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Prologue

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Odds Against Tomorrow

Las Vegas, Nevada

I’ve heard that most people go through life without encountering a serial killer. In fact, the vast majority make it through without ever experiencing serious peril. They just saunter along, whistling jauntily to themselves (at least, that’s how I imagine them), and then, after a relatively peaceful spin atop this green-and-blue marble, they expire in their sleep, a gentle smile on their lips.

Gee, I wonder what that’s like.

Because here I am, halfway through my twenty-fourth year, about to confront my second murderous psychopath. Wait, no—this is the third. When you forget one? That’s a bad sign.

At this point, maybe I should just acknowledge that a nice, normal life was never in the cards for me. Chasing down a freak? Yawn …must be Tuesday. Some combination of fate and DNA resulted in me being launched into the void like a pinball, destined to bang into all the dark shit out there.

“You ready, toots?” Dot asks in a low voice.

I nod, tightening my grip on the gun. She holds up a finger and counts:

One…

Two…

On three , she throws open the door and I charge out.