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to see that exploitation as exceptionally attentive customer service.
    “What about Kate Porter?”
    “She’s also a U.S. citizen. Sweet’s shell company owns her home in Park Slope. She graduated with an MBA from Stanford and worked for a couple of major accounting firms before he hired her. The details on her are suspiciously thin, too. They clearly don’t want anybody to know who they are or what they are doing, and they have the resources to make that happen. That concerns me.”
    “I don’t see why. It means they have plenty of money to spend. Comp his suite and give him your card. I want to be sure he does all of his future gambling with us.”
    Trace didn’t care where Nick’s money came from as long as he continued losing it at Côte d’Argent. If that laissez-faire attitude turned out to be a mistake, and Nick ever became a serious problem, it would be Thanksgiving Day for the piranha.
    —
    Nick and Kate walked across the casino and stopped just short of their elevator.
    “You could have stayed with Trace,” Kate said. “I left because I got a text message and thought it might be important.”
    “Alone time with Trace isn’t high on my list of preferred activities,” Nick said. “That guy is scary.”
    “The piranha got to you?”
    “The way he thinks got to me. He’s a con man and a sociopath. Did you see the hostess take our glasses when we left the blackjack table? She wore gloves and held the glasses by the rim. I don’t think she was worried about catching Ebola. She didn’t want to smudge our fingerprints.”
    “Don’t worry, Jessup has our back. The prints won’t bring up your shameful criminal record or my triumphant accomplishments in law enforcement.”
    “And the text message?” Nick asked.
    “It’s from my dad,” Kate said.
“SOS Bludd’s Money.”
    “Any idea what it means?”
    “None, but I’m a little freaked by it. I’ve never received an SOS from him before. I just texted him back but it’s not getting delivered.”
    “Try calling.”
    Kate tapped in Jake’s name on her speed dial. No answer.
    She tried Jake’s friend in Hawaii, Harlan Appleton.
    “Appleton residence. Lieutenant Gregg Steadman, Kahuku Police Department, speaking.”
    Kate felt a twinge of panic. A cop was in Harlan’s home, answering the phone. That probably meant the home was a crime scene. More bad news.
    “This is FBI Special Agent Kate O’Hare,” Kate said. “A couple days ago, my father flew out to visit Harlan. They’re old Army buddies. Now I’m having trouble contacting my father.”
    “Do you know if he arrived before or after the explosion?”
    “Explosion?”
    “Harlan’s food truck blew up while it was parked at the old sugar mill. He’s in the Kahuku Medical Center, recovering from the injuries. Nothing serious. He’s got some broken bones, and he’s a little burned around the edges.”
    “What are you doing in his house?”
    “A few hours ago someone shot the place up with a machine gun. The windows are shattered, and they must have pumped a thousand rounds into the walls. Doesn’t look like anyone was in the house when it happened.”
    Kate thanked the lieutenant, ended the call, and took a beat to compose herself. Her military and FBI training told her to stay calm, to think logically. But this was her father, and she was having difficulty breathing.
    Nick watched Kate struggle with emotion. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close against him, waiting patiently while she gained control.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    She nodded. “Yeah, I had a moment, but I’m fine now.” She stepped away. “Cash in our chips, and I’ll send the bellman up for our bags. We’re leaving now.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “I’m going to Hawaii,” Kate said. “You’re going to have to stay behind. We can’t be seen there together. I’ve already identified myself to the police as an FBI agent, and I may need the resources of the local field office to help