“The photos?” Taured’s voice this time.

“In your car,” Sammy said. “Front seat.”

The driver’s-side door didn’t open as suddenly. Taured was hesitating. Summer breathed through the hand cupped over her mouth. It was the door. He never missed anything that was half-finished, half-closed or half-assed.

“You didn’t close the door.”

“What—yeah, I did. I always—You’re right. I probably didn’t. It won’t happen again, boss.”

Summer couldn’t hear what Sammy said after that, because both doors to the RV were now fully closed and the engine had started, with her still underneath.

9

Now

Ursa was taking her bags from the Lyft driver, her eyes hidden behind the largest sunglasses Rainy had ever seen. Her shoulders were hunched forward, and the rain pounded her back as she sprinted for the lobby. A woman jogged past them in a dress so short Rainy could see her underwear. She was barefoot and clutched her Louboutins against her breasts as she screamed, “Javi! Let me have my bird!”

Only when they were in the hotel’s lobby, the air-conditioning chilling the raindrops on their skin, could Rainy relax. By force of habit, she reached up to make sure her necklace was still there, flat against her skin. Her fingers caressed the metal as she watched Ursa dust raindrops from her clothes.

“Do not play with me, rain! I am a pro.” Mackenzie, whose blond hair was plastered to her face, shot Ursa a woeful look and escaped to the bathroom, presumably to dry herself with paper towel. They had come to escape a snowstorm and had found a rainstorm instead. As an artist, Rainy appreciated the comedy of the situation, though she’d never say so; the rest of them looked ready to cry. Didn’t most of what happened in Vegas happen indoors, anyway? They could still gamble and see shows while the desert got her watering.

“Will you watch the bags? I’m getting a drink,” Ursa said. Rainy followed her eyes to the hotel bar and nodded. “Want anything?”

Rainy shook her head and watched Ursa’s leggy stride as she made her way to the bar. Braithe and Tara stood in front of the check-in counter, their shoulders pressed so closely together they looked like conjoined twins. Not for the first time, Rainy noted that two of them seemed to have nothing in common but time—a grandfathered-in friendship. She thought of Sara then, wondered what had happened to her; it was fleeting and uncomfortable, and she pressed it to the far back of her mind. Sara didn’t belong in this world with these people, and Rainy had practiced hard at separating that life from this one.