BOOK THREE.

TRUST NO ONE, NOT EVEN YOURSELF.

CHAPTER 58.

IT DOESN'T matter if you don't know a door card from a river card or whether a full house beats a flush, anyone old enough to see the inside of a Las Vegas casino can walk right into the poker room at the Bellagio.

Walking into Bobby's Room is a different story.

Bobby's Room-named after Bobby Baldwin, the 1978 World Series of Poker champion-is the poker room inside the poker room at the Bellagio. It features two high-stakes tables that are completely walled off from the other forty some-odd tables, complete with a polished-looking host, a maitre d' of sorts, who stands guard at the door to make sure none of the riffraff ever make it in. Minimum buy-in is twenty grand. The games being played, however, almost always require a much bigger bankroll. Much bigger.

On the one hand, Bobby's Room caters to a very privileged clientele. On the other hand, there remains a certain egalitarian element. Especially if that other hand is clutching a boatload of money. Better yet, a yachtload.

Truth is, almost any Tom, d.i.c.k, or Harry flashing a lot of cash is more than welcome to play in Bobby's Room.

That goes for any Valerie, too.

Valerie Jensen, dressed in a leather Chanel skirt, a silk Valentino blouse, and a pair of red Christian Louboutin Lady Peeps, handed the host at the door a house marker for two hundred thousand dollars with the carefree ease of someone who had plenty more where that came from. The fact that she didn't was the first lesson her father, a professional gambler, had taught her when she was a little girl back in Somers, New York.

Poker is a game of lies. If you want to tell the truth, go to confession....

"Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Beverly Sands," announced the host as he pulled out the lone empty chair at the table for Valerie. It was the "three seat," three spots to the left of the dealer.

Valerie, aka Beverly Sands, sat down amid the polite nods from the other players. Save one, they were all pros. She looked around the table; she'd seen them numerous times before on TV, playing tournaments. And more times than not, they were winning those tournaments.

But as attractive as Valerie was-stunning, really-not a single pro allowed himself the slightest gawk or ogle. That would be a sign of weakness.

Never show weakness at the poker table.

That was the second lesson Valerie's father had taught her. This one doubled as a life lesson, his mantra all during the battle with the lung cancer that ultimately took his life but never his spirit. Never show weakness ... period.

"Two," said the host, giving the dealer what would've been the peace sign anywhere else. In Bobby's Room, it meant give the lady two hundred thousand dollars in chips, which was what the dealer promptly did after gathering up the pile of cards in front of him. A hand had just finished.

The game was No-Limit Texas Hold'em. Two cards facedown to each player, followed by five share cards in the middle. Best five from the seven wins. Simple as that.

Of course, if it were really that simple, there wouldn't be nearly a thousand books out there dedicated to explaining how the game should be played.

Given the high stakes, there were no blinds to jump-start the betting. Instead, every player had a five-hundred-dollar ante. This meant Valerie wouldn't have to wait for the dealer b.u.t.ton to come around her way. She could be dealt in immediately.

With the speed of a robotic arm on a Detroit a.s.sembly line, the dealer placed the cards from the last hand in the automatic shuffler to his right and pulled out the second of the two decks used in the game. After a quick cut, he began to deal, giving Valerie a few seconds to look around the table again. Her father's voice was so clear in her head, it was as if he were back from the grave, sitting right there next to her.

There's a fish in every poker game. That's the player who's in way over his head. If you look around the table and can't spot him, get the h.e.l.l up immediately. Because you're the fish.

Valerie smiled to herself. She wasn't going anywhere.

Her fish was seated directly across the table in the eighth seat. He was the only other nonpro at the table, but everyone knew who he was. That's just the way it is with multimillionaires. When you land in Vegas in your own Gulfstream G650, it's tough to fly under the radar.

Shahid Al Dossari was a Saudi Arabian banker who was purportedly an advisor to the Saudi royal family, among other things. He was handsome, he was charismatic, and he was currently under investigation for money laundering by the US Government.

Including Special Agent Valerie Jensen.

"It's your action, Ms. Sands," said the dealer with a slight nod. The betting had been checked around to her.

Valerie reached for the sungla.s.ses that had been resting in her blond hair, dropping them down across her blue eyes. Slowly, she lifted up her two hole cards on their edges, pulling them toward her across the felt as if she were giving the table a shave. Game on.

This one's for you, Dad....

CHAPTER 59.

VALERIE WASN'T sure when the exact moment would come. Only that it was coming.

It could take an hour. Maybe upward of three or four. Or maybe only twenty minutes, over and done lickety-split. The cards had to cooperate, of course. But so did Al Dossari. And so far, he was.

Educated in the States-Yale undergrad, Wharton MBA-Al Dossari was as Americanized as a Saudi could ever be. He loved Tennessee whiskey, New York Fashion Week, and shoot-'em-up Hollywood movies, but most of all, what he loved was women. He worshipped them. Never mind that they were treated like second-cla.s.s citizens back in his homeland. That was there. He was here. America. Where women had all the power. Just so long as they were pretty.

While the pros at the table maintained their well-trained discipline, paying far more attention to the action in the middle of the table than to the eye candy seated at one end of it, Shahid Al Dossari was a man distracted. Never a good thing in a high-stakes poker game.

In fact, forty-five minutes after sitting down, Valerie was fairly convinced that the only reason he flat-called her raise from out of position was so he would have an excuse to introduce himself. Maybe even flirt a little.

The moment had come.

Valerie had raised the initial bet of twenty-five hundred dollars, making it ten thousand. Al Dossari called quickly, while the remaining players all folded, including the initial bettor.

That left just Valerie and Al Dossari in the hand. Heads-up action, as the saying goes.

The dealer promptly buried a card and proceeded to turn up three cards in front of him, otherwise known as the flop.

7 9 8 It wasn't just any flop; it was an action flop. There were straight possibilities. Flush possibilities. In fact, with two cards still to come, there were very few hands that weren't a possibility at this point.

The betting was on Al Dossari, who promptly checked with a silent tap of the felt. Valerie had been the one who'd raised preflop, so this was hardly a surprise move. She had control of the hand, but the only way to keep it that way was for her to increase the pot. A "continuation bet."

"Twenty thousand," she said, reaching for her chips.

Behind her sungla.s.ses, though, she wasn't looking at her chips. Her eyes were focused on Al Dossari, hoping to see a reaction of some kind-a tell-that would give away the strength of his hand.

But he barely blinked. Instead, he snap-called her, tossing two ten-thousand-dollar chips into the pot.

So much for the easy way, thought Valerie. Besides, easy was boring....

Again, the dealer buried a card before flipping over the "turn"-the fourth card-faceup next to the other three. It was the ace of diamonds.

The betting opened with Al Dossari, who checked as he'd done before. As much as he was staring at Valerie, he still hadn't said anything. At least, not out loud. The fact that he'd called her last two bets, though, was definitely telling her something. It was time to find out more.

"You wouldn't happen to be stringing me along, would you?" asked Valerie, flashing the most disarming smile she could muster.

Al Dossari kept his stare, and for a moment or two remained silent. But it was no use. Beverly Sands, the buxom blonde dressed to the nines, was exactly his type. She was his Miss America.

"I was actually thinking the same thing myself, that you were stringing me along," he said, smiling back with perfect teeth. "I've been known to have a weakness for women."

That got a few knowing chuckles from around the table. Al Dossari's reputation preceded him.

"So that ace of diamonds on the turn didn't help you?" asked Valerie.

Al Dossari dropped a forearm on the padded rail of the table, leaning forward over his stack of chips. "Who said I needed help?"

And there it was, an absolute rarity at the poker table. Someone telling the truth. Al Dossari had a made hand. Valerie was sure of it. Because that's what men do when they're trying to impress a woman. They talk too much.

"In that case, I'll check as well," she said.

With a simple tap on the felt, Valerie surrendered any leverage she had in the hand. But leverage can be a tricky thing.

And there was still one more card to be played.

CHAPTER 60.

THE DEALER tapped the table with a closed fist, the deck cradled tightly in the palm of his left hand. He peeled off the burn card before turning over the final card, the "river." It was a jack of spades. The board was now complete.

7 9 8 A J Gone was the chance of a flush or anything higher on the pecking order of poker hands. Still, there remained a lot of possibilities. A pair. Two pair. Three of a kind. A straight. And, of course, nothing at all-which on paper would be the worst hand you can have.

But poker isn't played on paper.

For those with the b.a.l.l.s to bluff, the worst hand can easily turn into the winning hand. Those same b.a.l.l.s are what usually separate the pro from the amateur. Or the sharks from the fish.

Al Dossari, however, wasn't bluffing when he reached for his chips to open the final round of betting. Valerie had already seen the way he glanced at her stack to see how much she had left. Bet-sizing was as much a part of No-Limit Hold'em as anything else.

"Twenty-five thousand," he said, slowly sliding the chips out in front of him.

The amount was a little less than half the pot, not exactly small but hardly big enough to force Valerie off a decent hand. Al Dossari was making the cla.s.sic "value bet." He wanted her to call.

But Valerie had no intention of calling.

"Raise," she announced.

She made a move for her chips and then stopped, instead resting her forearms against the railing. It looked like indecision. Maybe even nerves. At the very least, Valerie wanted it to appear as if she were thinking, doing the math in her head and then doing it again while trying to calculate the right amount to come over the top of Al Dossari and get him to fold.

Once again, my darling daughter, poker is a game of lies....

There was no more thinking to be done. No more math, either. Valerie already knew there was no chance that Al Dossari was going to fold.

Finally, she lifted her hands, gathering them behind her entire stack of chips. That motion meant the same thing at every poker table in every language, but it wouldn't be gambling-or any d.a.m.n fun, for that matter-if you didn't say the three words out loud in crystal-clear English.

"I'm all in," she declared.

Al Dossari didn't ask the dealer for a count of how much he now needed to match her bet. Nor did he give it much thought. He simply continued staring at Valerie for another few seconds, oblivious to the other woman who'd just sidled up next to her. Lady Luck.

"I call," he said.

Valerie was supposed to show her cards first, but Al Dossari couldn't wait. If he wasn't about to win the hand outright, he thought for sure it would be a chopped pot-that they would both have the same straight.

Confidently, he turned over his two hole cards. "I flopped it," he said.

Valerie, along with the rest of the table, looked at his 6 and 10. Sure enough, the first three cards on the board of 7 9 8 A J had given him a ten-high straight. It was a made hand, and the best hand, even after the ace of diamonds on the turn. But then came the river.

Saying nothing, Valerie reached for her cards. Everyone else at the table-all the pros-knew what she was about to turn over. She was no fish, and neither were they.

Al Dossari looked across the felt to see the 10 and Q staring back at him. Valerie had a queen-high straight. It was the nuts, the best hand possible.

The pot? Over four hundred thousand dollars.

Al Dossari's expression? Priceless.

But not because he was upset. He couldn't care less about the money. Nor did he care about losing to a woman.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. And exactly what Valerie was betting on.

Al Dossari was more than intrigued. He was aroused. The fish was on the hook, all right.

Now it was time to reel him in.