CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EVERY BREAK FROM the Pentagonal Spire, the military flew Tom back and forth to wherever his dad was. That way, Tom avoided a lot of the restrictions that would’ve accompanied traveling through an airport while on the terror watch list. He also got a ride straight to the Old Indian Chief Casino, where he plopped down in the restaurant to await his father.

Neil showed up soon, gave him a gruff hug, then launched into a story about some cheating incident at his last poker game: “. . . turns out this chump had some guy with binoculars, and this microphone right in his ear . . .”

That’s when a woman in a suit headed over to them at a rapid clip. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

The “gentlemen” thing was why Tom and Neil both assumed she was talking to someone else. When she stopped at their table, they straightened up uneasily, because respectable-looking people charging up to them never ended well.

The woman gave them both a big smile. “I take it you two are the Raines party?”

Tom looked at his dad sharply, wondering what he’d done to get in trouble. Neil’s brow furrowed. He seemed to be thinking hard, too, trying to remember what he’d done as well.

Neil set his half-eaten burger down and wiped his hand with his napkin. “Who’s asking?” He sounded calm, but Tom could pick up the undercurrent of tension in his voice.

“I take it you’re Neil Raines?” she clarified.

Neil shifted in his seat and cast a look around. The woman was alone. No cops or burly henchmen were there as backup, ready to haul him off. Finally, his cautious eyes moved back to her. He folded his arms and jerked his head once. “Yeah, lady, you’ve got the right person. Again, who wants to know?”

She set a small plastic token on the table before them. “Compliments of a friend. He’s staked you ten thousand dollars up in the Green Room.”

Neil took the chip like he didn’t know what it was.

“Please enjoy yourself.” And with that, she left them to it.

Tom gazed at the chip, his burger forgotten. He wiped his hands off on his shirt, then snatched it himself. He studied it, then handed it to Neil, who held it between two fingers like it might explode.

“Man, you have been on a winning streak,” Tom marveled. Neil only got staked for a game when someone thought he could win for them—and get a cut in the process.

Neil shook his head, eyes on the chip. “Winning some, losing some. Trust me, the people who’d stake me ten K are still ancient history.”

A dark possibility flashed through Tom’s brain. People didn’t hand out this sort of money. Something nasty had to lie behind it. He leaned closer to Neil. “Hey, you’re not going to this Green Room place, are you?” Tom assumed it was a nicer gaming parlor on one of the upper floors of the casino. “What if it’s some sort of trap? You still owe some guys money. Alex Cassano, Dad.”

Neil’s gaze flashed up to his. “You remember that?”

Tom shrugged. Ever since the census device, yeah, he remembered a lot of things he’d blocked out from his childhood. He definitely remembered Cassano’s guys busting in their hotel room and beating Neil up.

“You know, I pay my legit debts, Tommy. Al Cassano set an interest rate, and I was paying it back with the agreed-upon interest rate—”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“Then he jacked it up! And jacked it up again! I’d have paid my debt five times over if it had been up to that guy, and I still would’ve been in debt. If I wanted that nonsense, I’d have used a credit card, not gone to a loan shark.”

Tom grew exasperated. “Credit card companies don’t send people to beat you up. Mobsters do.”

“Yeah, because mobsters don’t have politicians writing laws for them. Mobsters don’t have prisons and a police force and the entire government in their back pockets. Look what happened to old Al Cassano. I heard he got three months in the can for tax evasion, then he got hired out to work in India somewhere. No one’s heard a word since. The state disappeared him. They can do that to any of us. Thank you, National Defense Authorization Act!” Neil saluted the air sarcastically. “I’d deal with a mobster over a corporate kleptocrat any day.”

Tom’s head throbbed. Some things hadn’t changed. “Okay, fine. What are you gonna do?”

Neil examined the chip in his hand. There was an excited glint in his eyes. “There’s really only one way to find out who sent this. You coming with?”

“You need someone to aim for the back of the head if it goes wrong?”

“I’ve got a smart boy,” Neil said fondly, ruffling his hair.

It was a terrible plan. It was a Raines plan.

NEIL NEEDED TO show his chip to the bellman, and they were escorted to a private floor of the casino. Inside, they both got retina scans, and Tom began to relax. There were no signs of an ambush.

There were people dressed up all around them, and some waitresses wearing so little Tom actually stopped in his tracks without realizing it when one of them leaned over.

Then Neil lightly cuffed the back of his head. “No ogling until you can afford child support.”

He’d spoken loudly enough for her to hear. She giggled.

Tom grew red. “Dad, come on.”

But Neil was chuckling like he was delighted with himself as he threaded forward through the crowd. And then the mob of people parted to reveal the tall, elegant figure of Joseph Vengerov. Tom’s footsteps ground to a halt, and he gaped at the tall man with pale hair, pale eyes, and an unyielding, angular face—a multitrillion-dollar anomaly who didn’t belong even in the fanciest parlor of the Old Indian Chief Casino. He was simply too rich and powerful for this place.

Tom stared at Vengerov, and Vengerov gazed back at him, and Tom knew the blood was draining from his face. One of the wealthiest oligarchs in the world was in the same room as his dad. His dad, who had spent every day of Tom’s life railing against those in charge of the world.

Neil would lose it when he saw him. He’d attack him. Then he’d get shot by Vengerov’s security.

Tom turned, bracing himself to stop Neil from doing anything rash. Neil spotted Vengerov, too, and stopped in his tracks . . . but he wasn’t gazing at Vengerov with malice, like he’d spotted a long-awaited enemy and he was ready to fight. . . . He looked gray, frightened, his eyes shadowed, his mouth hanging open.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tom demanded.

Neil’s gaze jolted to his. He stared at Tom blankly for a long moment, like he couldn’t see him through some nightmare, and Tom had never seen his dad like this. Never.

“Dad?”

But then Vengerov turned and glided over toward them, his security guards clearing his way through the crowd. “Ah, Mr. Raines.” Vengerov’s gaze flickered down to the chip in Neil’s limp hand. “I see you received my invite. Excellent.”

Tom looked back and forth between them. “You two know each other?”

Vengerov smiled at Neil.

“No,” Neil said, his eyes locked with Vengerov’s.

Vengerov’s smile spread even wider. “No,” he echoed.

“Never met before.” Neil’s chest swelled, like he was bracing himself for something unpleasant.