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them angry. Not if you want to live.”
    Galina swallowed and nodded her agreement.
    “Then what the hell are we supposed to do?”
    “What we came here for—we dance.”
    And she marched off, dragging Galina with her. I watched them in silence, wondering if she was right.
    I decided I’d talk to Gary. But when I opened the door to our room, it was empty. I waited up for him for a while, but then I remembered he had a date with one of the guys in the band.
    Frustrated and disgusted with my own cowardice, I finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
    My last waking thought was that I hadn’t gotten my cell phone back either.

    The next morning, Galina and Yveta avoided me at breakfast. Honey raised an eyebrow.
    “Lovers quarrel?”
    “What?”
    She sat down next to me, a bowl of fruit and yogurt in front of her.
    “Why are they giving you the cold shoulder?”
    I took a sip of coffee.
    “How much do you know about this guy Volkov?”
    “Oh,” she said, understanding in her expression. “You heard the rumors.”
    She knew. They all knew.
    “It’s more than that. We saw . . .”
    “Look, Ash, I’ve lived in Vegas for a few years now. You hear stuff. It’s best to ignore it. Asking questions isn’t a good idea.”
    “That’s what Trixie said.”
    “You should listen to her.”
    I rubbed my forehead. “But . . . ?”
    She rested her hand on my arm and looked at me seriously.
    “Ash, asking questions isn’t a good idea.”
    Then she stood up and walked away.
    Across the room, Yveta glanced at me briefly, then dropped her gaze back to the table.

    Elaine worked us relentlessly all day. She’d decided to add another Latin number to the show, and as there were only three of us who were trained in mambo let alone salsa, it was slow going. We were professional dancers, but still, it’s a tricky rhythm to pick up. Salsa is a street dance with no frame, and doesn’t even break on the right count. A lot of ballroom dancers despise salsa, but I’d always liked it.
    When you’re learning, teachers say you only dance three of the four steps, but that’s not strictly true. It’s a fluid, loose dance, and you’re constantly in motion.
    The hip action is mostly relaxed, subtle, especially for the men, and your weight is placed onto a slightly bent knee. There are no heel leads, unlike in ballroom, so steps are taken first with the ball of the foot in contact with the floor, and then with the heel lowering when the weight is fully transferred.
    Armography has to stay natural or it looks contrived and weird. You have to let your arms react naturally to body movement, and held slightly above waist level.
    And there are a lot of lifts you can use in a showdance salsa. Elaine must have been trying to kill me and Gary, because it felt like she was working us through every lift she knew, and then inventing a few on top.
    “Again!” she shouted. “Grace—more hip action.”
     
    Un, dos, tres . . .
     
    The Ricky Martin song pounded out for the hundredth time. Again. And again.
    My t-shirt was stuck to my body and Gary’s face was bright red. The girls had sweated through their makeup, even though we all used waterproof cosmetics for that reason. But we’d been at this all day, not just the two hours of a show.
     
    Un, dos, tres . . .
     
    “Smile!” Elaine roared.
    We smiled our asses off, and Honey threw me an apologetic look as I braced myself one more time to lift her into a rollerblind drop.
    She wrapped herself into my right side and I caught her rising leg with my free arm, spun around twice, clamped my hand around her lower thigh and let her roll down my body, making sure she didn’t hit the floor.
    My muscles were straining, and Honey’s skin was slippery with sweat. It had been a near miss the last couple of times.
    Then Gary dropped Yveta on her ass and she yelled at him in Russian.
    Elaine told Yveta to go ice her backside. Then she turned to look at us, all panting like racehorses. I guess she took pity on