Diesel tensed. “This is getting really ugly. Is she all right?” he asked, while the second man, apparently avenging the woman’s honor, let out a huge roar and lunged for the man who’d shoved her.

Shouting for security, two of the dealers stepped in and restrained both men. The room seemed to draw a relieved breath—until someone helped the woman to her feet and she reentered the fray, her fists swinging. Bystanders began to yell for security, too, just as the woman delivered a stunning left hook to the first man.

“I’d say she’s all right,” Stone said.

“King!” A woman rushed at the table where Diesel and Stone sat, her face flushed, her expression irate. “Why are you just sitting there? Get off your ass and do your damn job—” She stopped abruptly when she reached them, blinking at Diesel, her irate expression gone blankly confused. “Um . . . I’m sorry, sir. I’m so very sorry. I thought you were someone else. Please excuse me.”

She backed away, bobbing her head, continuing to apologize. When she was gone, Stone turned to Diesel with a perplexed frown.

“What the hell, D?” Stone asked.

Diesel was staring after the woman, who’d run into the back, where presumably the offices were. A minute later, a guy in a double-breasted suit rushed out with two uniformed security guards in tow. The skirmish was broken up and the crowd returned to the gaming tables.

“That’s the second time in two days that I’ve been mistaken for someone else,” Diesel murmured. “That woman—I think she was the manager—called me King.”

“I’d say you’re more of a baron,” Stone joked, then sobered when Diesel didn’t laugh along. “Who was the other person?”

“Michael Rowland.” Diesel grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened up the Ledger’s home page. Front and center was the sketch of the bald man Michael had seen kill John Brewer.

Stone was looking over his shoulder. “I can see the resemblance. You think it means something?”

“It could. Michael sees this guy . . . y’know.” Diesel folded his fingers to look like a gun and tapped the photo, unwilling to say the words in case there were eyes and ears spying on them.

“I get it,” Stone said. “And the victim frequented this casino.”

“He did. It’s not a coincidence. Stepdad and this King guy—the one that the manager thought was me—their paths could have crossed here. Maybe something happened between them that led to the killing.”

Just then the woman came back carrying a tray with two beers. “Gentlemen, please accept my apologies. I feel terrible having talked to you that way.”

Diesel gave her a smile. “Not a problem. I have to say I’m curious, though. I’m not usually mistaken for someone else. Who is my doppelgänger?”