Vogel gave him a skeptical look. “You’re thinking the psychic? Even if I believed that stuff-and I’m not sayin’ I do or I don’t-how’s she gonna help?”

“She’s an empath-picks up on emotions. Figured maybe if she got close enough, she might be able to home in on the vibes of a scared little girl.” Holt gave an offhand shrug and downed the last of his coffee. He wasn’t about to waste breath trying to convince somebody of something he’d seen proof of with his own eyes. Something like that you either believed or you didn’t. “Figured it couldn’t hurt, right?”

Vogel stared at him for a moment, then tossed his empty coffee cup in the general direction of a trash can and pointed at his squad as he slid off his desk perch. “Sanchez-get me the Ven-”

“Already on it,” Sanchez drawled, cradling a phone next to her ear.

“Got another phone I can use?” Holt sent his trash after Vogel’s. “My cell phone’s…”

“Sure-use that one right there.” The detective was already halfway across the room, yelling at somebody else. “Hey, Turley, those choppers in the air yet? Get me the tower out at-”

Holt picked up the phone on the desk behind him and tucked it under his jaw while he took out his cell phone again and found the number he wanted in his phone-book. He put away the cell phone and punched in the number. After a couple of rings a sleepy voice answered.

“This better be Publishers Clearing House…”

“Tony, it’s me,” Holt said, then listened to some swearing. “Look, you know I wouldn’t call this early if it wasn’t important. Where are you? How soon can you get back to Vegas?”

“Never left,” Tony said, in the middle of a huge yawn. “Brooke’s on her way here. You didn’t think she was gonna stay away once I e-mailed her those pictures I took-you kiddin’ me?”

Somebody was definitely on his side, Holt figured. He let out a breath. “Man, you don’t know how glad I am to hear that. Need another favor, my friend. Listen, will that toy of yours carry three passengers?”

“Three? Sure, if I leave my cameras, and if two of you don’t mind sitting on the floor.”

“Okay,” Holt said, “get your gear and meet us at the airstrip. Can you be there in an hour?”

Billie woke up and knew before she opened her eyes that it was later than she’d ever slept before. A sickening lurch in her stomach reminded her she’d not only overslept, she’d also failed to show up for work.

Too late to worry about that now.

For a few more minutes she lay in her bed, listening to the silence of an empty house. Wondering why she’d never noticed before that the silence had a weighted, suspenseful quality, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to come and fill the void. A voice, a laugh, a country song playing on a radio, the morning news on television, the tinkle of silverware on plates…

She got up, pulled a T-shirt on and wandered out to the kitchen, where she found the light blinking on her message machine. Three messages, the digital readout on the police recorder said. She punched the button, heard two hang-ups, then Holt’s voice.

“Mornin’, sunshine. Don’t worry about going in to work. I called your boss. In case he asks, you’re having stomach problems. I figured that covers a lot of territory, so you can fill in the blanks however you want to. So…rest up, whatever you need to do, for…you know, tonight. I don’t know if I’m supposed to wish you luck, or not. So…break a leg, or whatever you say in the world of professional poker. Just hang in there, darlin’. And…I’ll call you later. Okay…’bye.”

She stood for a moment, her finger poised to play the message again, just to hear his voice. Told herself that was stupid, and went to make coffee instead. She was measuring coffee into the basket when the phone rang, making her jump so that the grounds went all over the countertop instead. She wiped most of them into the sink, brushed her hand off on the front of her T-shirt and picked up the phone, her heart already lifting into a quicker, more hopeful cadence, knowing it must be Holt, calling her back as he’d said he would.

“Hey,” she said with a softness in her voice she hadn’t even known would be there.

“Where you been? I been callin’ you all morning.”

Cold rage washed over her. She wrapped her arms across herself and shivered. “Miley.”

“Yeah, it’s me-who did you think? So, you did it, didn’t you? Went to the cops. I told you-”

“Don’t be stupid. The cops, the FBI-they’re all over it without any help from me. What did you think was going to happen? You grab a little girl off the street and her parents aren’t going to notice? Jeez, Miley, what were you thinking?”

“I told you what I’m thinking. You just need to win that tournament and everything’s gonna be okay. I know you made it to the second round, so that’s good. You just keep winning and everything’s gonna work out.”

“Miley, you know what the odds are of winning that tournament? Even if I was the best player in the world-”

“You just better be the best. You hear me?” His voice turned menacing. “You better win, Billie.”

There was a click, and then nothing. Billie looked over at the recorder the police technician had set up, but it had nothing to tell her, either. She carefully returned the phone to its cradle and pressed her knotted fist against the cold flutter in her belly. Stomach trouble-yeah, right.

Find her, Kincaid. Please…find her.

Holt shifted, trying to find relief for his backside without taking his eyes off the tapestry of red, purple and gold unfurling beneath him. On the other side of the plane, Wade was sitting facing backward with one knee drawn up, the other stretched out in front of him, face pressed against the window. In the front seats, Tierney and Tony were also staring down at the incredible desert-scape known as the Valley of Fire. Aptly named, Holt thought, especially considering whoever had come up with the name probably hadn’t had the opportunity to see it from the air, with the sun low in the sky, painting parts of the incredible rock and sandstone formations with scarlet and gold and casting others into purple-and-indigo shadow. He’d heard Tony cussing a few times, bewailing the absence of his cameras, but it had been a long time now since any of them had said anything.

They were running out of time. Out of daylight, and out of time. The odds against Billie making it to tomorrow night’s final table were…what? A thousand to one? He was no math wizard, but it had to be huge.

Hang in there, love…

But under that thought, his emotions were so much more. More raw, more complex. He didn’t realize how much more, until Tierney threw him a quick glance and he saw how haggard and strained her face was.

“Sorry,” he said softly, and she smiled.

Wade looked up at his wife. “How’re you holding up, babe?”

Her smile wavered, but she murmured, “I’m fine.”

“Anything?” Wade asked.

She shook her head. She’d reported some interesting pickups over the course of the long afternoon, so they knew what they were trying to do was possible, at least. But so far, nothing that might have been the emotions of a frightened little girl.

“We’re losing the light,” Tony said, telling them all what they already knew. The canyons below were more purple now than gold.

Holt watched the Cherokee’s tiny shadow undulate across the landscape, playing hide-and-seek with the shadows. Then watched it fade and disappear as the sun sank below the horizon. He strained to see a pinprick of light, but there was nothing but deepening darkness. It occurred to him it was like a vast ocean of sand and rock, and they were looking for a single tiny lifeboat.

“Let’s try one more pass,” he said. “A little bit more to the north this time.”

The plane droned on toward the north, and the silence inside the plane grew heavier. When the left wingtip dipped into a sharp bank, Holt’s heart sank with it.

“Gotta call it a day, folks-sorry,” Tony said. “Running low on fuel.”

“That’s okay, buddy, you did-” Holt got that far and was interrupted by a sharp gasp.

“Wait! Wait-go back!” Tierney turned to them, her face rapt, her blue eyes bright. She put her hand up to cover her mouth, because she was laughing along with the tears.

The accountant from New Jersey went all-in on a straight draw that didn’t come through for him, and Billie’s table was down to three-Billie, an Internet player from New Zealand who looked about fifteen and a middle-aged guy wearing several gold chains, who chewed constantly on a toothpick and kept staring at Billie’s cleavage. Which was actually okay with her, since she’d gone to some trouble to produce the cleavage by means of an extremely uncomfortable push-up bra she’d bought in a moment of insanity and she almost never wore.

Most of the other tables were done, or down to their last two players. Billie had been playing conservatively, biding her time, trying to hold on as long as possible. But inevitably, her pile of chips had shrunk, and it was clear her two remaining opponents were running equally low on patience. The looks Toothpick Guy sent her now were more annoyed than lascivious.

On the next hand, Billie drew pocket tens. The wonder kid from New Zealand, the chip leader, folded. Toothpick Guy checked, but looked a little too smug about it. Billie checked, too.

The Flop was ten, deuce, three. Billie stared at the cards, confident her glasses would keep her eyes from betraying her. She waited as long as she could get away with, then bet a thousand. Toothpick Guy promptly saw her bet. Exuding confidence, but not too much.

The Turn card shot onto the table. Another deuce. Again Billie stalled. A full house wasn’t a sure thing, but she was almost out of chips. This hand was probably as good as it was going to get, and besides, what choice did she really have?

She went all-in.

Toothpick Guy’s smug smile faded when he saw her full house. He had pocket queens, both red. Two pair, queen high.

Time really did seem to stand still. She knew she was holding her breath, and even her heartbeat seemed to have been suspended.

In slow motion, the dealer dealt the final card-The River. It was the queen of spades.

Toothpick Guy let out a gusty breath and leaped from his chair, hands clapped to the sides of his head in joy and relief. Billie sat motionless.

It’s over.

There was a shimmery noise inside her head that blocked out all other sounds: Her own voice saying the right things as she rose from the table and extended her hand to the two surviving players. The New Zealander, saying something sympathetic to go along with his rather sweet smile. Toothpick Guy, all teeth and graciousness now that he’d won. She felt people patting her on the back as she turned, no doubt wishing her well, and she didn’t hear that, either.

I failed, Holt. I couldn’t do it. Hannah Grace, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…

Blind and deaf, somehow she wove her way through the ballroom-through the casino, through the rows of slots with their garish lights and dinging bells and avid, oblivious worshipers…through the vast and crowded lobby, noisy with people enjoying the glitz, glamour and excitement of Vegas. Cold air slapped her in the face, and she came to with a start, realizing she was on the sidewalk apron just outside the main entrance, under the portico where limos and taxicabs deliver their passengers. She hesitated, shivering, then began walking rapidly, not knowing or caring where she was going.

“Billie!”

Somewhere, lost in the shimmering noise inside her head, she heard someone calling. Calling her? Or was it her imagination? Didn’t matter, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, or see anyone. She kept walking.

“Billie-wait!”

That voice. The voice she’d been both hoping and dreading to hear. She turned, quaking inside, holding on to her self-control by a gossamer thread. And saw Holt farther down the drive, making his way toward her, dodging around people, pushing past some. She started toward him, then halted, unable to make her legs take another step.

Then he was there, reaching for her, but she put out her hand to stop him from pulling her into his arms.

“I’m out,” she said, words coming rapidly in a hoarse voice, blunt and unforgiving. “I couldn’t do it. I tried, but I lost. I didn’t-”

“Billie-listen to me.” He was shaking his head, gripping her arms. And smiling.

None of that registered. “I’m sorry, Kincaid. I couldn’t-”

He gave her a little shake. “Billie, it doesn’t matter. Don’t you understand? It’s okay. We’ve got her.”

In that instant, time and space did strange and impossible things. Time stopped. The universe shrank down to the tiny space that included only herself and the man holding on to her…holding her up…holding her together. She stared at him and heard a distant voice asking, “She’s okay?”