She stops talking and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Do I want to know?"

"No, Vaughn, I really don’t think you do. But since I know you’re gonna to ask, let’s just start with her real name."

Shit. This cannot be good.

"Does Daisy Bryndle ring any bells?"

"Should it?"

"Depends. Did you turn on a TV at all ten years ago? Because Daisy Bryndle’s family was murdered back when she was only thirteen. Daisy went missing and then showed up eight months later and spent the better part of a year locked away in a secret location. She was charged with the murders and was all over the news for months, then poof. Gone."

"What the—why isn’t she in jail?"

"Apparently the charges were dropped after a Denver lawyer stepped in. That lawyer, Marjorie Tamren, is her friend Bebe’s mother. They changed Daisy’s name, legally adopted her at age fifteen, and her juvenile record was expunged and sealed when she turned eighteen. I couldn’t get a hard copy, but this info comes from someone close to her as a child."

A set of double doors open and Carl appears.

"I gotta go, Felicity. Thank you."

"Hey, I’m glad to help. And I can relate to this girl, ya know, V? I can relate to her."

"I know, kid. I know. I’ll see you tomorrow." I end the call just as Carl walks up. He’s got a tight smile on his face and I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad sign.

"You’ve been accepted into the game, Mr. Asher, but I cannot guarantee that you will be able to get to the girl. She’s… quite wrapped up with our special guest at the moment."

Fuck. "What the hell does that mean? If he’s got his hands on her, I will—"

Carl puts both hands up in a stop motion and looks around nervously. "Mr. Asher, please,” he whispers. “This entire area is wired up to off-site regulators. They will not allow you to distract from the game. You are in there to bet, and if you can get your girl while you’re at it, that’s fortunate for you. But fighting over a woman in this suite is absolutely out of the question. There are armed guards inside, Mr. Asher. I have to take your cell phone and you need to put up three hundred thousand dollars to enter the suite." He thrusts a clipboard at me. "Sign here and we’ll withdraw the funds from your account."

I hand over my phone and sign for the bank transfer. I look nervously over Carl’s shoulder at the door he came out of. "She’s in there?"

"Yes, sir. They are playing craps at the moment. The suite patron has stipulated a minimum playing time of one hour." I nod as we approach the double doors and he stops and waves me forward as someone on the other side releases the lock. "Good luck," Carl says as I walk through and enter the suite.

A loud cheer goes up from a considerable crowd of about twenty people surrounding the craps table. I take them all in. Men in expensive tuxedos—at least I’m dressed for the part—each with a woman on their arm. Most are in long expensive gowns flashing diamonds.

Except one.

I have to chuckle at her. My Grace is wearing a knee-length dark blue dress that is probably part of her everyday work attire. She has no diamonds, her hair is out of place, and her cheeks are ruddy with excitement as another cheer goes up.

A tall middle-aged Asian man with striking green eyes leans down into her neck to whisper and she throws her head back and laughs again.

Clearly she is not torn up about my bad news today.

Green-eyes notices me and gives me a nod to signify this is his room and I’m here as his guest. I nod back and he calls out. "Mr. Asher, I’m honored."

Grace practically gives herself whiplash trying to find me, and I admit, that gives me a little thrill. "What’s he doing here?" she whispers. But she’s looking right at me, so it’s not hard to read her lips.

"Come, Mr. Asher. My good-luck charm is still hot." He nods to Grace, ignoring her question about me.

I walk over to the table and begin greeting other people. They nod and shake my hand as I put on my polite public persona. I take up shooter residence, opposite of the Asian man. But my eyes are only on Grace as I try to assess her state of mind.

Stunning. Check.

Even though her dress is not a designer gown and her neck is bare of flashing jewels, she is the star of this room. Her hair is piled up on top of her head in a way I’ve never seen before and it allows me to stare at the sweeping line of her neck. The strap of her black bra is showing and even though I’d love to see more of that, I don’t like the fact that every man in the room is probably thinking the same thing.

Drunk. Check.

Her cheeks are flushed, and not just from the winning. Her eyes are a bit glassy, enough to have me worried. And once I look closer, they are puffy and red. She’s been crying. She’s leaning into the Asian man, who is way too old for her, steadying herself so she doesn’t teeter.

Angry. Check.

Her forehead is a field of furrows as she purses her lips and squints her eyes. Just seconds before, her face was relaxed and excited. But now the hurt I’ve caused her today is coming through loud and clear.

"Grace," I say in a soft, gentle voice to let her know I’m not here to start trouble. "You look beautiful."

She smiles up at her date and ignores me.

"I’m Damian Li," the Asian man says, his green eyes brilliant and his smile genuine. "Welcome to my suite. Do you know my date tonight?" He looks down on Grace and she continues to beam a smile at him.