Jessy Sparhawk has seen firsthand how gambling can ruin people's lives. But one night, desperate for money, she places the bet that will change her life forever. Just as she's collecting her winnings, a man stumbles through the crowd, a knife protruding from his back, and crashes into her, pinning her to the craps table. Hired to investigate the murder, private detective Dillon Wolf finds himself fascinated by the gorgeous redhead who'd been trapped beneath the victim—and by the single word the dying man had whispered in her ear. Indigo. What neither of them realizes is that the nightmare is only just beginning. Because bodyguard Tanner Green may have been killed by that knife, but his angry ghost isn't going anywhere—not without vengeance. Now, literally caught between the living and the dead, Dillon and Jessy have no choice but to forge ahead together. Their investigation will take them from the glitz of the Vegas strip into the dealings of casino magnate Emil Landon, the man who signs both their paychecks, and out into the desert to a ghost town called Indigo, where past and present come together in a search for gold. Years ago, blood was shed on that very ground, and now it looks as if history is about to repeat itself, with the living and the dead facing off for possession of a fortune, and Dillon and Jessy fighting not only to stay alive but for the chance to build a future. New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She's a winner of the RWA's Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers' Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her websites: TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com, and HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook. Tension was high around the table, but then, there were thousands of dollars strewn out across the board, represented by colorful plastic chips. Because this was Vegas, where men and women could rise like meteors to the top of the world, then plummet to the bottom just as quickly. Jessy Sparhawk could feel the pressure, could feel the eyes of the other gamblers on her. Some people were playing big money. Others?idiots like herself?were taking a desperate, edgy, ridiculous chance, playing to beat the odds. To defy the gods of Vegas, who always proclaimed that the house won. Oh, yes, she was an idiot. Why in God's name had she taken the last of her savings to the craps table? She worked in Vegas, she had grown up out here. She'd seen the down-and-outers. She'd seen the poor, the pathetic, the alcoholics, the junkies, all trying for a big win when they knew the law of averages. "Ten, baby, roll a hard ten" a man called from the end of the table. He wasn't one of the down-and-outers. He was a regular all over town. She had seen him over at the Big Easy, and he had a deep Southern accent, but one with a Texas twang. His name was Coot Calhoun. All right, so his real name probably wasn't Coot, but that was how he was known. Nice man. He'd inherited one of the biggest oil fields in Texas. She liked him. He had a wife named Minnie?though Jessy was doubtful about that name, too?who he genuinely loved, and he tipped well because he was generous, not because he was expecting any favors. "I'm trying, Coot, I'm trying," she assured him, praying for a hard ten not for Coot's sake but for Tim's. She was here, gambling at the Vegas Sun, because she wasn't allowed to gamble in the casino where she worked, which usually didn't bother her, since she wasn't a gambler. The Sun was owned by a billionaire who had been in the casino trade a long time. Her own Big Easy was owned by Emil Landon. A rich man, yes. A very rich man. But he hadn't been at the casino game long. Even though she wasn't a gambler, she knew the games. She'd been a dealer, a hostess, a waitress, a bartender, a singer, a dancer?even an acrobat for a brief period of time. She knew Vegas in and out, backward and forward, and she had learned long, long ago, not to gamble, because the house always won. "Baby, baby, baby, bee-you-ti-ful baby, do it. Hard ten," another man called. He was young. Drunk. Probably had too much money on the board, and definitely had too much alcohol in his system. She was aware of so many people watching her. It had been kind of fun at first, but now she felt the tension. Even Darrell Frye, one of the Sun's pit bosses, was watching her with a measuring stare, as if afraid she was on one of those long rolls that totally outweighed the odds. "Ten, ten, ten," a nearby woman repeated fervently. She was haggard looking, thin, and her dress had been stylish twenty years ago, back when she had been pretty. Now her features bore the weight of time, but she offered Jessy a smile, and Jessy smiled back. "Get on with it," someone else insisted. "Just roll." She did. To her horror, the dice bounced off the table. "Hey