“Then why are we here?” Garret asked, voicing my own question. “If this city is so heavily influenced by Talon, why are we risking exposure by staying?”

“Because I want to know what Talon is up to,” Riley snapped, glaring back at him. “I want to know why my safe houses keep disappearing, and if Talon is doing anything shady. More shady than normal, anyway. I want to know how the Order knows about me, knows who I am, when they didn’t have a clue in the past. If my entire network is in danger, I want to know why, and what I can do to stop it.” He turned back, gripping the steering wheel, eyes narrowed and hard.

“I have a contact here,” he said at length. “One who keeps tabs on any movement between St. George and the organization for me. Nothing happens in Vegas without him finding out. If anyone knows what’s going on, he will.”

We turned off the Strip, leaving the mega hotels and dazzling lights behind. Several minutes later, Riley pulled the car to the side of the road and killed the engine.

“All right, let’s go. The hotel we want is two blocks down, but we’re ditching the car here. I’m sure it’s been reported as stolen by now.” He turned in his seat to look back at us and glanced at the pistol I still held. “Stash the guns,” he ordered, and Garret immediately turned and pulled the duffel bag from the backseat. “Last thing we need is for someone to call the cops on us. Everyone keep your head down. We do this quick and quiet. Oh, and one more thing. Wes, you got them IDs, right?”

The human mumbled something and held up two plastic cards without taking his gaze from his computer. Riley snatched them from his fingers and held them out to us. “Cover identities for the hotel,” he explained as I took my driver’s license and peered at it curiously. My face smirked back at me, familiar and baffling; I had no idea where he’d gotten the photograph. According to the license, my name was Emily Gates, and I was twenty-one years old.

Curiosity and excitement flickered. What could I do with a fake ID in Vegas? I wondered. I could definitely think of a few things.

“Those should hold up to most background checks,” Riley went on, as Garret slid his own license into a pocket then continued stashing the guns. “But we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. So no ordering from the bar or wandering the casino floor. Those IDs are just to get us past the door. Firebrand…” Riley’s gold eyes fixed on me, appraising. “Are you listening to this? We are here to lie low, understand? Shall I explain the meaning of the term?”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “I know what it means. Smart-ass.”

His lip quirked. “Just keep that in mind, and try not to get distracted by the shiny.”

I rolled my eyes. Garret finished zipping up the bag, swung it to his shoulder and opened the door. A dry breeze ruffled my hair as I stepped out onto the warm, crowded streets of Las Vegas.

Riley took the lead, striding purposefully down the sidewalk, with Wes, Garret and I trailing behind. And the rogue’s warning was instantly forgotten. I couldn’t stop staring at…well, everything really. Crescent Beach had been a small, sleepy town, with few highways and not many large buildings. Vegas was like another world. I’d never seen rows of buildings so high they were like canyon walls, or so many glowing lights that I couldn’t see the sky through the haze, or an endless river of cars, red brake lights stretching on to the horizon. Unfortunately, navigating bustling sidewalks while trying to look at everything didn’t really go well together. I kept bumping into passersby, muttering apologies and getting annoyed looks in return.

“On your six,” a voice muttered, as I slowed to gaze at a building across the street. Confused, I turned…and someone barely swerved around me with a muffled curse. Blinking, I looked up at Garret, who shot me a half amused, half exasperated look before going back to scanning the crowds.

I offered a weak grin and fell into step beside him. “On your six?” I asked. “Is that soldier talk for ‘pay the hell attention to what you’re doing’?”

“We are in enemy territory.” Garret watched a pair of thuggish-looking guys approach, relaxing only slightly when they passed. “Talon and St. George are both searching for us. They might have agents on the streets right now. A little situational awareness is probably…prudent.”

Feeling chastised, I followed him, trying to stay close. Garret moved through the throngs like a fish through water, metallic-gray eyes constantly scanning, watching. I remembered his discomfort with crowds in Crescent Beach, that hyperalertness, as if a ninja could come leaping out at us from a potted plant. Back then, in the lazy little beach town, it had seemed odd. Now, I understood. That paranoia had probably saved his life more than once.

Finally, Riley took us across a huge parking lot and through the doors of a smaller, though still impressive, building. Nero’s Garden Hotel and Casino, the sign read as we approached the front. A pair of marble lions guarded the entrance, though I saw someone had drawn a tiny mustache below one lion’s nose. Then the doors slid back, and we stepped into a brightly lit lobby with green tile, fake marble columns lining the room and statues of half-naked Greek people in alcoves along the wall. A huge check-in desk ran the length of the back wall, and off to the side, through a fake marble arch, the casino floor buzzed, twinkled, chimed and flashed like a sprawling neon circus.

“Well, here we are,” Riley said with false grandeur, and offered a sarcastic grin as he gestured to the glittering casino. “Welcome to Vegas.”