Raising The Stakes. Sandra Marton

reached for the telephone. And when, a few minutes later, she heard Tommy say, “Hello, Mama,” in his sweet, eager voice, she made the same silent vow she made each morning. Someday, she’d find a way to keep her child safe without having to be separated from him, without having to keep him a secret…

      “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, and her heart almost overflowed with love.

      * * *

      By the time she left for work, the temperature had already climbed into the nineties.

      She was in luck. Her cranky old car started up right away.

      Nothing stirred in the arid brown and beige land that ringed the city. The creatures of the desert took to their nests and burrows during the day, waiting for nightfall and the coolness it would bring, but humans weren’t that sensible. The roads and streets grew more crowded as she got closer to the city’s heart, the area known as the Strip, which was already thronged with people.

      Dawn parked in the employees’ lot behind the Desert Song. The security guard at the back entrance touched the brim of his cap as she walked toward him.

      “Mornin’, Miss Carter.”

      She’d plucked the name from a display of baby clothes in a store. It had taken her months to grow accustomed to it. Now, the name felt as if it had always been hers.

      “Morning, Howard.” She smiled at the burly man. “I missed you yesterday. Everything all right?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” The guard grinned. “Took the day off so I could go to the doctor with my wife. Seems as if we’re gonna have a baby.”

      “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Impulsively she kissed his cheek. “Congratulations.”

      “Thanks. Got to admit, we’re mighty happy. How about you? You must be feeling pretty good this morning. The word is this is gonna be your first day alone with all those VIPs.”

      “Uh-huh.” She held up her hand, showed him her crossed fingers. “Wish me luck.”

      “You’ll do fine, Miss Carter. Special’s got to be a fun place to work. Getting to rub shoulders with the rich and famous… The grapevine says that Arab prince is checking in later today.”

      “That’s some grapevine,” Dawn said, and laughed. “It knows more than I do. Take care, Howard. And tell your wife I wish her well.”

      She stepped through the door, took a deep breath of air so cool it felt like a soothing liquid slipping down her throat, and set off down the corridor. Guests thought of the Desert Song as a fantasyland resort and it was, but it took a small, efficient army to keep it that way. This part of the hotel was very different from the public area. It was given over to administrative services. No blinking lights, no slot machines and their electronic chortles, just the occasional hum of a printer or the soft ringing of a telephone. Offices opened onto both sides of the hallway. The Special Services office—her new office, Dawn thought, and her step quickened—was at the end of the corridor. She stopped at the door, took a deep breath, then stepped inside.

      There were five Service Specialists and they all shared an efficient, behind-the-scenes workspace. Dawn had already begun adding her own touches by tacking things on the corkboard that hung over the desk, the small section of it, anyway, that belonged to her. She’d put up a few notes and a calendar with a photo of Tommy beneath it. It was just a small picture and he was only one little cowboy in a bunch of other little cowboys dressed up for one of the Ranch’s monthly cookouts. If anybody happened to see it, which she figured was unlikely, she could always point to one of the other kids and say he was her cousin. It was an awful way to live, but Tommy’s safety was everything.

      She paused now, smiled at the picture and touched it lightly with one fingertip.

      “Hey there, sunshine,” she whispered. Tommy almost seemed to smile back.

      Okay. It was time to get to work. She had—she glanced at her watch, then at the clock on the desk—she had fifteen minutes to read through whatever faxes or e-mails were waiting. The Specialists worked rotating shifts and covered for each other on days off and vacations so that one of them was always available, day or night, to handle the needs of guests like the Arab prince that Howard had mentioned, not that Dawn or any of her sister Specialists would confirm that the rumor was right and the prince was, indeed, arriving today.

      Aside from providing guests like the prince the Desert Song’s finest suites and most elegant service at no cost, the hotel also gave them privacy if that was what they wanted, publicity if that was their preference. Part of Dawn’s job was to know when to provide one or encourage the other.

      “It’s not easy,” Keir had warned her during the interview. “It sounds glamorous, to hobnob with some of these people, but it isn’t.”

      “Oh, I know that,” Dawn had replied. “I’ve been dealing at the high stakes tables for a year. Sometimes it’s fun…”

      “And sometimes it’s hell.” He’d grinned, his black eyes snapping with amusement. “By the way, I heard how nicely you handled that little scene the other night. My compliments—but did the senator really try to slide an extra chip across the table after you showed seventeen?”

      Dawn had given her boss a wide-eyed smile of innocence. “Surely not. The chip just fell out of his hand when he reached for his drink. Perfectly understandable, don’t you think?”

      “Uh-huh.” Keir’s grin had broadened. “Good thinking, Carter.” His expression had turned serious. “Okay, the position is yours. Just remember that we want you to keep our VIPs happy but not at the expense of taking any kind of guff. Do you understand what I mean?”

      She did. Men hit on you in this town. Finding ways to put men off, but politely, was a necessity when you worked in a place where the food, the drinks, the good times all seemed not just free but endless.

      Cassie was the person who had taught her how to do it.

      They’d met right after Dawn passed the test the Song offered employees who wanted to learn to be dealers. Dawn was still a waitress at the Reveille coffee shop; Cassie had just taken a job as a cocktail waitress in the casino after deciding she’d had enough of dancing behind a bar. They’d hit it off so well that Dawn had moved out of her cramped furnished room and into Cassie’s tiny apartment while she looked for a place of her own.

      “I swear,” Cassie said one night, “more guys think they can cop a feel now that I’m serving drinks than when I was wiggling my ass behind that bar.”

      Cassie sounded annoyed more than anything else but Dawn felt a chill dance down her spine. Nobody had touched her since she’d left Harman. Nobody ever would. Even remembering how he’d slobbered on top of her made her feel sick.