A Calvin Watters Mystery Series Author: Luke Murphy

Dead Man's Hand

What happens when the deck is stacked against you…

From NFL rising-star prospect to wanted fugitive, Calvin Watters is a sadistic African-American Las Vegas debt-collector framed by a murderer who, like the Vegas Police, finds him to be the perfect fall-guy.

…and the cards don't fall your way?

When the brutal slaying of a prominent casino owner is followed by the murder of a well-known bookie, Detective Dale Dayton is thrown into the middle of a highly political case and leads the largest homicide investigation in Vegas in the last twelve years.

What if you're dealt a Dead Man's Hand?

Against his superiors and better judgment, Dayton is willing to give Calvin one last chance. To redeem himself, Calvin must prove his innocence by finding the real killer, while avoiding the LVMPD, as well as protect the woman he loves from a professional assassin hired to silence them.

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Prologue

At exactly 6:15 p.m. on a Sunday, Calvin Watters parked his rusted Ford Taurus across the street from a vacant house. Climbing out, he put on a pair of sunglasses and scanned the neighborhood for any movement or potential hazards.

He moved to the back of the car and opened the dented trunk. It creaked in the still night as it slowly swung up. He pulled out a worn black leather case and slid it under his vest. Then he closed the trunk and headed for the door.

He'd been using the rundown house in the red-light district of Las Vegas as his workshop for three years. It suited his purpose. No interruptions, no inquisitive neighbors. Even the local police avoided the area.

He checked the perimeter again. At six-five and 220 pounds, with tattooed arms and gold chains dangling around his thick, muscular neck, a black man like him just didn't go unnoticed in Las Vegas.

The street was silent as he approached the house. Weeds sprang from cracks in the sidewalk and shattered liquor bottles blocked the entrance. The barred windows were broken and the screen door had been ripped off its hinges. His sense of smell no longer reacted to the stench of urine and vomit.

Calvin surveyed the area one last time. Extreme caution was one of the reasons he had succeeded in the business for so long. His habits had kept him alive. Satisfied no one had seen him, he trudged his way up the walk.

Even though he was the best in the business and had once enjoyed the adrenaline rush that came with the trade, the next part of the job made his skin crawl. His goal was to save the money he needed to get away, start over, but he didn’t know if he could last on the job long enough. That uncertainty made his life even harder.

He unlocked the door, stepped inside and shut it behind him. Heading for the basement, he took a narrow set of wooden stairs that creaked as he descended into darkness. His dreadlocks scraped cobwebs along the rough ceiling. He flicked the switch and a low-watt bulb cast dim light.

The tiny room had almost no furniture. The bare concrete floor was dirty and stained with dried blood. In the middle of the room, a lone wooden chair—double nailed to the floor—was occupied.

"Hello, James," Calvin said, his face expressionless.

James Pierce stared at him through bulging, fear-filled eyes.

"Sorry about the bump on the head, but I couldn't have you conscious when I moved you here."

When Calvin removed the case from his vest, he saw Pierce's pant leg moisten.

"I’m sure you’re wondering why your shoes and socks are off and your pant legs rolled up. We’ll get to that."

He laid the case on a small table, strategically placed next to the chair. "There's only one way out," he said, snapping open the lid. He knew his hostage saw one thing when he looked at him—professionally trained brutality.

He checked his watch. Pierce had been there for four hours. The waiting and anticipation alone were more than most men could handle. They often begged for their lives. It was a very effective method.

He stared at Pierce for a long moment and then turned away, his stomach churning.

Get a grip, Calvin! Hurry up and get it over with before you change your mind.

And lose the reputation he'd spent three years building.

He ripped the duct tape from the man's mouth and pulled out the old rag. "Time for me to collect."

Pierce gasped, breathing in air greedily. "Please, Calvin. I beg you. Don't do this."

"You're a degenerate gambler, James. Your expensive hobby and inability to pay has put you here. You knew the rules. They were laid out well in advance."

"No! Please…"

Calvin tried to block out the man's cries. A sudden dizziness overwhelmed him and he grabbed the chair to steady himself. Finish the job. "You know how this works." He stared at Pierce.

"I promise I'll pay. Just give me one more day. Please."

"You knew the rules. You've already had an extra week, James. You're lucky Mr. Pitt is a forgiving man, more forgiving than I am. He’s only counting that week as one day late. But if you aren't in his office tomorrow morning with all the money, you'll be seeing me again. Every late day will count as two. And I won't be so nice next time."

"I'll pay." Pierce sobbed.

Calvin heaved a sigh. "Relax. It'll all be over soon."

He leaned over the table. For effect, he took his time as he opened the leather case and removed the tools of his trade. "One day, one joint."

This was when most of them broke down all the way. And Pierce didn't disappoint him. A scream boiled from the man's belly and erupted like a relentless siren.

Calvin ignored Pierce as best he could. There were 206 bones in the human skeleton. A pro had trained him to use them all.

"Hammer or pipe cutter?" "God, no!"

"Hammer or pipe cutter?" He threw a punch at Pierce's jaw, sending bloody spit into the air.

"Hammer!" Pierce screamed.

"Finger or toe?"

Pierce squeezed his eyes shut. "Toe."

Calvin stuffed the dirty rag back into the man's mouth. He turned and pressed play on the radio resting on the table, turning the volume up a few notches, careful not to bring attention to the house. The pounding, vibrating beat from Metallica not only drowned out his prey's moans of pain, but the sound took him back to his glory days. He removed a ball-peen hammer from the pouch and moved in on his quarry’s bare feet.

"Toe it is then."

He got down on one knee and lifted the hammer above his head.

After Pierce had passed out from the pain, Calvin checked the man's breathing and then entered an adjoining room that could be locked from the inside. On one side, the shelves were piled with canned or packaged food and beverage containers. He had stored several months' worth of supplies in case he ever came under siege and was trapped.

His complete arsenal hung on the other side. He'd been collecting weapons for three years, purchasing them where he could when he had saved some money. Now the arsenal was almost complete and in his mind, quite impressive. The arsenal had been developed for defensive purposes only.

He had never carried a gun as a collector, but now he selected a weapon for his trip. Something small enough to conceal, but at his ready in case he ran into a nosy cop or former client.

He checked on Pierce again as he left the bomb shelter and moved upstairs to his computer. Once the computer booted up, he hacked into a couple of restricted sites, trying to find any mention of his name by a babbling client or angry competitor. Seeing nothing, he switched over to the LVMPD site to make sure Rachel was staying clean. He checked up on her three times a week. He wouldn't let her slip up.

He logged off and documented his latest collection, noting the methods that worked with Pierce, as well as times and techniques. All of the information was added to a file that spanned three years.

Shutting down the computer, he returned to the basement. He transported Pierce to the gambler's blood-red sedan, which Calvin had parked by the river. He knew that within the hour James would wake up and drive home. What would he tell his wife? There was no worry about Pierce ever relaying this incident to anyone else. Calvin was sure of that.

As he drove back to his workshop, he let out a soft groan. "I need out."

Wild Card 

This time, it’s not a job.

After proving his innocence as a murder suspect, taking down an assassin, and being an instrumental part in solving a high profile murder, Calvin Watters believes he can finally move on—until Ace Sanders’ prison escape catapults him into action.

This time, it’s personal!

Something has always bothered Detective Dale Dayton about the arrest of Ace Sanders. Call it police intuition, but his inner ‘cop alarm’ keeps twitching. When Dale reopens the case, he’s introduced to new evidence that leads him into a political nightmare.

Who will play the Wild Card to survive?

While Calvin tracks Sanders across continents and into unknown, unfriendly surroundings, Dale remains in Vegas to uncover the truth behind police corruption, prison escapes and hired assassins. But Calvin and Dale must be vigilant, because there’s a deadly, new player in town.

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Prologue

Calvin Watters laid his head back on the pillow, stretched out his long, muscular, dark-skinned body, then rested his hands behind his head. He released a sigh of pure pleasure, a sound he hadn’t made in a very long time. Calvin felt more relaxed than he had in years. Grabbing the remote, he flipped to ESPN just in time to see an exclusive interview with his former USC teammate, Toby Jenkins.

Rachel climbed into bed beside him wearing a sexy, black Victoria Secret lace and satin slip he’d never seen before, and nuzzled her head on his bare chest. The new, dark lingerie contrasted perfectly with her smooth, pale skin.

She snuggled him tightly, giving him light, butterfly kisses on his arms and rock-hard abdomen. Calvin could feel her warm breath on his skin and it stirred him deep within.

Calvin smiled. “You’re in a good mood tonight.”

She continued to kiss his body, moving upwards towards his neck before planting a deep, passionate, wet kiss on his lips. She gently bit his bottom lip and tugged on it playfully. She pulled away and smiled.

“Wow, what brought that on?” he asked.

“I’m just really happy. And it’s all because of you.”

“I can see that. What did I do?”

“Everything we’ve planned, dreamed about, is coming true.”

Calvin nodded. “It’s not a fairy tale, but even I couldn’t have predicted things would be this good. Did you think a former leg-breaker and ex-hooker would make the perfect couple, the perfect team?”

“Never doubted it for a second.”

Calvin gently touched her chin, tilting Rachel’s head up so that he could look into her electric-blue eyes. The admiration in her gaze was all he needed to know how she felt about him. He loved the way it made him feel.

“You are my knight in shining armor,” she joked, nestling in tight.

Calvin liked the way that felt, too. It hadn’t taken them long to become completely comfortable with each other since that first night. They’d been through so much together in such a short time.
An improbable match made in heaven. They’d both ended up on the streets of Vegas, running away from a troubled past and looking for brighter lights.

Rachel, alone on the streets with no friends or prospects, had turned to prostitution, leaving home and an abusive stepfather.
Calvin believed that had she remained there, without his help, she’d have ended up another statistic. No happy endings, no Cinderella stories on the streets of Vegas. “Pretty Woman” was complete fiction.

Calvin’s downward spiral had started with his career-ending injury at USC. The torn ACL had taken several surgeries just to allow him to walk. He’d lost his full scholarship and fell into a pool of self-denial and self-loathing. He never thought he’d ever get out of that rut.

Their chance meeting turned both their lives around. They’d encouraged each other, and made sure they’d succeed.

Rachel rested her head on Calvin’s chest and released a soft, muffled sigh of complete and intense pleasure. “What’s on?”

“Just an interview with my former college teammate. They’re doing a documentary on Jenkins, how he became a great NFL running back.” Calvin tried not to sound bitter, but how could he not? Even though he’d gotten over it, turned his life around and moved on, there was still a sour taste in his mouth from how it had gone down.

“Wasn’t he your backup at USC?” She watched Jenkins sprinting down the football field on TV.

“Yep. I was the starter, and he sat on the bench watching me break records.He couldn’t carry my jockstrap back then. Now he makes eight million a season for the Chargers. If I hadn’t been so selfish, and had done what was best for the team, that would be me.”

“Please, let’s not get into this again.” Rachel turned her head and looked at Calvin. She smiled and winked, running the back of her fingers down the middle of his chest and underneath the blankets.
“You’re much sexier.”

“I’m over it.”

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled over, pressing his lips firmly against hers. Their bodies melted into each other.

He gently kissed her neck and slid the black satin strap off Rachel’s shoulder, kissing a spray of collar bone freckles, moving his tongue lightly down to her breast, and gently sucking on an erect nipple. He pulled himself back as much as he could, trying to take things slowly, but he had the urge to rip the slip completely off and take Rachel immediately.

A sharp warning buzz from the TV startled him. “We interrupt this regularly scheduled program for a special, emergency news bulletin.”

Calvin ignored the report and returned his attention to his hotter-than-hell girlfriend, ready and waiting. Rachel’s trust and loyalty was all he needed. But in the back of his mind, he had the temporary satisfaction of knowing that Toby Jenkins’ interview was being interrupted. Okay, maybe he wasn’t completely over it.

“This just in—Derek Baxter, a former United States Marine, escaped military confinement and is now on the run.”

The name jolted his bones. Calvin turned and Rachel sat up. He grabbed the remote and raised the volume.

A newscaster appeared on the screen. “Baxter was wanted in connection to the shooting death of a Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department officer last year. After a week-long man hunt, he was brought into custody by the United States Military, because of an outstanding, special, high-priority warrant against him.”

Rachel let out a low screech. She grabbed Calvin’s arm. “What’s going on?”

Calvin raised his hand to quiet her, so he could hear the report.

“Baxter had been a highly-decorated officer who received two purple-hearts during two military tours. At one time, Derek Baxter was considered the military’s top sniper, elite class, before a being dishonorably discharged in 2005.”

A picture of Baxter flashed on screen. The pale face and dead eyes brought up a storm of emotion. Calvin’s heartbeat quickened.

Rachel put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. That’s the guy who tried to kill us.”

Calvin’s jaw muscles tensed. He swallowed hard. A lump formed in his stomach as pain flared in his chest. Baxter’s picture brought back vivid memories. No matter how much mental weeding Calvin tried to do, that bastard had left a lasting impression.

“Baxter was last seen at an airport in Fallbrook. Local authorities say the ex-marine could be headed anywhere, is armed and considered extremely dangerous. Anyone with information should contact…”

Calvin shut off the TV.

“Fallbrook is in California. Is Baxter coming back for us?” Rachael asked.

Calvin shook his head. “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t do anything that stupid.” But he knew he didn’t sound convincing, because he wasn’t sure. He knew Derek Baxter, had a deep connection with the man, and the professional assassin was capable of anything.
He probably still held a grudge over what Calvin had done to him.

Rachel shook. “We shut down our lives because of that guy. We spent four days locked up, hiding from both the police and that psycho.”

“I know.”

“I can’t do it again.” Tears moistened her eyes.

Calvin reached for her narrow shoulders and pulled her in close.
She buried her head into his chest. He could smell the Jasmine shampoo she used in her sandy-blond hair as her warm tears traced over his skin.

“You don’t have to, Rachel. Baxter isn’t coming back. He’d be crazy to. The whole country is searching for him. He’ll probably disappear and never be heard from again.” But Calvin knew first-hand just how crazy Derek Baxter really was—and he was that crazy.

Rachel pulled away. “Are you sure?”

He looked into her tear-soaked eyes, trying to remain composed.
He felt queasy, his palms sweaty and his breathing labored.
“I’m gonna call Dale.”

He tried not to look or sound worried, but that’s all he felt.