Stared at the red carpeting, tears running fast down her cheeks now. Beginning to tap into that well of emotion that underlay her soul like an aquifer.

Looked up as she bumped into Richter.

He stopped. Studied her through hard, hazel eyes.

They stood inches apart.

As she dipped her right hand into his left pocket, she said, "I hope you're happy."

Fighting to keep her fingers from touching his leg.

"What are you talking about?"

"You lied to me."

There. The dummy iPhone.

All at the same instant, she

—jabbed a finger into his chest

—lifted the dummy iPhone with her thumb and pinkie

—let Richter's iPhone slide gently out of her grasp

—said, "You told me I wouldn't—"

Even the best pickpockets in the world rushed the ending. Once your fingers touched the goods, the impulse to grab it and get to safety became overpowering.

She took it nice and slow.

Because she had this.

"—get into any trouble."

"I—"

"They fired me."

The phone was clear of his pocket.

She jabbed a finger into his chest again, said, "I have a young daughter. Rent to pay."

Slipped it into her purse.

"What am I supposed to do? Huh?"

Now she crossed her arms and glared at him and let the tears stream down her face.

A thought flashed—what if he doesn't try his phone again?

Richter said, "I don't have time for this," and started to move on.

She blocked his way. "You're mad because I spilled champagne on you? Sorry. It was an accident."

The rage came over him almost without warning.

"Your little accident ruined my phone."

"It didn't touch your phone."

Pull it out. Show me I'm wrong. Do it, you cocksucker. Do it.

He thrust his hand into his pocket, dug out his iPhone.

She grabbed it from him, pressed the Sleep/Wake button, held it up so he could see. His eyes went wide when the screen brightened.

"Looks fine to me."

"Thirty seconds ago, it wasn't—"

She shoved it into his chest, said, "Asshole," and pushed her way between the thugs.

She stared at Isaiah as she moved past.

Said, "What are you looking at?"

And winked.

12

Ten minutes later, Letty let Isaiah into her room at the Wynn.

"I take back everything I said about you," he said. "That grab and switch was off the chain. You got ninja skills."

"Richter's okay now? I was worried he'd get another phone or—"

"Nah, he's cool. We all cool." Isaiah moved past her. "What up, Mark?" They bumped fists.

"We're in biz," Mark said. "Come check it."

Letty followed them over to the bed where Mark had a laptop open. He lifted a white iPhone off the comforter, tossed it to Isaiah.

"That's a perfect clone of Richter's phone. Has all his voicemails, text history, contacts, data usage, apps. More importantly, every call or text that comes to Richter will first hit us. We'll have the option to intercept, pass along, or kill it. You'll see the incoming texts and calls on that phone. I'll see them on my laptop. If it's okay with you, I'll just set up my base of operations here."

"Most definitely," Isaiah said. "And I want you to study his contact list. We gotta let a few calls through so he doesn't suspect anything, but nothing from a Vegas area code. No texts we don't understand. Nothing that looks like code."

"Is Richter's contact from the casino going to call or text?" Letty asked. "Or do we even know?"

"No idea."

Mark said, "I'll scan through his text history and see if I can pin down any promising leads."

Isaiah grabbed one of the walkie-talkies off the dresser and slipped in an earpiece.

"We stay in constant communication until that magic text or call comes."

"You got it," Mark said.

"If a call comes in, we talk it through. Any uncertainty, it doesn't go to Richter."

"Agreed. And what if a Vegas phone number shows up? Or worse, a private number?"

"Then we roll the dice and I answer. I got Richter's voice down cold just in case."

Isaiah pocketed the white iPhone and grinned at Letty.

"You done good, girl."

"Glad it worked out."

"You heading back to the Palazzo?"

"That's the plan."

"I'll walk you out."

In the hallway, Isaiah stopped her.

"My suggestion—go back to your room, get some sleep. This shit may go down in the wee hours."

"Rest of your crew's in town?"

"Everybody's on standby. Soon as we know the room number, we're ready to get it on. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You want out now, that's cool. I'll peel off two-fifty for your work and you can go on your merry way. No more risk."

Tempting.

But the truth was, she didn't want the job to end.

"I told you I'd see it through, Ize."

"That's my girl."

"What about Mark. Is he—"

"Work for hire. He's also our driver. He knows enough to do his job, but no more. You, me, Jerrod, and Stu. That's the only way this money splits."

She started walking toward the elevators.

He called out after her, "Get on your game face, girl!"

# # #

Letty moved through the lobby of the Palazzo, under a glass dome and past a two-story fountain.

The high from stealing Richter's phone was fading.

Fear rushing in to take its place.

She hadn't really thought beyond the initial grab. Hadn't begun to come to terms with the concept of Isaiah and his buddies taking down a heavily-armed casino security team. Much less her place in that equation.

Up ahead, a man sat on a bench, his face buried in his hands.

It was the hair she recognized—perfectly trimmed brown on the cusp of turning silver. A part she'd recognize anywhere.

She stopped and said, "Christian?"

Her therapist looked up, cologned with booze, eyes red and swollen with tears. He wore a wrinkled sports jacket and khaki slacks that looked like they'd been slept in.

"Letty?" he said.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He wiped his eyes, said, "Not having one of my better days on this planet."

"Let me help you up to your room."

"You ever notice you can't open a window in a hotel room? Why is that? How did they know I wanted to jump?"

"Are serious with that? You don't want to jump, Christian. Come on." She grabbed his arm. "Let's get you upstairs. They're gonna throw you out if you stay down here in this condition."

She pulled him onto his feet.

They stumbled toward the elevators.

"You don't have to do this," Christian said. "Nobody is nice like this anymore."

They rode up to the thirty-first floor, just the two of them in the car.

He laughed bitterly. "My first thought was black," he said. "All the way driving out here, it was always going to be black."

"What are you talking about?"

"But I changed my mind at the last minute. Went with red. And then, of course, it hit on black."

"I don't under—"

"I lost a little money this morning."

"On roulette?"

"Red or black. Red or black. Red or black."

"How much did you lose?"

"Everything."

"You bet your life savings?"