“Working late?” asked Riley, standing in the doorway.

The man’s head jerked up in surprise. “ What? Oh, I’m sorry. You startled me.”

“I’m Riley Adams, with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I’m investigating the incident that happened earlier.” She walked into the room, looking around and noting details: models of molecules hung from the roof; large colorful posters of the periodic table and solar system were on the walls. In the corner, fluorescent light shone dimly from a glass terrarium with a sand-filled bottom, its only apparent occupant several plastic plants.

“I’m Colin Brady,” he said, getting to his feet. “I teach science here.”

“My favorite subject,” said Riley. “Looks like you’re catching up on your marking.”

“Trying to.” He paused. “I’m sorry, that sounded rude. I just meant I’m always trying to catch up-emphasis on the trying, as opposed to succeeding.” He smiled. Despite his thinning hair, he looked young for a teacher.

“Yeah, marking is always the worst. I still have bad memories of working as a TA in college.” She smiled back.

“How can I help you, uh… Detective?”

“Riley is fine. I was wondering if any of your students have ever shown a fascination with insects.”

“The first student that comes to mind is Lucas Yannick,” Brady said. “He’s the one who convinced me to get our emperor scorpion. I wasn’t sure at first-high scho ol kids and a poisonous creature are a bad combination-but he told me he’d take personal responsibility for any problems.”

“And have there been any?” asked Riley.

“There was one, yes. A few of the kids were horsing around and one of them decided to pick up the scorpion with a pair of forceps and wave it around, try to get the girls screaming. Lucas told him to drop it and when he didn’t, he punched the kid in the stomach.”

“I see. Who were the other kids who were involved?”

Brady leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. “Let me see… It was a while ago, so the details aren’t terribly sharp. I’m pretty sure it was a few of the guys on the football team.”

“Would that include Keenan Harribold?”

Brady stared at her for a second before answering. “No. No, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t involved.”

“What kind of student is Lucas otherwise?”

“Very bright. Not terribly social, but he has a small circle of friends he hangs around with.”

“Does he get picked on a lot?”

“Not in my classroom. But yeah, he’s the kind of kid who winds up being a target if he isn’t careful.”

Riley had a little game she liked to play in her head. She called it the WTAA game, and the rules were very simple: she counted how many questions she could ask a subject before she got the question “What’s t his all about?” or something similar. It didn’t matter if she’d started the interview with an explanation for why she was there-sooner or later, anyone trying to project an air of innocence asked it, as if being unable to see the obvious meant they were clearly incapable of any crime. It didn’t necessarily mean the person she was talking to had done anything wrong; it was simply an indicator that they were nervous, a common reaction to being questioned by an authority figure.

“I have to ask…,” Brady said.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to see our scorpion?”

She blinked. “Okay.”

He led her over to the terrarium. Crouched in one corner under one of the plastic plants was a huge black scorpion, its barbed tail curled over its back. It didn’t move at their approach; it was so still it could have been made of stone.

“Here’s what finally persuaded me,” said Brady. He hit a button on the top of the tank, turning off the fluorescent. “Get the lights, will you?”

Riley hesitated, then walked over to the switch beside the door and turned it off. A second later a small UV tube flickered to life in the roof of the terrarium-and suddenly, the black scorpion was no longer there.

It had been replaced by one that glowed an eerie electric blue, like the world’s most intricate neon sign. Only the tiniest twitch of its claws tol d Riley she was looking at a living thing-though it looked more like it belonged in a video game than a classroom.

She got closer and knelt down. “That’s pretty amazing,” she said.

“Yeah. Younger scorpions don’t do it, only adults.”

She straightened up. “I guess there are some things kids just aren’t ready for…”

As Nick expected, LW’s dating website page led nowhere. It was hosted by a server in the Philippines, one that wouldn’t give him access to its personal files. Not that it mattered-a cursory check of some of the information on LW’s page proved she was almost completely fictional. She didn’t go to the school she listed, the organizations she said she belonged to had never heard of her, and even the pictures of her looked suspiciously dated when examined closely-Nick spotted the corner of a billboard behind her in one and recognized it as having been from an ad campaign in Vegas at least five years ago. Keenan Harribold would have still been in elementary school.

“Hey, Grissom,” said Brass. “Am I interrupting?”

Grissom looked up from his untouched drink. “No, not at all,” he said.

Grissom, Nathan Vanderhoff, Jake Soames, and Roberto Quadros were sharing a booth in the hotel lounge. A mediocre comic had just left the stage to scattered applause and widespread indifference.

“Hi,” said Brass, smiling at each of them. “Captain Jim Brass.” He offered his hand and got an introduction from each of them in turn. “I hate to bother you, Gil,” said Brass. “I know you’re technically not on the job, but we could really use your help with this one. I mean, come on-this case is tailor-made for you. You’re our bug guy.”

Soames leaned forward, his eyes bright. “Actually, Captain Brass, at this table we’re all ‘bug guys.’ If Gilly is too busy to help, maybe we could.”

Brass glanced over at Grissom. “Gilly?”

Grissom gave him a warning look. “My team is perfectly capable of handling the case without me.”

“No offense, ‘Gilly,’” said Brass, “but your team, good as they are, just doesn’t have your expertise when it comes to things that scuttle around and hide under rocks. We need help on this one-I’m almost tempted to take your friend up on his offer.”

“And why not?” said Vanderhoff. “I’d also be happy to volunteer my services while I’m in town. Roberto, of course, is far too sophisticated for such an endeavor-”

“Shut up, Nathan. I’m just as interested as the rest of you.”

Grissom put up his hands. “All right, I surrender. I’m clearly in the minority here. Jim, if you’re that desperate, I suppose my colleagues-and I-are willing to offer our advice. But I warn all of you-forensics work isn’t as glamorous as you might imagine.”

“Fantastic,” said Brass. “Well, this turned out better than I could have hoped. I went out hunting one expert and bagged three.”

“Better make it four,” said Soames. “Khem will want in, too.”

“I’ll have the nondisclosure forms drawn up right away,” said Brass. “Grissom, can I grab you for a few moments? There’re a few details I’d like your take on right away.”

Grissom nodded and got up. “Excuse me.”

As they walked away, Brass muttered, “Think they bought it?”

“I guess we’ll see,” said Grissom.

Greg looked around nervously. The gun he gripped in his right hand wasn’t his own; it was an old-fashioned six-shot Colt, the kind of long-barrelled revolver Wild Bill Hickock or Wyatt Earp might have owned. It was fully loaded-but then, so was the gun of the man he was hunting.

He leaned against the weather-beaten wall, listening for the crunch of boots on gravel, and tried to get his breathing under control.