A plan was forming, puzzle pieces slipping into place. It wasn’t going to be easy, and they’d need to get lucky—but there was a way forward. She did her best to steady her nerves, as she unslung her backpack from her shoulder.

“It’s not hopeless. But the only way down is the way we came up.”

She unzipped the backpack and dug past the eagle and the book. The flask was there, too, still half full of battery acid, as was her purse, tucked into an interior fold of the pack. But the rest were all tools of her trade.

“Hailey, if it’s law enforcement, they probably have our pictures from the cameras in the casino. Which means they know who we are.”

“Not who we are,” Hailey said, “Who we were.”

She started to pull out items. First, a baseball hat, which she tossed to Nick. He eyed it, shrugged, pulled it down low over his eyes.

“And lose the jacket.”

Unfortunately, the shirt beneath was denim, too, but she had him roll up the sleeves and pop the collar.

Then she was back to her pack. Her hair was already different from her photos, so it wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention. But she retrieved a pair of heavy plastic glasses without lenses.

Then she reached deeper into the bag, and withdrew a plastic case, which she flipped open, revealing her heavy artillery: a fist-size ball of puttylike material she’d gotten off the Internet when she’d first been made at Foxwoods, after taking their blackjack tables for five digits.

She tore the rubbery material in half and handed part of it to Nick.

“It goes in your mouth, against the cheeks. Changes the contours of your face. Doesn’t seem like much—but sometimes it’s even good enough to fool the facial rec software.”

Nick watched as she pushed her half of the putty into her mouth, using her fingers to mold it to the inside of her cheeks. He eyed the result, then shook his head.

“Yeah, OK, maybe in the dark—”

“It’s pretty dark in that stairwell—”

“And maybe it can fool a camera. But a cop, up close? No way.”

Hailey knew he was right—the odds were, a good law enforcement officer would see right through different hair, a pair of fake glasses and some cheek plumping. But if there was one thing a card counter understood, it was all about changing the odds until they tipped to your advantage.

“The disguise is only part of the plan.”

Before he could respond, she turned back toward the stairs—looking at the fire alarm attached right below the ceiling. Then she turned to her left, toward where the cannon was once affixed to the wall. Then to the park ranger. And then to the grate over the elevator shaft, right behind where Nick was standing.

It would work.

It had to work.