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from him, all without being recognized.
    Piece of cake.
    Gwen drifted steadily through the ranks of slot machines and computer poker games, scanning the players. No Jerry in sight, but then he didn’t strike her as the type for a sucker’s game. He’d want cards, where he could influence the outcome.
    She resisted the urge to yawn. Between the shopping, the styling, the packing and the flight to Vegas, it was nearly eleven—about the time she usually clocked out for the night. Since it was a weeknight, the ranks of the players had thinned out some. Maybe Jerry had gone to bed, too.
    Yeah, right. She snorted at herself as she passed the croupiers at the craps tables. Jerry was more likely to stayup all night, sure in the knowledge he was going to hit it big, throwing away her grandfather’s money all the while.
    As she crossed the broad carpeted avenue that separated the slots floor from the green tables of the real games, the suffocating crowd and noise lessened, replaced by a steadily rising sense of purpose. The people playing at these tables still relied on chance, but they knew their games, and the knowledge gave them a sense of confidence.
    Gwen ambled casually down the aisles between tables, as though she couldn’t quite decide where to stop. No point in telegraphing to everyone that she was on the hunt. A tall, ebony-skinned dealer smiled at her. “Baccarat, lovely lady?”
    Gwen shook her head, a faint flush tinting her cheekbones.
    A burst of giggles rose from the blackjack tables behind her. “Oh, come on, Rennie, you know you’re a winner,” said a woman’s voice.
    Gwen whipped her head around to see two female dealers laughing with the player sitting at their table. A single male player.
    Rennie.
    What were the chances that two guys named Rennie would be at the same hotel as Jerry? Coincidence? Maybe, but Gwen didn’t much like coincidence. She was a bigger fan of probabilities. Odds were that Rennie might very well know Jerry, and if he did, he could just lead her to him. And that was enough to make him her new best friend, she decided as the dealer going off shift walked away.
    Gwen sat down next to Rennie and slid some twenties across to the dealer.
    â€œChange a hundred,” announced the current dealer, an ample redhead with laugh lines liberally marking her middle-aged face. She slid a stack of chips across the table and used the paddle to push Gwen’s money into the bill slot.
    Gwen studied Rennie out of the corner of her eye. His brown hair was a bit long on top, disordered, she imagined, by a long night at the tables. Even as she watched him, he ran a hand through it again, pushing it out of his eyes. He didn’t hunch tensely like the gamblers she’d seen at other tables or sprawl with exaggerated confidence. He just sat loose and relaxed, a glass of what looked like whiskey at his elbow, next to the stacks of chips that attested to a combination of luck and skill. He wore jeans and a pine-green shirt patterned in faded burgundy and gold. Clearly he’d chosen more for comfort than style.
    Then he turned toward her, and she understood why the dealers had been giggling with him.
    He looked as though his habitual expression was one of wry amusement. A startling green, his eyes held a glint of devilry that invited her to join in. His sideburns were just a bit long, making him look a bit like some nineteenth-century rake. A day’s worth of beard darkened his jaw.
    And his mouth…
    Adrenaline skittered through her veins.
    â€œWelcome to the fun house,” he said.
    The dealer shuffled the decks and refilled the shoe.
    Flirt, Gwen thought feverishly. Keep him talking. Nina wouldn’t be struck dumb by his looks. Nina would be enjoying herself. “You looked like you could use a little company.”
    â€œWhat I could use is luck. Did you bring any with you?” He looked her over.
    Gwen glanced at his stacks of chips.