“Answer me.” The words ripped out of Tom, a great ugly torrent of them. “After years and years and years of driving us from place to place because you hate people like Vengerov so much, you were within feet of him and you didn’t say anything! You didn’t insult him or punch him in the face. You’ve never held back before! There has to be a reason. You were different today.”

“It wouldn’t have been smart. That’s the reason.”

“It wouldn’t have been smart?” Tom echoed. “When has that ever stopped you? Dad, he has something on you. He has to. Just tell me what it is. Come on, tell me. Because otherwise . . .”

“Otherwise, what?” Neil’s eyes cut to his.

Tom’s fists clenched. “You know, when I was a kid, I had nothing. I had no money, I had nowhere to go, I had no one but you, and you were fine with getting in trouble then. You were fine with getting arrested or getting in fights or yelling your opinion at anyone, no matter what the situation—”

Neil sighed, rubbing his fingers over his saggy eyelids. “Tommy . . .”

“None of that was smart, but you did it anyway. So why do consequences matter now? Is whatever Joseph Vengerov might do to you so much worse than that time you got yourself thrown in jail for two months? Huh? You never worried about me, but now something’s worrying you? Come on, tell me the truth, Dad!”

Neil didn’t answer. He seemed small and old and sad. The ugly, awful feeling in Tom’s gut grew worse, until he couldn’t stand to look at him.

“I think I’m going back to the Spire. I don’t know why I even came here. It’s not like we do holidays.” Neil would just spend his whole visit drinking, anyway, Tom decided bitterly.

“That’s your choice.”

Tom jerked toward the closet door to yank out his backpack. He hadn’t taken anything out of it yet, anyway.

“Merry Christmas, happy New Year, all that.”

“All that,” Neil echoed. He didn’t stop Tom from walking out the door.

THE PROBLEM ABOUT a casino in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico, was the lack of taxis in easy driving distance. Tom headed a quarter mile down the road to hitch a ride by the tollbooths demanding an eighty-buck fee, and waited for someone to drive past.

He was rewarded quickly when a pair of headlights bore down on him.

Then his eyes adjusted as the vehicle came to a halt, and he realized it was a limousine, probably bulletproof, maybe missileproof. A string of security vehicles and automated patrollers pulled over behind it. There was really only one person around here who’d need this much security. Tom backed up a step when he realized it.

The last limo ride he’d taken hadn’t ended well for him.