Peter Udal walked over to the bar for a fresh drink after Elias and the lady he was with left the room. He sat back down and did some people-watching, his mind on other things. What kind of number would embarrass him and cause him to lose sleep for a very long time? Elias had said to play straight with Fox. Just for the barest second he wondered how straight was straight. Damn straight, he decided. He jerked at his cell phone, powered up, and when the gruff voice said hello, he replied, "Give me the Fox woman's phone number." It wasn't a request, it was an order, and Cosmo Cricket recognized it as such.

Cricket rattled off the numbers. "Peter, I think I'm capable of handling my car problems. I don't need you to intercede on my behalf. I am, after all, a lawyer."

"So is she," Udal barked. "Who said anything about intervening on your behalf? If you're stupid enough to spend that kind of money on a car, you need to cover it in bubble wrap before you take it out on the road. Is there anything else I need to know at the moment?"

"No, Peter, not at the moment." Cricket wondered if he was being aced out by the long-legged, silver-haired woman. His eyes narrowed to slits as he contemplated his options if that was to happen.

"Good." Udal clicked off and dialed the number Cricket had given him. He waited while his heartbeat kicked up a notch. The voice that greeted him was soothing, light, and almost musical.

"This is Lizzie Fox. What can I do for you?"

"Miss Fox, this is Peter Udal. I'm the president of the Nevada Gaming Commission, and I'd like to speak to you as soon as possible, like within the next hour. I'll be more than happy to pay your fee, whatever it is. Before you can ask, this meeting has nothing to do with our chief counsel and his fancy car."

"I think I need to know a little something before I make a decision. Time is money, Mr. Udal."

Udal cleared his throat. "How does a billion dollars sound for your intervention?"

The melodious voice turned brisk and professional. "What kind of intervention?"

"I'd rather not discuss something like this on the phone. Right now I'm at the airport. I can be back in town in forty minutes or so. There's a little place downtown called the Rabbit Hole. No one will pay attention to either one of us, and the food is very good—they don't serve rabbit. Rabbit is the owner's name. He used to be a prizefighter before he got knocked silly. His wife does the cooking. He watches."

"An hour, then," Lizzie said before she hung up.