As she walked down the street, staring at the neon and glitter that defined Vegas, Jessy found herself amazed that someone had come to the desert, started with nothing and ended up with the fantasy playground that was Vegas. Sure, a lot of it was false and plastic, but underneath the facade, it was just like any other place. Lots of people came to play-but others came to work. People built homes, and raised families, and it was a mecca for young entertainers.

And for her, it was-and always had been-home.

Suddenly that comfortable thought fled from her mind, driven out by the realization-immediate and absolutely certain-that she was being followed.

She told herself that it was Ringo, but she knew it wasn't. She realized that she'd always known when Ringo was around, even when she hadn't been able to see him, because of his spurs.

This wasn't Ringo. This was someone who was stalking her. She hadn't seen anyone when she left the theater, so this had to be someone who knew when she got off work, someone who had timed her movements and waited in the crowd to pick her up when she left, someone who knew exactly where she was right this second and could easily attack her if he chose.

She stopped dead in the street. No one would take a chance on attacking her with hundreds of people around, would they?

Then she remembered that Tanner Green had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, a knife in his back.

There was a large group of tourists ahead of her. She hurried to join them, looking for safety in numbers.

"Hey, Wolf," Darrell Frye said, approaching Dillon at the table where he was sitting. He offered Dillon a broad smile and a handshake, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. "I heard you're working on Tanner Green's murder. Horrible business."

"It was. And since you were there that night, I was hoping you might have noticed something that could help me."

"I doubt I can help you. Martin was running the table when Green actually died."

"I know," Dillon told him. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"I'll grab some-it's a freebie for me. No alcohol on the job-but we get all the coffee we can drink. Do you want a refill?" he asked, indicating the cup Dillon had in front of him.

"I'm good," Dillon said. "Thanks."

"Be right back."

When Darrell returned with his coffee he sat down across from Dillon, glanced at his watch and said, "I'm good for nine more minutes."

"That should do," Dillon told him.

"You were there, too, so you would have seen everything I did. Although..." Darrell said, frowning with the memory. "Who left first, you or me? Me, I think. I remember the night pretty well. Coot, he's a regular. There was a skinny woman there who looked like she was on her last legs. There was the drunk who didn't know if he wanted his chips on or off the table. And...Jessy, of course. Jessy Sparhawk. You must know her-I saw a tape of the two of you leaving the casino together on TV."

"I just met her that night," Dillon said. "But you know her fairly well, I gather."

Darrell shrugged, shaking his head. "Wish I did. She's not a gambler. I did talk to her once after I'd seen her show. I want off the floor and into entertainment-everyone who knows me knows that-and I'd heard some of the bra.s.s talking about the pirate show at the Big Easy. They liked Jessy, so I figured if I could get her over here...well, that would look good for me."

"Where did you go when you left the floor that night?" Dillon asked him.

"The employee cafeteria," Darrell replied.

That would be easy enough to check out, Dillon thought.

"Why?" Darrell asked "I was hoping maybe you'd stepped outside, maybe seen something you didn't even know you'd seen. Something important," Dillon said.

"I wish I could help you."

"Me too. I did talk to some of the guys outside, at the door and at valet parking," Dillon told him.

"Oh?"

Darrell Frye suddenly looked wary. His smile wavered for a moment, or at least it looked that way to Dillon. No matter how willing to help the man seemed to be, there was still something about him that seemed wrong. As if he was being too too willing. willing.

"Yeah," Dillon said. "Anyway, one of the guys thought thought maybe he'd seen Tanner Green stumble out of a white super-stretch limo." maybe he'd seen Tanner Green stumble out of a white super-stretch limo."

"Really? Who?" Darrell Frye demanded. "Did you tell the cops?"

"Yeah, the cops know. But it won't help them much."

"Why not?"

"Because the guy I talked to is dead. It was Rudy Yorba."

Frye let out a whistle. "Imagine that. The one person who actually sees something winds up dead in a hit-and-run."

"Yeah, imagine."

Frye glanced at his watch. "I gotta get back. But if I think of anything, I'll call you. I promise."

"Darrell, one more quick question. Does anyone at this casino have access to the security tapes? Other than security, obviously."

"I thought the tapes went to the cops," Frye said, frowning.

"Those were copies, right?"

"You'd have to ask security. I gotta go," Darrell said. "But I'll be happy to talk to you again, though. Anytime."

"Thanks, Darrell. I appreciate that," Dillon said.

"Sure."

As soon as Frye left, Dillon got up to leave himself, wondering what the other man had been lying about. Because he had had been lying. A thin sheen of nervous sweat had appeared on his upper lip, and his eyes had kept shifting toward the left. been lying. A thin sheen of nervous sweat had appeared on his upper lip, and his eyes had kept shifting toward the left.

The tourists turned en ma.s.se, heading down a wide one-way alley alongside one of the casinos to the parking area where buses dropped off and picked up their pa.s.sengers.

But Jessy was so sure that she was being followed, she turned along with them.

Great, she thought. What the h.e.l.l was she going to do? Board the bus?

She decided-too late-that she was probably making a big mistake. If she really was being followed by someone who meant to harm her, she should have stayed on the Strip and caught up with some other group to hide in.

Unable to think of anything else to do, she tried to board the bus, but the tour guide stopped her. "Miss, I'm sorry, you must be lost. This is a chartered bus."

"I know. But I think I'm being followed."

The young man looked around. There was no one around except the rest of the tour group-who were all wearing name tags, explaining how he had known she didn't belong.

"Can I call someone for you?" he asked, looking at her as if she were an escapee from a lunatic asylum.

She had a phone, she realized. She could call someone herself. Like Dillon. Where the h.e.l.l was he? Why hadn't she heard from him yet?

"Miss, you'll have to step aside. The people behind you need to get on."

She stepped aside, hoping they boarded slowly, and dialed Dillon's cell, praying that he would pick up.

He did.

"Jessy?"

The concern in his voice made her take a deep breath. She told herself she was being ridiculous.

"Where are you?" he asked her.

"About a block from the Rainbow. I'm walking over to meet Sandra. Where are you?"

"At the Sun. I never got any farther. I'll come find you. Is Ringo around?"

"He was at the show, but I haven't seen him since," she said, amazed that she was talking so casually about seeing a ghost.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I was a little nervous before, but...I'm okay now." She had panicked, and she didn't want him knowing just how afraid she had been. She absolutely couldn't allow herself to become paralyzed by paranoia.

"Okay," he said slowly. "How was the show?"

"It went fine, no problems."

"Good. Okay, I'm on my way. Where are you?"

"About three blocks from the Big Easy."

"I'm on foot," he told her, "but I'm already on my way."

She hung up. The last tourist was about to board the bus, and she needed to get moving.

She turned and started walking briskly. She heard the driver rev the engine and realized that the last tourist had gotten on and the door had closed.

The broad alley looked empty. All she had to do was walk quickly and she would be back on the Strip, surrounded by the crowd. It was insane to think that whoever had been following her-if anyone even had-was still out there.

She neared a clump of bushes the casino must have worked hard to maintain in this desert climate. She hadn't even noticed it when she had pa.s.sed it with the group.

She kept to the far side of the alley as she went by, thinking she was going crazy.

But she wasn't.

As she walked by, she saw that the bushes started moving.

She swore and started walking more quickly.

She turned back and saw two men emerging from the cover of the bushes. Two men she would never recognize, because even in the warmth of a Vegas spring, they were wearing dark ski masks and were clad in black from head to toe.

She started to run.

She had to make it to the Strip before they caught up to her. Had to. If she could just get there, there was no way they could attack her without people noticing.

She heard footsteps coming up behind her.

They were moving like lightning, and she was wearing pumps. The heels weren't high, but they were hardly running shoes.

She could feel the energy behind her, the force. A hot wind seemed to be reaching out for her as the footsteps drew closer.

"Help!" she screamed.

She could see the crowds just ahead, where the shadows of the alley ended.

"Help!" she screamed again.

And that was when she felt someone grab her arm. She screamed again, tearing at the gloved fingers that held her.

"Help!"

The second man reached her then, but she barely saw him because she realized that the first man had something in his hand and was pressing it to her face. A cloth. And it had a sickening-sweet smell. She felt dizziness rising and realized that the cloth was drugged.

"Help!" This time her scream was weaker.

There were people on the sidewalk just ahead.

Couldn't they see her?

She started to fall....

And that was when something happened. When someone seemed to plow into the man holding her and wrench him from her.

"Run, Jessy, run!" someone yelled.

It was Dillon's voice.

Run. She had to run.