“Well… let me talk to Ozzie and Harriet.”

Their expressions changed when they realized I was coming for them. They made no approach but braced themselves, as if I were some malevolent force they couldn’t escape. I knew it would be awkward-a meeting between the guardian who’d lost custody and the guardians who’d been given custody. But I wanted to minimize the discomfort. What was the point in hassling them? Better to try to charm them, at least until such time as a court put custody back where it belonged.

“Hello,” I said, hand extended. “I’m Lieutenant Susan Pulaski. I want to thank you for taking care of my niece while I was in the hospital.”

The man took my hand and shook it feebly. The woman just stared.

“Looks as if you have a fine home.”

“We like it,” he said. “Been here twenty-seven years.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ve just moved into a new place. Rachel is anxious to see it.” I laughed and acted very casual. “Probably what she really wants to see is her stuff. Pick up her Discman and some eyeliner. Mind if I show her the new spread?”

The Shepherds exchanged a silent look.

“What do you say? I’ll have her back in an hour.”

The man took forever, like he had to crank up his motor before he could speak. “We were told not to let you remove her from the premises.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t leave town. I just-”

“We were told not to let you take her anywhere.”

Stay calm, I told myself. A portrait in tranquility. This old man can’t get to you.

“We only want what’s best for the child,” the woman interjected.

“Well, ma’am, I’ve kept Rachel for the last three years, so I feel as if I can be trusted to-”

“We were told that Rachel has had a most unstable home environment,” the man said. “That you worked odd hours, were gone for extended periods of time. That she was habitually late for school and missed extracurricular activities, the few she was involved in. That her grades have dropped dramatically.”

“We’ve both had a difficult year. I’m sure you know why. But Rachel is tough. All us Pulaski girls are.”

“Nonetheless-”

“She’ll bounce back. As long as her spirit isn’t smothered under your two-car-garage, sex-every-Thursday mentality.” Damn. Shouldn’t have said that…

“I don’t appreciate that kind of talk.”

I couldn’t stop myself. “And what is it you’ve got to give her that you think is so hot? A riding lawn mower and a color TV? Now I remember where I’ve seen you before. In the dictionary, under mundane.”

“You can stop that abusive talk right now.” He was nervous, twitchy. My God, what had they told him about me? “You aren’t going to take her anywhere.”

“Is that right.”

“That’s right.”

“And what makes you think you could stop me?”

He leaned close to me and sniffed the air. “Have you been drinking?”

“Are you out of-”

“I know all about your substance abuse. The NDHS people told me. And Rachel told me.”

“Look-I don’t do that now.”

His silence clearly communicated how little weight that statement carried with him.

“I’m serious. I’m not drinking anymore.”

“Good.”

“I mean it.”

“Good.” He paused. “But you’re still a drinker. And drinkers are liars.”

It took all my restraint-never my best quality-to keep from decking him. “Look, Mr. High and Mighty, I don’t need any crap about-”

“This interview is over.” He raised his voice. “Rachel. Come in now.” She reluctantly obeyed.

“Wait just a goddamn minute. I’m not-”

“If you don’t leave my property immediately, I’ll call the authorities.”

“I didn’t do anything. I just-”

“Goodbye.” He tucked Rachel behind the door, but she rushed forward and hugged me, hard. He eventually pried her away. Then he shut the door and left me standing like a goon on his well-swept porch. Alone.

Annabel raked in the dough, all the while giggling and acting as if she barely knew what she was doing, as if her big wagers were made out of boredom rather than expertise. She’d ask the dealer for advice-they do that now, ever since Vegas decided to become friendly. Not that they could tell her anything she didn’t already know. It was all for show.

Back around 1994, a team of six MIT students began flying to Vegas to prove what many had speculated for years-that a keen understanding of advanced mathematics could pay off at the blackjack table. Half the team-the Spotters-would spread through the casino and sit at various blackjack tables making normal bets, never varying the amount-but counting cards. Some of these guys were absolute geniuses. They could bring off a slick trick called shuffle tracking, which took advantage of probability-distribution mathematics and the fact that most dealers do a light shuffle so as to resume the game as quickly as possible. Shuffle tracking allowed the Spotters to follow a pocket of favorable cards from one shoe to the next, calculating the amount of low-card infiltration caused by the shuffle. Some Spotters would even intentionally blow hands to control the flow of cards-that is, to make specific cards they were tracking come up when and where they wanted them.

When the deck favored the players, the Spotters would signal one of the Gorillas, who wandered the floor, usually pretending to be drunk or inexperienced or both. When they got the signal, they sat at the Spotter’s table and made the big bets, cleaning up until the Spotter signaled them to leave because the deck was no longer favorable. The Gorillas couldn’t be accused of counting cards; they barely looked at the cards. And it was nearly impossible to nail the Spotters, since they never made any money and often lost. At the end of the day, all members of the team shared the loot. In this manner, the MIT invasion managed to make big bucks and not be detected.

For a few years. Then the casinos caught on and came down on the students-hard. Not only were they all banned, but some were beaten, apartments were robbed and raided, and everyone was terrorized. House rules were changed to make counting less reliable. But new students kept coming. They became the scourge of Vegas; rumor had it the big security firms were willing to take drastic steps to stop the students. Annabel thought it seemed like a crazy risk and had never expected to do it herself.

Until she found out she was pregnant.

Warren had saved her life. When she first came to MIT, she was all alone, had no friends. She was awkward and isolated and tended to stutter in class. Even with a famous mother, she was a standout nerd-and at MIT, that took some doing. She knew some of the boys made fun of her behind her back. But not Warren. He adopted her, took care of her, showed her the ropes, invited her to parties. They’d been going out for more than a month before he even tried to have sex with her. And by then, she was so in love that she melted like an ice cube.

She loved Warren, but he was in no position to marry her, not now, when they were both in school and had no money. He told her it would be a mistake and she knew that he was right. Once again, he was looking out for her. But she couldn’t bear the thought of having an abortion. And even less could she bear asking her mother for help. The mother who could spend hours with the network suits she belittled but couldn’t find time to see her daughter win the Academic Bowl state finals. She had never given Annabel any direction or advice or help other than financial. Her mother had chosen to make her job Priority One, to never be seriously involved in Annabel’s life. Well, fine. She wasn’t about to go running to the woman now.

Which meant she needed to come up with some cash, fast. So she’d flown west, slapped on this blond wig, and come to the Transylvania. And on the eighth hand, the last dealt from the favorable shoe, she split two tens-not normally a smart move, but the deck favored her, and the dealer had a six showing, his worst possible card. It paid off. She doubled a two-thousand-dollar bet twice, took all her winnings, and quit. Now she had the stake she needed. She could marry Warren, give this baby a name, and continue their education without involving her mother.