That was when Gerry realized what was bothering him.

The crooked gaming agent was running a sophisticated scam. Hundreds of jackpots had been stolen across the state of Nevada. That had taken a lot of time, and plenty of leg work. Then there was the cash to deal with. Millions of dollars had been stolen, and laundered in some fashion. That had taken time as well. It was inconceivable that an agent could do his job, and pull off a scam like this.

“Holy crap,” he said aloud.

The smoke had cleared, and he saw the picture clearly. The agent had help. Lots of it. There was no other way he could pull this off for as long as he had.

His father needed to hear this. Gerry went to the door that connected their rooms and rapped loudly. It swung open, and his father filled the doorway. He was dressed and his packed suitcase lay on the bed. Bill Higgins stood in the bedroom as well. He was the last person Gerry wanted to see right now.

“Get packed. We’re heading back to Vegas,” his father said.

“We are?”

“The police have been tracking Kyle Garrow’s cell phone. They picked up the signal from Fremont Street in old downtown. They think Bronco went to Vegas to do the exchange. Time’s a wasting. Let’s go.”

Gerry hesitated. He needed to tell his father what he knew. Only he couldn’t do it with Bill around. Under his breath he said, “We need to talk, Pop.”

Their eyes met, and his father realized something was wrong.

“What’s the matter?” his father asked.

Gerry glanced at Bill. Bill was hanging on every word.

“I’ll tell you later,” Gerry said under his breath.

“So tell me, what is a face reader?” Running Bear asked.

They were driving north on Highway 19 in the chief’s pick-up truck, Mabel holding onto the handle above her door for dear life. To say they were driving fast down the busy eight-lane highway was an understatement. They were flying.

“Do you always drive so fast?” she asked.

“Only when I’m excited. Am I scaring you?”

“A little. Why are you excited?”

“Because I learn something new every time I’m with you.”

The chief had a wonderful way with words. Not too glib, not too smooth, just the right amount of flattery. Best of all, he was sincere about it.

“I’ll explain. To make money playing poker, you have to have an advantage over your opponents. Gamblers call this having an edge. All the top pros have an edge.”

“Makes sense.”

“Some have photographic memories which let them remember every hand their opponent has played. That’s an edge. Others are math wizards, and can do rapid calculations to determine the odds of the cards they’re holding, and also something called pot odds. That’s also an edge. The third group are face readers. They have the god-given ability to read people’s faces. They know when they’re opponents are bluffing, or when they’re strong. It’s why so many players wear sunglasses when they play.”

“I remember my grandfather telling me that words could trick you, but never a man’s face,” Running Bear said.

“Your grandfather was one hundred percent correct,” Mabel said. “ The woman we’re about to meet is named Mira, and she’s a face reader. Tony spotted her playing poker in a casino one night. He uses her when he’s working on a tough case.”

“Uses her how?”

“Mira can look at a photo, and tell you if someone is hiding something. ”

“This I’ve got to see,” Running Bear said.

He sounded like a bubbling kid. Mabel patted him on the arm, and saw him smile.

They drove into the next county to an area called Keystone. It wasn’t on most maps, and there wasn’t really a town, just dozens of fresh-water lakes surrounded by Florida-style cracker houses built to withstand just about anything nature had to offer.

Mabel pointed them down an unmarked dirt road where a clapboard house sat at the very end. She’d been here before, and explained the drill to Running Bear: Stay in the car, honk the horn three times, then wait for someone to come out the front door. No matter what, do not get out, she warned him.

Running Bear parked beneath a stand of cypress trees, then beeped three times. A heavyset Mexican shuffled out of the dwelling wearing his shirt out of his pants. It was obvious by the bulge in his waist that he had a handgun. He eyed them suspiciously, then broke into a gap-toothed smile when he spotted Mabel. She rolled down her window and greeted him. “Hello, Jorge. Is Mira here?”

Jorge nodded. “I go get her. You stay here.”

When Jorge was gone, Running Bear said, “What are they running here?”

“A high-stakes poker game, ten thousand dollar buy in,” Mabel explained. “I’m told that Mira has been fleecing the regulars for quite a while. She lets them win every once in a while to keep things civil.”

“Smart lady.”

The front door of the house opened. Mira emerged wearing a navy tee-shirt and a sarong. She was a small, delicately-boned Asian-American in her early thirties who Mabel would have considered beautiful if not for the look of distrust stamped on her face. Mabel did not know Mira’s story, and was not sure she wanted to.

Mira came up to Mabel’s side of the pickup, but her eyes were fixed on Running Bear. She crossed her arms, and stared at him like he was a lab specimen. Mabel had seen her do this before. Mira was unpacking the chief’s face, studying the bulges and wrinkles that mirrored his character. She said, “You were a soldier, weren’t you?”

The chief nodded. “Long time ago.”

“But it seems like yesterday,” Mira said.

Again he nodded. “Yes.”

“You like to protect things, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yet, you also like to hunt. How do you explain the contradiction?”

“It was how I fed myself when I was a boy,” Running Bear said.

“What you got for me?” she said to Mabel.

Mabel handed her the envelope containing the photographs of the seven gaming agents she’d printed off Tony’s computer. “One of these people is stealing slot machine jackpots in Nevada. I was hoping you could figure out which one.”

“You want me to find the thief?”

“Please.”

“Where’s Tony?”

“He’s out in Nevada, trying to catch this guy.”

“Tell him to call me when he comes home.”

“I will, Mira.”

Mira opened the envelope and removed the seven photographs. Paper-clipped to them was a smaller envelope with her fee. She removed the stack of hundred dollar bills and counted the money. Satisfied, she stuffed the bills into the pocket of her sarong, then said, “You got these photographs off the Internet. That makes my job harder. I need to look at them in seclusion. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Mira walked away. Not to the house, but down to the edge of the lake where tiny schools of fish were doing a flawless ballet just above the water’s surface. Stopping, she fitted on a pair of reading glasses, and carefully studied the photographs.

“What was that about?” Running Bear asked.

“She’s got a crush on Tony.”

“I sensed that. She’s half his age.”

“I know. Tony is a magnet for — how should I say it? — problem women. I think it has something to do with him being an ex-policeman.”

“It must make his life difficult. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“That was some segue, chief.”

Running Bear gestured awkwardly with his hands. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I asked a woman on a date.”

“Of course I’ll have dinner with you.”

“You will? I mean, that’s wonderful. How about tonight?”

“That would be splendid. Pick me up at seven.”

The chief smiled like he’d just won the lottery. Mabel had no idea where this was going, but she was looking forward to the ride. She glanced down at the lake, and saw Mira slip the photographs back into the envelope, and start walking toward the pickup.