dangerous Tennant is. You need me, call me or text me directly. My number’s on the sticky note on those papers. I’m available twenty-four/seven.”

  She glanced at the digits on the yellow square. That number needed to go into her phone immediately. “Is there a deadline on this?”

  Romero frowned. “Not a hard one, no, but the sooner you can wrap it up and bring in the gem and Tennant for stealing it, the sooner the Boss will be in a better mood.” He adjusted his collar again. “That’s something we’d all appreciate.”

  He’d had another nearly sleepless night filled with the kind of dreams that left him strung out like he’d served a third tour, and now this idiot wanted to play games. Jason Tennant simmered with irritation, but he was careful not to let it show.