Waving away exhaust from a passing souped-up dual cab pickup truck, Daniel perched on one of the steel bollards that lined the sidewalk in front of the building and stared down at his phone.

Vegas was the one he’d been waiting for since he’d started at FinCEN two years ago. Rumors of money laundering between an intricate network of off-the-strip casinos, bail bondsmen, and check-cashing outfits had been floating around since before he joined the bureau. It was the kind of job that made an ordinary agent a legend.

He wanted it. God did he want it.

And he didn’t want Bryce to get it.

“That asshole,” Daniel snorted.

He couldn’t even hear the man’s name without getting pissed. Bryce Stewart had been his nemesis since the day Daniel started at FinCEN, which had been only three months after Bryce signed on. Top of his class at Annapolis, then on to Pitt where he’d finished with a perfect record, Bryce strutted around FinCEN with his chest out, like the rest of them should be grateful that he’d deigned them worthy enough to work with.

The man had become damn near apoplectic when Daniel strolled in with his Phi Beta Kappa key and Stanford degree, and just as much praise—if not more—than Bryce had garnered. Daniel had never been overly competitive. He didn’t care if the Marine next to him was able to run a more impressive four hundred, or if he wasn’t the fastest at writing code. He’d always been content to just put his head down and focus on his work.

Bryce was the one who’d made this into a competition, and now Daniel was borderline obsessed with getting the best of him.

Vegas was the prize. Everyone knew it, and everyone knew what it would mean to whomever was tasked to run it.

“I have to get it,” he whispered.

But he wasn’t going to get anything if he didn’t solve his current case.

He went back inside and caught the elevator up to the twenty-second floor. He cut through the Sales Department, dodging a Texas-shaped stress ball being tossed back and forth by a couple of guys he still didn’t know by name. When he turned the corner, he caught sight of Justin Vail standing at his desk.

Why was his supervisor waiting at his desk?

“Hey, Justin,” Daniel said. “Sorry I wasn’t here. I had to run out for a minute—”

Justin waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Can you come into my office? I need to ask you something.”

A weight as heavy as a solid brick of gold settled in Daniel’s stomach.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Had he been made?