Her mouth twitched unsurely. She looked at the long-hair, who muttered, “Check you later, Sav,” and went about his business. Tera had swapped her wallet for her phone in the five or six seconds it took Savannah to swivel back toward her. The same paparazzi shot of Luke and Kitty filled the screen.

“You recognize this guy?” Tera asked.

Savannah tapped her tongue against her upper lip. Her piercings jangled. “That’s, uh . . . shit, I can’t think of his name. The actor . . .”

“Luke Kingsley.”

“Right, yeah.” Savannah snapped her fingers, then her eyes grew wide and she pointed at the screen. “Oh shit. I recognize him now. He was here. This afternoon.”

Tera nodded. She knew that Luke had been there. She knew what time he arrived, and what time he left. Savannah confirming this was no surprise, although what she said next lifted Tera to the balls of her feet and rocked her back a step.

“They were both here—sat right up there at the bar.”

“Both?” Tera looked at the shot of Luke and Kitty, then flashed back to the photographs she’d seen only hours before—a bullet hole in Kitty’s chest and another in the middle of her forehead. “Both? You sure?”

“Hell, yeah, I’m sure. I mean, they looked different. He had on a ball cap, wore glasses.” She cocked her hip and pointed at Tera’s phone again. “She didn’t have all that makeup on, and her hair was down. But it was her, all right. Those cheekbones.”

Tera stood perfectly still, afraid that she might spill to the floor if she tried moving. A sick feeling bloomed in her stomach.

“You okay?” Savannah asked. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine, but she had to act like she was. People responded positively to strength, both victims and felons. It was one of the first things she’d learned as a cop. How many interviews had she conducted over the years, having to exist (admittedly, with varying degrees of success) in a space beyond her emotions?

She asked, “Did you speak to them?”

Savannah nodded.

“Did they say what they were doing here? This isn’t the kind of place you just happen upon.”

Savannah shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Her T-shirt rode up in front, exposing another piercing through her belly button. “They said they were uncle and niece, that she was here researching the Mojave people for some school project, and that he was going to tour the casinos. Smelled like bullshit to me. Doing this job, you get a nose for it after a while.”

Tera nodded. She could relate.

“It was fairly obvious,” Savannah continued, “that they were really here because they were looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“One of our semi-regulars. Name’s Ramón.”