Playing the odds by Nora Roberts Page A

the window display at Cartier's stopped her. Her long sigh was part appreciation and part desire. "Why is it an intelligent woman can find herself coveting a bunch of shiny rocks?" she wondered aloud.
    "It's natural, isn't it?" Justin moved to stand beside her, letting his gaze roam over the sparkle of diamonds, the gleam of emeralds. "Most women are attracted to diamonds—most men too."
    "Pressurized carbon," she mused, then sighed again. "Hunks of rock dug out of caves. Centuries ago we used them as amulets to ward off evil spirits or bring good luck. The Phoenicians travelled to the Baltic countries of Europe for amber. Wars have been fought over them, countries exploited… and somehow that makes them more attractive."
    "Don't you ever indulge yourself?"
    Serena turned away from the window and smiled at him. "No, it gives me something to look forward to. I've promised myself that the next time I travel it'll be strictly for relaxation. Then I'm going on a binge that may put a serious hole in my bank account. For now—"she gestured toward the next shop—"I need to pick up some more traditional sort of souvenirs for a few cousins, and a case of Chivas Regal."
    Justin walked into the store with her, where Serena immediately became caught up in a flurry of picking, choosing, and buying. She generally disliked shopping, but once committed, did so with a vengeance. When Justin wandered off she paid little attention, engrossed as she was in a selection of embroidered table linen.
    With the souvenirs purchased and wrapped, Serena went to the counter where bottles of liquor, liqueurs, and wines were displayed in profusion. A quick glance at her watch showed her she had nearly two hours before she was due on board. "A case of Chivas, twelve year."
    "Two."
    At Justin's voice, Serena turned her head. "Oh, I thought I'd lost you."
    "Did you find what you wanted?"
    "And more," she admitted with a grimace. "I'm going to hate myself when it comes time to pack." The clerk slid the two boxes of Scotch onto the counter. "I'd like mine delivered to the Celebration." Drawing out her credit card, she waited for the clerk to fill out the form.
    "And mine," Justin added, counting out bills.
    Serena pondered his case of Scotch while he relayed the necessary information. Strange, she mused, she hadn't thought him the kind of drinker to buy Scotch by the case. He never drank when he gambled. It had been one of the first things she'd noticed. Throughout the cruise, she'd seen him with a drink in his hand only once, during the picnic at Nassau. She decided perhaps he bought it in lieu of souvenirs, but it seemed odd he'd buy so much of one brand. After signing her name to the credit slip, Serena stuffed the receipt into her bag.
    "I suppose that's it." Slipping her hand into his, she walked toward the exit. "Odd that we both bought the same brand of Scotch."
    "Not when you consider we bought it for the same person," he returned mildly.
    With a puzzled smile, Serena looked up at him. "The same person?"
    "Your father doesn't drink any other brand."
    "How do you…" Confused, she shook her head. "Why would you buy my father a case of Scotch?"
    "He asked me to." He guided her by a clutch of teenagers.
    "Asked you to?" Hampered by another crowd of shoppers, Serena had to wait until she'd ploughed her way through. "What do you mean he asked you to?"
    "I've never known Daniel to do anything without a catch." Justin took her arm to guide her across the street as she was looking at him and not the cars. "A case of Scotch seemed reasonable at the time."
    Daniel? Serena thought, noting the easy use of her father's name. For a moment her mind concentrated on that small point until unanswered and uncomfortable questions began to leak through. Disregarding the flow of pedestrian traffic, she stopped dead in the centre of the sidewalk.
    "Justin, you'd better tell me exactly what you're talking about"
    "I'm talking about buying your father a case of Scotch for his