Double Agent Read online

  Praise for the Davis Way Crime Caper Series

  “Seriously funny, wickedly entertaining. Davis gets me every time.”

  – Janet Evanovich

  “As impressive as the amount of sheer fun and humor involved are the details concerning casino security, counterfeiting, and cons. The author never fails to entertain with the amount of laughs, action, and intrigue she loads into this immensely fun series.”

  – Kings River Life Magazine

  “Fasten your seat belts: Davis Way, the superspy of Southern casino gambling, is back (after Double Dip) for her third wild caper.”

  – Publishers Weekly

  “It reads fast, gives you lots of sunny moments and if you are a part of the current social media movement, this will appeal to you even more. I know #ItDoesForMe.”

  – Mystery Sequels

  “Fast-paced, snarky action set in a compelling, southern glitz-and-glamour locale...Utterly un-put-down-able.”

  – Molly Harper,

  Author of the Award-Winning Nice Girls Series

  “A smart, snappy writer who hits your funny bone!”

  – Janet Evanovich

  “Archer’s bright and silly humor makes this a pleasure to read. Fans of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum will absolutely adore Davis Way and her many mishaps.”

  – RT Book Reviews

  “Snappy, wise-cracking, and fast-paced.”

  – New York Journal of Books

  “Hilarious, action-packed, with a touch of home-sweet-home and a ton of glitz and glam. I’m booking my next vacation at the Bellissimo!”

  – Susan M. Boyer,

  USA Today Bestselling Author of Lowcountry Bonfire

  “Funny & wonderful & human. It gets the Stephanie Plum seal of approval.”

  – Janet Evanovich

  “Filled with humor and fresh, endearing characters. It’s that rarest of books: a beautifully written page-turner. It’s a winner!”

  – Michael Lee West,

  Author of Gone with a Handsomer Man

  “Davis’s smarts, her mad computer skills, and a plucky crew of fellow hostages drive a story full of humor and action, interspersed with moments of surprising emotional depth.”

  – Publishers Weekly

  “Archer navigates a satisfyingly complex plot and injects plenty of humor as she goes….a winning hand for fans of Janet Evanovich.”

  – Library Journal

  “Archer’s writing had me laughing out loud…Not sure if Gretchen Archer researched this by hanging out in a casino or she did a lot of research online. No matter which way, she hit the nail on the head.”

  – Fresh Fiction

  “In the quirky and eccentric world of Davis Way, I found laughter throughout this delightfully humorous tale. The exploits, the antics, the trial and tribulation of doing the right thing keeps this story fresh as scene after scene we are guaranteed a fun time with Davis and her friends. #LoveIt #BestOneYet.”

  – Dru’s Book Musings

  The Davis Way Crime Caper Series

  by Gretchen Archer

  Novels

  DOUBLE WHAMMY (#1)

  DOUBLE DIP (#2)

  DOUBLE STRIKE (#3)

  DOUBLE MINT (#4)

  DOUBLE KNOT (#5)

  DOUBLE UP (#6)

  DOUBLE DOG DARE (#7)

  DOUBLE AGENT (#8)

  Bellissimo Casino Crime Caper Short Stories

  DOUBLE JINX

  DOUBLE DECK THE HALLS

  Sign up for Henery Press updates

  and we’ll deliver the latest on new books, sale books, and pre-order books, plus all the happenings in the Hen House!

  CLICK TO SIGN UP

  (Note: we won’t share your email address and you can unsubscribe any time.)

  We’d love to hear what you thought about this book. No matter how brief or how long, reader reviews make a difference. Thank you!

  DOUBLE AGENT

  A Davis Way Crime Caper

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | March 2019

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2019 by Gretchen Archer

  Author photograph by Garrett Nudd

  Cover artwork by Christina Rogers

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-495-9

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-496-6

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-497-3

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-498-0

  Printed in the United States of America

  I’ve dedicated books to my husband, my parents, my children,

  my siblings, my dog, and my girlfriends. I wish I’d dedicated individual books to my children—Laura, Katie, and Sam—but at the time, not knowing if I’d be lucky enough to write and publish two more books, I lumped the dedication to them in one book to make sure I was covered. And since they stopped reading me long ago (“Did you write another book, Mom? Yay, you!”) it wouldn’t do much good to dedicate books to them individually now. So I’ll cast a wide net.

  This book is dedicated to all my future grandchildren.

  And now that my daughters are both married,

  surely there’ll be grandchildren soon.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you, Deke Castleman, Stephany Evans, Henery Press, and Erin George. I’d also like to thank the real Chip Chapman, the real Sandy Marini, the real Lisa Hudson, the real Joe Blain, the real Summer Shugart, and the one I had the most fun with, the real Jenn Chojnacki.

  ONE

  The Bellissimo Resort and Casino in Biloxi, Mississippi, has a thirteenth floor.

  All tall buildings have thirteenth floors. They just don’t advertise them.

  The way it worked at the Bellissimo was one bank of elevators stopped at the twelfth floor and another picked up service on the fourteenth, giving the impression there was no thirteen.

  There was.

  But with the notion of unlucky thirteen being one of the most commonly held beliefs known to man, casinos went to great lengths to avoid it. The only thirteens found at the Bellissimo were on the roulette wheels, and it was the least bet number. There weren’t hotel rooms on any floor ending in the number thirteen, and there weren’t hotel rooms on the thirteenth floor at all. Superstitious guests checking into fourteenth-floor rooms frequently asked, “Am I really on the thirteenth floor? I’ll turn around and go right back home if I am. I have enough bad luck as it is. I don’t need you people giving me anymore.”

  The guests were assured they weren’t on the thirteenth floor.

  There was a thirteenth floor, they were told, but it wasn’t for guests.

  It was for disasters.

  (They weren’t told.)

  And it’s where I would be on Friday, October 13 when Hurricane Kevin hit the Gulf if I didn’t step on it.

  My name is Davis Way Cole. I’m thirtysomething, happily married, the mother of toddler twins, and if I didn’t step on it hard enough, I wouldn’t be on Disaster alone. My husband, Br
adley, the President and CEO of the Bellissimo, and my partner, Fantasy Erb, would be there too. We’d be joining the Bellissimo Storm Team of eighteen, who’d already checked in, along with a production crew of seven from Cable One TV’s Weather One channel, and two hotel guests from Michigan who had nowhere else to go because, at the last minute, their flight was canceled. Leaving them at the airport wasn’t an option because the airport closed.

  The good news was Hurricane Kevin put a quick stop to my high school reunion. The bad news was everything else, especially when it came to Bradley’s and my two-year-old daughters, Bexley and Quinn, who we didn’t want anywhere near Disaster. And neither did my family, two hundred miles north of the storm, in Pine Apple, Alabama.

  “Davis, I’m putting my foot down.” It was my mother putting her foot down, at ten o’clock in the morning on Thursday, October 12. “And your daddy is one hundred percent behind me. A mandatory evacuation has been ordered, and we want you in the car with our granddaughters in the next five minutes.”

  “Or what, Mother?”

  “Or I’m going to tell your father is what, Davis.”

  Had she not just said he was one hundred percent behind her? Wouldn’t that mean he already knew?

  “Davis?” My sister, Meredith, grabbed the phone. “What’s the problem? Why haven’t you evacuated? Mother says you’re playing slot machines, which I find hard to believe. Are you watching Weather One? The storm turned. It’s headed straight for you. Pack a bag and come home.”

  I was home. We lived on the twenty-ninth floor.

  “I’m not playing slot machines,” I said. “Mother only half listens and makes up the other half. Why in the world would I be playing slot machines with a hurricane on the way?”

  “A very good question.”

  “I’m dropping slot machines,” I said, “not playing them. There are two of us dropping five thousand slot machines.”

  “Did someone drop one on your head?”

  “Dropping means taking the money out, Meredith. The cash boxes have to be removed from the slot machines for us to be in compliance with state gaming laws. Bradley can’t leave until we’re in compliance. The girls and I aren’t leaving without him.”

  “Why is it Bradley’s job to be in compliance? Can’t someone else comply? What about Bex and Quinn? Do your babies have to comply too? If you insist on staying, fine,” she said, “but at least let one of us come get the girls.”

  For the record, at the time, it was seventy-eight degrees, not a cloud in sight, and picture perfect out.

  “The girls are staying with us, Meredith, and we’ll leave as soon as we can. Bradley can’t leave until Gaming officially closes the casino, and Gaming won’t officially close the casino until we’re in compliance.”

  “I don’t understand what dropping has to do with complying.”

  “Doesn’t it make sense we can’t leave money in the slot machines?” We had no way of predicting the potential damage to our ground-level casino and didn’t want tens of millions of dollars drowning in the Gulf, floating to Texas, or blowing across Mississippi.

  “I’ve never given it a passing thought, Davis. My question is, why is it your job to take the money out?”

  “It’s not my job, it’s the Drop Team’s job. But when the casino closes, Meredith, as in evacuates and locks the doors because a hurricane is coming, which we did this morning, nonessential employees don’t report to work. This is a casino. Not a hospital. The Drop Team isn’t coming.”

  My partner Fantasy and I were the Drop Team. Fantasy is six feet tall, my best friend in the world, and she takes no prisoners. She looks like Beyoncé, but with way less hair and way more clothes. We made up half of the casino’s covert security team, which was to say we were very essential employees, and sooner or later, everything was our job. In short, we protected the Bellissimo and its assets against threats, internal and external. Hurricane Kevin fell under the external category, and it was barreling our way with the other half of our team missing, off in Hawaii getting their aloha on, one getting married, the other his best man, and to beat it all, they took my daughters’ nanny with them. (July. The bride.) Fantasy and I had to turn down our bridesmaid invites, which almost killed us, because we’d be such great bridesmaids, but someone had to stay home and keep the Bellissimo fires burning. Granted, No Hair, Baylor, and July slipped away during the slowest dates on the casino calendar, the weeks between the end of summer and the beginning of the holidays, but still…without us? They waved bye days earlier, promising pineapples and leis, back when Hurricane Kevin was Tropical Depression Kevin, somewhere over the eastern Atlantic, with “conditions unfavorable for development.”

  Conditions changed.

  And those of us who weren’t sunning ourselves in Hawaii were scrambling.

  “Davis,” my sister said, “hand the job over to someone else and hit the road.”

  It wasn’t that simple. First, I couldn’t “hand the job over” when the job was securing money. Second, there was no one to hand it over to. The only other Bellissimo employees in the building were my husband, who was working harder than I was because he had our daughters—his office was a decidedly safer place for little ones than the casino—and the Storm Team, who had plenty to do. The Storms were responsible for locking down and securing the 3.2 million square feet of resort, including boarding all ground-level windows, placing tens of thousands of sand bags, plus searching every nook and cranny of seventeen hundred guest rooms for hurricane stowaways. Even if they didn’t have a ten-mile-long to-do list, they weren’t trained to handle money. That left the hurricane-giddy crew from Weather One (“Bringing Disaster to Your Door Since 1980!”), the gaming agents, the two stranded Michiganders, or me and Fantasy to secure the cash.

  The women from Michigan were celebrating their good extended-vacation fortune; they started drinking the minute their flight was canceled. Not that we’d ask two total stranger soccer moms to handle millions of casino dollars even if they hadn’t been busy popping champagne corks. We didn’t know the gaming agents any better than we knew the women from Michigan. They looked the part—black khakis below black bomber jackets with the Mississippi State Gaming seal—but they were Closers, agents who closed casinos, not Payers, agents who verified jackpot payouts over $100,000. Those guys we knew. Which had nothing to do with anything. The Closers could have been our closest friends, but still they weren’t allowed to touch the casino’s money. They were both on their phones making evacuation plans anyway. One asked me to hurry it along, because his wife and his girlfriend were panicking. Not only that, he’d heard the liquor stores were selling out.

  He was serious.

  I seriously told him I’d do my best.

  The weather people were busy too. When they weren’t on air, they were scouting locations for live hurricane shoots. The producer asked me how to access the roof.

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “Why would anyone want to be four hundred feet in the air during a hurricane?”

  “Ratings.” He winked.

  The Weather One crew, impatiently waiting on the mayhem of a potentially catastrophic weather event, reminded me of a bus full of middle schoolers headed to summer camp. Fantasy and I passed the cameraman on our way into the casino who was racing through the empty lobby waving a tablet above his head screaming, “Kevin’s been upgraded! It’s so much worse than we’d hoped!”

  Who would ask that guy to help drop slot machines?

  Me and Fantasy it was.

  “Are you even half watching the news, Davis?” my sister asked. “If you leave right now, it will take at least eight hours to drive two hundred miles, and there are three drops of gas between here and there. It’s only going to get worse. How long will it be before you leave?”

  “The longer I’m on the phone, the longer it will take.” I had to finish the drop, wait around for the gaming agents to verif
y and sign off on it, then accompany the money to the vault on Disaster. I was working as hard and fast as I could, but there was no convincing my family in Pine Apple, Alabama.

  “How long will that be, Davis?” my sister asked. “How long?”

  “No hiccups, we’ll be on the road by three.”

  “What happens if someone gets the hiccups?”

  “We’ll take care of it, then we’ll evacuate. We have thirty hours,” I said. “Stop making it sound like we have thirty minutes, or you’ll upset Mother and Daddy.”

  “Mother and Daddy are already upset.”

  I didn’t doubt it.

  “Call me the minute you leave,” she said.

  “I will.”

  “And Davis? Don’t get the hiccups.”

  “I won’t.”

  The two-way radio hooked to the waistband of my jeans spoke to me. “For the record,” it said, “no one in my family has called.”

  It was Fantasy. We were barricaded in the casino, me along the east wall with the penny slot machines, her the north corner in Private Gaming, our radios on a private channel and set to wide open. She’d heard my end of the Pine Apple call. I locked down another penny machine, having freed it of its many, many pennies. “That’s because you grew up here.” Fantasy’s family told both Hurricane Camille and Hurricane Katrina stories. Her parents gave her a portable generator the size of a guest bedroom when she bought her first home. “You people are hurricane warriors.”

  “I’m telling you, Davis, you should wait it out on Disaster. You’d be safer here than on the road, then after Kevin blows through, you’ll be home. Not stuck in Alabama.”