shadows. Then watched it fade and disappear as the sun sank below the horizon. He strained to see a pinprick of light, but there was nothing but deepening darkness. It occurred to him it was like a vast ocean of sand and rock, and they were looking for a single tiny lifeboat.
“Let’s try one more pass,” he said. “A little bit more to the north this time.”
The plane droned on toward the north, and the silence inside the plane grew heavier. When the left wingtip dipped into a sharp bank, Holt’s heart sank with it.
“Gotta call it a day, folks-sorry,” Tony said. “Running low on fuel.”
“That’s okay, buddy, you did-” Holt got that far and was interrupted by a sharp gasp.
“Wait! Wait-go back!” Tierney turned to them, her face rapt, her blue eyes bright. She put her hand up to cover her mouth, because she was laughing along with the tears.
The accountant from New Jersey went all-in on a straight draw that didn’t come through for him, and Billie’s table was down to three-Billie, an Internet player from New Zealand who looked about fifteen and a middle-aged guy wearing several gold chains, who chewed constantly on a toothpick and kept staring at Billie’s cleavage. Which was actually okay with her, since she’d gone to some trouble to produce the cleavage by means of an extremely uncomfortable push-up bra she’d bought in a moment of insanity and she almost never wore.
Most of the other tables were done, or down to their last two players. Billie had been playing conservatively, biding her time, trying to hold on as long as possible. But inevitably, her pile of chips had shrunk, and it was clear her two remaining opponents were running equally low on patience. The looks Toothpick Guy sent her now were more annoyed than lascivious.
On the next hand, Billie drew pocket tens. The wonder kid from New Zealand, the chip leader, folded. Toothpick Guy checked, but looked a little too smug about it. Billie checked, too.
The Flop was ten, deuce, three. Billie stared at the cards, confident her glasses would keep her eyes from betraying her. She waited as long as she could get away with, then bet a thousand. Toothpick Guy promptly saw her bet. Exuding confidence, but not too much.
The Turn card shot onto the table. Another deuce. Again Billie stalled. A full house wasn’t a sure thing, but she was almost out of chips. This hand was probably as good as it was going to get, and besides, what choice did she really have?
She went all-in.
Toothpick Guy’s smug smile faded when he saw her full house. He had pocket queens, both red. Two pair, queen high.
Time really did seem to stand still. She knew she was holding her breath, and even her heartbeat seemed to have been suspended.
In slow motion, the dealer dealt the final card-The River. It was the queen of spades.
Toothpick Guy let out a gusty breath and leaped from his chair, hands clapped to the sides of his head in joy and relief. Billie sat motionless.
There was a shimmery noise inside her head that blocked out all other sounds: Her own voice saying the right things as she rose from the table and extended her hand to the two surviving players. The New Zealander, saying something sympathetic to go along with his rather sweet smile. Toothpick Guy, all teeth and graciousness now that he’d won. She felt people patting her on the back as she turned, no doubt wishing her well, and she didn’t hear that, either.
Blind and deaf, somehow she wove her way through the ballroom-through the casino, through the rows of slots with their garish lights and dinging bells and avid, oblivious worshipers…through the vast and crowded lobby, noisy with people enjoying the glitz, glamour and excitement of Vegas. Cold air slapped her in the face, and she came to with a start, realizing she was on the sidewalk apron just outside the main entrance, under the portico where limos and taxicabs deliver their passengers. She hesitated, shivering, then began walking rapidly, not knowing or caring where she was going.
“Billie!”
Somewhere, lost in the shimmering noise inside her head, she heard someone calling. Calling her? Or was it her imagination? Didn’t matter, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, or see anyone. She kept walking.
“Billie-wait!”
That voice. The voice she’d been both hoping and dreading to hear. She turned, quaking inside, holding on to her self-control by a gossamer thread. And saw Holt farther down the drive, making his way toward her, dodging around people, pushing past some. She started toward him, then halted, unable to make her legs take another step.
Then he was there, reaching for her, but she put out her hand to stop him from pulling her into his arms.
“I’m out,” she said, words coming rapidly in a hoarse voice, blunt and unforgiving. “I couldn’t do it. I tried, but I lost. I didn’t-”
“Billie-listen to me.” He was shaking his head, gripping her arms. And smiling.
None of that registered. “I’m sorry, Kincaid. I couldn’t-”
He gave her a little shake. “Billie, it doesn’t matter. Don’t you understand? It’s okay. We’ve got her.”
In that instant, time and space did strange and impossible things. Time stopped. The universe shrank down to the tiny space that included only herself and the man holding on to her…holding her up…holding her together. She stared at him and heard a distant voice asking, “She’s okay?”
And Holt’s lips moved and formed the words, “Yeah…she’s okay. She’s with her parents. Hannah’s fine, Billie. She’s fine.”
The bubble popped. Sound rushed in. Sound and movement and thought. “What about Miley?” she asked. “Did they get him?”
“He’s in custody.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
She asked it in a hard voice, but there was something about the way she held herself…Holt stared down at her dark lenses, reflecting bits of light from the neon circus of the Strip, then reached up and gently took them off. Her eyes gazed back at him, dark and defensive, and he marveled that someone with a heart so battered and bruised could still find room in it for a rat like Miley Todd.
“You care about him,” he said softly.
She hitched a shoulder. “I don’t want-I mean, he did save my life.”
Holt slipped an arm around her and tucked her against him as he started walking along the hotel drive. “I think the guy was actually glad to see the cops show up. Probably thinking, better them than the guys he owed money to. Anyway, he’s probably going to be talking to the feds about witness protection in exchange for telling them about the guys he was in hock to. Turns out they’re part of a pretty big organized crime syndicate the feds have been trying to bring down for a long time. Don’t worry about Miley Todd-I have a feeling he’s going to land on his feet.”
She drew a long, shaky breath. “I can’t believe it’s all turned out okay.” She hesitated, then craned to look at him. “She’s really all right? She must have been so scared. You’re sure-”
“See for yourself.” And while she stared at him uncomprehendingly, he lifted his arm and signaled to the LVPD squad car parked in a fire lane a little farther along the drive. The car door opened. “Billie,” he said gently, “there’s someone here I think you should meet.”
Billie froze, seemed to become rooted to the concrete sidewalk. “No.” Her voice was a terrified whisper. “No, no-I can’t…”
A little girl was getting out of the squad car, still clutching the teddy bear they’d given her at the police station while they were waiting for her parents to arrive.
Billie was silent, although he could feel her shaking. She lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips to her lips.
He watched the girl’s parents get out of the car. These were two very decent, ordinary people-not young and a little dowdy, maybe-the kind of people you’d expect to find at PTA meetings and on the sidelines at soccer games. The mom first-and she was the kind of mom you’d feel good about coming home to if you were a kid, Holt thought, because you’d know there was going to be something good to eat waiting for you in the kitchen, and a hug to go with it. Then the dad-the kind of dad you knew would be there to catch your bicycle when it wobbled, and who
