“I’m curious. I’ll never be able to afford that kind of game, but I’ve played in Vegas a few times.”

“Well, I don’t know,” she said brusquely. She started for her car, but he shifted so that he stood in her way.

“One more question, Miss Daley. Please. Who does work on Friday nights?”

Her eyes narrowed further. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m searching for someone,” he said honestly. “They might have been on the riverboat at some point. But no one I’ve talked to during the normal hours has seen her.” He wasn’t sure why he’d substituted her for him at the last moment, but he was glad he had because Dawn’s eyes softened.

“This is personal, isn’t it?” she asked.

You have no idea. “Yes, ma’am.” He drew a breath and steeled himself. “My baby sister.”

“Let me look at her photo. Maybe I’ve seen her.”

His hand genuinely trembling, he found the photo of his sister on his phone. “This is her.”

Dawn studied the photo intently, but ended up shaking her head sadly. “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen her, either. You should ask Scott King. He works most days, but always on Fridays. He’s the security manager.”

Grant hadn’t realized how tightly he was holding his shoulders until they relaxed a little. Talking to the security manager might be a better idea than trying to talk to the riverboat owner. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I appreciate it.”

He began to turn back to his car, but had one more question. “If you don’t live here, how did you know the security code?”

She rolled her eyes. “I watched Richard type it in. He was so high by the time we got here that he didn’t notice I was watching him.”

“You drove with him when he was high?”

Her smirk was matter-of-fact. “It was the only way to get into the house. Are you going to report my earrings?”

He nodded. “Of course. Daley—D-a-l-e-y.”

She smiled. “Yes. They’re dangly earrings with diamonds. Diamond chips, actually. Clip-ons. They aren’t worth much, but they were my mom’s.”

Grant’s eyes unexpectedly stung. He’d make sure Wes reported them when he found him. “I hope you get them back,” he murmured, then got into his car and drove back to Wes’s apartment.

Harrison, Ohio
Sunday, March 17, 1:15 p.m.

“Thanks for fucking nothing.” Ending the call, Cade tossed the burner phone to his kitchen table in disgust. “Un-fucking-believable,” he snarled. Not a single reporter knew who the woman was. Or if they did, they wouldn’t tell him.

The fuckers kept telling him to “read about it on my blog page,” or “watch the video on our website.” He had and none of those had anything about the kid other than what he’d gotten from that first report. Assholes.