There was a rap on the door and Connie and I went into panic mode for fear it was the maid. I looked out the security peephole and recognized Erik’s partner from Ranger’s description. The guy in the hall looked a lot like Erik, but bigger and weirder and scarier. He looked like a Vegas pit boss on steroids.

“It’s our chauffeur,” I said.

I opened the door and invited the big scary guy in. He was dark-skinned with slicked-back black hair and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. He was wearing black cowboy boots, black leather pants, a black leather jacket, and a shiny black silk shirt that was unbuttoned half down his chest. He had a colorful crucifixion tattooed onto the back of his left hand. And he had a gun at the small of his back, under the jacket.

“I’m Miguel,” he said. “I’m Erik’s partner.”

“Jeez,” I said. “We’re all really sorry about Erik. I hope he’s okay.”

Miguel gave a brief nod, which I took to mean that Erik had his back straightened out and was recovering nicely.

“I’m ready to go,” I told him, handing over the cuffs and shackles and guns. “My partner is driving back. She has the rest of the hardware.”

Another small nod. Fine by him.

Connie was packed, but she was in the middle of the room with the photo in her hand and she was looking conflicted. “I need to get this straightened out,” she said. “I’m going to stay and catch a later flight.”

“I can stay with you,” I said.

She shook her head. “Not necessary. You’ll be safer in Trenton with Morelli.”

And Connie would be safer in Vegas without me. I gave her a hug and my room key. Miguel shouldered my bag, stepped aside, and followed me wordlessly to the elevator.

This is the thing about men who never talk. It’s easier to assume that they’re strong and that they have the sort of wily cunning a woman wants in a bodyguard. I try not to be judgmental, but in all honesty, I’d feel less secure if Miguel had rambled on about how difficult it was to find a decent silk shirt. So no conversation was okay by me because I needed some help being brave. I wanted to think this guy could leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I left the hotel and slipped into the air-conditioned security of a new black Mercedes. “Your car?” I asked Miguel.

“More or less.”

He walked me to the security check, waited watchfully while I went through. No hassle this time. And then I was on my own. In theory this was a safe zone. Still, I found a seat with my back to the wall and I boarded last, looking for familiar or suspicious faces.

I was in the last row with three empty seats next to me. Lula’s seat, Connie’s seat, and a seat reserved for Singh. If Singh had been with me, we would have boarded first and if at all possible through a side door. Walking a guy in chains down the aisle in front of the paying customers doesn’t set the tone for a stress-free flight.