I finally spotted the person I was looking for at a blackjack table in the corner, sitting calmly with his hands resting against the lip. A dark-skinned human in a bright red suit, matching hat perched atop his head. His gaze was riveted to the pair of cards in front of him: three of spades and nine of clubs. Crossing my arms, I leaned against a nearby column to watch. The human in the red suit tapped the table edge. The dealer flipped a card, a five of clubs, bringing the total to seventeen. The human paused, then very deliberately tapped the table again. The dealer flipped one more, turning up a five of hearts. Twenty-two and bust.

The man in the suit sniffed, rose from the chair and turned to face me.

“You threw that hand,” I said. “You knew perfectly well it was going to go over.”

He gave me a brilliant smile. “Oh, sure, please announce it to the whole casino,” he said in a low voice, holding my gaze and grinning the entire time. His gold tooth glimmered in the artificial lights. “Blackjack isn’t really my thing, but since I was meeting you tonight, I figured I didn’t have time for an honest game of Texas Hold’em. Funny thing about blackjack, though. Win too often, and they start watching you. Keep winning, and they’ll accuse you of card counting, which is perfectly legal in the grand state of Nevada and will get you banned from every casino on and off the Strip for life. That’s the number-one rule in this town. The House always wins. Always.” He continued to smile, but it had an edge now, and the eyes above the teeth were hard. “So I’d be ever so grateful if some cocky lizard didn’t blow my cover and force me to change identities again. Now, laugh, you son of a bitch, like I said something hilarious.”

He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. I managed a chuckle, shaking my head. “Haven’t changed at all, have you, Griffin?”

“Only my name,” he responded with another grin, this one genuine. “And my face. And my personality. Helping you, if I remember. And I’m about to do it again, aren’t I?”

“Who’s the guy who got you out in the first place?”

“Touché.” He gave me a rueful look. “What do you need, Riley?”

I shot a brief, wary glance at the numerous black globes on the ceiling, the cameras watching our every move. “Is this a safe place to talk?”

“Not in the slightest,” he replied cheerfully. “Do you need a drink? I feel like I need a drink. Come on.”