“Someone’s bad planning,” Trent said softly. “The right person could make a killing.”

Vivian made a huff of noise. “Someone’s good planning, and make a killing is right. The people there don’t want anyone driving through. Going to Vegas doesn’t add much time. Stop complaining. We all want to get to the West Coast as soon as possible.”

I hid a smile. Apparently Vivian and Trent hadn’t been getting along, either. Settling myself, I ogled the people and buildings, acting like the Midwestern goober I was. I’d never seen so many flamboyant people flaunting their differences. It was easy to pick out the tourists with their pale faces and cameras. I’d never thought of myself as a conservative person, but this was like Halloween and Mardi Gras lumped together, a true Inderland playground.

“As long as we don’t stop,” I said, thinking it would be easy to lose a day here.

“We’re stopping,” Ivy said, voice low and confident.

From behind me, Trent muttered, “She speaks, so we must obey.”

“You showered this morning,” Ivy said, more loudly than she needed to. “I showered this morning. Vivian and Rachel didn’t, and Rachel fought off a demon in hundred-degree heat. We can stop for an hour.” There was a hesitation, followed by a soft “Besides, I’m hungry.”

“Fine,” Trent said, sounding like a passive-aggressive teenage girl. “But when we get back in the car, I’m driving.”

A shower sounded more than good, and worried about the backseat dynamics, I stretched again. “Could you pick me up a burger or something?” I said around a yawn, eying a tall, blond vamp pacing down the sidewalk in six-inch heels, her clothes hardly covering her important bits. “The faster we get out of here, the better.”

“Burgers?” Trent’s voice dripped disdain, and my tension spiked. “We are in Vegas. This is the first time we might find something that passes for food, and you want burgers?”

I turned in my seat, surprised by how tired he looked, washed out and worried. Trent was never worried. Not enough to let it show, anyway. “Dude, why don’t you stop and think about what your mouth is saying?” I said tightly.

“Children,” Vivian said, not entirely joking, “if you don’t stop arguing, I’m driving right through.”

I turned back around, and Trent muttered, “I get to pick the restaurant.”

Ivy sighed.

“And the hotel,” he added, and she growled in annoyance.

I suddenly felt a whole lot ickier. And hungry. Leaning forward, I began tidying the front seat, tucking the map away and picking up trash. More Milk Duds boxes? “Jenks, you okay?” I asked, still not having seen him. It wasn’t like him to miss a chance to join in with picking on Trent, and he wasn’t on his usual seat on the rearview mirror.

“Peachy,” came his voice from under the napkin draped over the open dash ashtray.

“He’s altitude sick,” Ivy said.

I resisted lifting the napkin, but just. “Are you okay?” I asked again, eying the white square. “You don’t sound good.”