Page 14 of Twelve
In their eyes, this was a delicate situation.Mackenziewas delicate and in need of kid gloves.
I looked down at my phone, then out at the girl on the ledge. “It’s my colleague,” I said. “The expert.”
“The one who’ll tell you I’m right,” Mackenzie said forcefully.
My head wanted to nod, but I forced myself to answer the phone instead. “Tell me what you’ve got, Sloane.”
“She’s got to stop pulling stunts like this, Margot.”
Sloane knows that the security guard’s usage of the wordstuntis a fairly recent linguistic innovation—late nineteenth century, origin unknown. Personally, she prefers the termsexploitandfeat.
“What was it this time?” Sloane’s mother is wearing a tight white T-shirt and jeans. Not her work clothes.
Interesting.Only 15 percent of Margot Tavish’s personal wardrobe is white.
“Blackjack tables.” Security keeps the reply brief. Sloane should really learn his name—just like she’s already learned the placement of the three dozen security cameras in the Majesty, the blind spots, and how to work her way through the casino while minimizing the chances that she’ll show up on film. It’s harder to hide from the guards.
Harder, but not impossible.
“She was counting cards.” Security does not sound happy about that. “For other players, Margot. Took three hands before we managed to escort her out.”
“I was notcountinganything.” Sloane feels like that has to be clarified, even if clarifying it earns her a glare from an annoyed Margot. “I was tracking the number and distribution of cards that had already been played in an effort to calculate the individual probabilities of the next card being favorable to either the player or the dealer.”
Security lets out what Sloane deeply suspects is an exasperated sigh. Sloane has a great deal of experience with other people’s exasperation.
“No more, Margot. Kid’s twelve, and she’s already persona non grata on the strip. I don’t need to tell you how uncomfortable this could be if word works its way up the chain of command at the Majesty.”
Sloane knows the chain of command at the Majesty precisely as well as she knows the locations of the security cameras. That is, after all, the point. To get the owner’s attention. To make himseeher.
Margot puts a hand on Sloane’s shoulder and pulls Sloane’s smaller body back against her own. Sloane calculates that there is a 12 percent chance this is a sign of affection. More likely, it is protectiveness.
Or possibly a warning.
“If Shaw says anything, you can tell him that it’s notmyfault she’s a genius.”
It is not Sloane’s mother’s fault that Sloane is Sloane. That hurts, and it is not precisely true.
“Due to genetic polymorphism…” That is as far as Sloane gets before the security guard takes a step forward toward her mother.
The gesture appears quite threatening.
“I’m trying to help you out here, Margot. If Shaw wanted your kid around, he’d tell you.”
“I’m his kid, too,” Sloane says.
There is a long pause. A 12.35-second pause, by Sloane’s estimation.
“Your boss has always been very clear,” Margot Tavish whispers finally, “about what he does and does not want.”
“There are three cases.” Sloane had gotten better, over the years, at easing me into her calculations, but I knew from experience that soon, the numbers would be flying fast.
Fastwas good. Mackenzie wasn’t backlit anymore. I hadn’t realized it out on the landing, but in a room with a window, it was clear that the sky outside had begun to darken.
It looked like it might storm.
“The first case I analyzed,” Sloane said brightly, “was a female, seventeen years old, sixty-four inches tall, approximately one hundred and forty-two pounds fully clothed. She was found in a supine position on uneven ground with a negative twelve-degree incline.”
No one else could hear Sloane, but I could feel the eyes of every person in the room on me, gauging my reaction.Mrs. McBride. The psychologist. The fireman. The crisis negotiator.
