Quinn - Iris Johansen [108]
And he had done it with no resentment and even a touch of amusement.
Strange …
CHAPTER
16
CATHERINE PAUSED IN THE DOORWAY, her gaze searching the room.
Table three.
Yes, there he was. She’d had Venable send her a picture of Thomas Jacobs on her phone. He was a small, wiry man in his middle or late fifties dressed in a tux that looked a little too big for him. His thin brown hair was receding to such an extent that he was totally bald in the front. But his cheeks were as flushed as Gallo had told her, and his gray eyes were sparkling with excitement as he gazed at the dealer. He had a stack of chips in front of him, and his expression was totally absorbed.
But he might not stay absorbed if he saw someone glance in her direction. She’d better put the play in motion.
She glided forward, moving to the side to approach Jacobs from the rear.
Be anxious.
Let everyone see her concern.
Okay. Stop short as she pretended to see Jacobs.
She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening with panic.
Now clinch it.
She ran toward Jacobs and touched his shoulder. “No, Thomas, you know you can’t do this.” Her voice was shaking with emotion. “Why don’t you listen? You know what the doctor said about your heart. No excitement. This addiction could be the end—” He was turning to face her, his expression wary. As soon as he saw her, he’d recognize her. She had perhaps thirty seconds. “Do you want to kill yourself?” Her tone was agonized. “I won’t let you do it. I know I told you I wouldn’t stop you if you were this crazy, but I can’t let it happen.”
He was looking at her face, and she saw his expression change as he recognized her. He jumped to his feet. “Get away from me.”
“You have to listen to me, Thomas.” Her hands clasped his shoulders near his throat. “I’m only trying to help you.”
“The hell you are.” He was trying to push her hands away from his throat. “What are—”
“Just leave here and we’ll talk.” Her grasp tightened, her nails pressing into his skin. “You don’t look— Thomas?” His eyes were glazing. “Thomas!”
Jacobs’s knees were buckling, he was falling.
She instinctively put out her arms to catch him.
No, be weak, be helpless.
She let him fall to the floor as if he were too heavy for her to hold.
She dropped to her knees beside him. “No!”
Tears.
That was always harder, but they came. She could feel the tears flow down her cheeks. “Thomas…” She reached out with a shaking hand to check the pulse in his neck. Strong. Steady. He’d be out no more than the twenty minutes she’d told Gallo.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Brookman.” A plump man was pushing his way through the crowd surrounding her. “I’m the casino manager, Anthony Solano. May I help you? Your friend is ill?”
“My brother.” Her voice broke. “His heart. The doctor told him to stay away from gambling. He had his last heart attack after he lost at Monte Carlo.” She gazed pleadingly up at him. “Can you do something for him?”
“Catherine.” Gallo was suddenly beside her, his expression mirroring frustration mixed with concern. “I told you not to come, dammit. He doesn’t deserve it. Is he dead?”
“No, but his pulse is so weak…”
“I saw him fall and called an ambulance. They should be here any minute.” He dropped to his knees and was searching through Jacobs’s pockets. He pulled out a prescription bottle and opened it. “This has to be his medication. Put two under his tongue.”
She took the pills and did as he told her. Then she sat back on her heels, gazing at Gallo in an agony of despair. “Why would he do this? Why wouldn’t he listen?”
“You’ve been asking that for ten years,” Gallo said grimly. “Just because he raised you doesn’t mean you have to follow him around and pick up the pieces every time he goes off the rails.” He turned to the casino manager.