He shrugged. Could feel heat rising on his neck. Whatever. The smell was so familiar. The air, crisper than in Vegas, comingled with the scent of dust, disappointment, and the spicy, bitter tang of the big sagebrush that speckled the desert landscape. He was experiencing a feeling of vertigo. Never had taken anyone here, but Sarah had looked so desolate. So he had come up with the poorly conceived idea that by showing her this place, as repulsive as it was, he might somehow gain a little of her trust. Either that or she’ll run screaming for the hills. Mick sucked in a breath of air, seemed to be having difficulty getting oxygen into his damned lungs.

Sarah tipped her chin toward the weather-beaten sign out front, peeling white backdrop with red lettering. THE DESERT ROSE RANCH. “This is where you lived?”

He nodded.

“Looks like those photos of . . .” She paused, then said in a matter-of-fact tone, “A house of ill repute.”

He shoved his hands deep into the front pockets of his faded jeans. “It was.” His voice came out flat. He ambled across the drive. Tufts of cheatgrass and red brome had pushed their way through the hardened earth, looked as if they were determined to take over and thrive. As he approached the front door, he was aware that the building was smaller than he remembered. However, the feeling oozing out of the ruins was just as bleak.

“What happened to it?” he heard Sarah ask from over his shoulder.

“Fire.” He nudged the charred steps to the front door with his foot. There were four steps, which he used to hop up and down when he was a boy. Feet together, knees bent, then launch into the air and land with a thump. When he was really bored, he’d wrap his legs and arms around the rough wooden banister, mindful of splinters, and hang upside down like a monkey, all the blood rushing to his head. Those steps had been good for sitting on, too. Hot summer days, an ice cube melting slowly in his mouth as he watched the occasional car whiz by. Sometimes the cars would slow down on the approach and Mick would disappear around to the back like a ghost before they had pulled into the lot. Grandma Flo had strict rules about that kind of thing. Would whup the hell outta him if any of the johns caught him out front. Didn’t want them to be scared off by the sight of a dirty-assed, snot-nosed kid.