Nick watched the play at the blackjack table he was sitting at with minimal interest. He’d been in Vegas a week. Charles’s reply to Nick’s faxed application had been instantaneous—Nick could start bright and early that Monday morning. Which had meant no breakfast with Grace. Which had been a good thing, he told himself. In the clear, crisp light of day, Nick had no excuse for his behavior. None. He was here to do a job. And since he no longer considered Grace a suspect, there wasn’t any reason to spend time with her. There would be no repeat of their near-miss in the pool. “Is this table hot?” a voice asked from over Nick’s shoulder. Zeke. Nick felt a quick tingle of adrenaline but didn’t shift his gaze from the pair of cards he’d been studying. Blackjack wasn’t his thing, but he’d been trying to bond with two of his fellow janitors, who were sitting to his left. “Not particularly, but feel free to change our luck,” he said, nodding at the empty spot to his right.
