“What sort of business?” With eyes narrowed in contemplation, she assessed what he’d told her. Dori might have been swayed by his outfit when she suggested, “Personal security?” Las Vegas was a moneyed city with plenty of customers in need of protection, either because of their wealth or business dealings, and she supposed that those skill sets went hand-in-hand. Her own talents had led Dori to consider the mortuary business, but James was adamant that she not; her brother thought she might kill people just to boost the bottom line, an offensive concept because money had never been an interest of hers. She survived on a steady diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and thrift store clothing.

The man’s gesture with the jacket made Dori think of her over-warm wardrobe again. She took off her jacket and set it alongside her hat. The pair stood in stodgy outfits of white and navy blue, like matching flight attendants.