John didn’t want to admit it, but he too was rattled by the Bureau of Indian Affairs sending an accountant to snoop through New Dawn’s books. He glanced around the grand lobby of the hotel and casino. Smiling staff, gleaming marble floors, paying customers relaxing on big leather couches. There was nothing he didn’t love about this place. He knew everything was aboveboard, but still...

“John, you know as well as anyone that the U.S. government is no friend of the Indian.”

“I’m friendly with them. They gave us tribal recognition. We ran with it and built all this, didn’t we? You need to relax, Don. They’re just here to do a routine audit.”

“You think you’re such a big man with your Harvard degree and your Fortune 500 résumé. To them you’re just another Indian trying to stick his hand in Uncle Sam’s pocket.”

Irritation stirred in John’s chest. “My hand isn’t in anyone’s pocket. You’re as bad as the damn media. We built this business with a lot of hard work and we have just as much right to profit from it as I did from my software business. Where is she, anyway? I have a meeting with the contractor who’s working on my house.”

The front door opened and a young girl walked in. John glanced at his watch.

“I bet that’s her.” His uncle peered at the girl, who was carrying a briefcase.

“Are you kidding me? She doesn’t look old enough to vote.” Her eyes were hidden behind glasses. She stood in the foyer, looking disoriented.

“Flirt with her.” His uncle leaned in and whispered. “Give her some of the old Fairweather charm.”

“Are you out of your mind?” He watched as the woman approached the reception desk. The receptionist listened to her, then pointed at him. “Hey, maybe that is her.”

“I’m serious. Look at her. She’s probably never even kissed a man before,” Don hissed. “Flirt with her and get her all flustered. That will scare her off.”

“I wish I could scare you off. Get lost. She’s coming over here.”

Plastering a smile on his face, John walked toward her and extended his hand. “John Fairweather. You must be Constance Allen.”

He shook her hand, which was small and soft. Weak handshake. She seemed nervous. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fairweather.”

“You can call me John.”

She wore a loose-fitting blue summer suit with an ivory blouse. Her hair was pinned up in a bun of some kind. Up close she still looked young and was kind of pretty. “I’m sorry I’m late. I took the wrong exit off the turnpike.”

“No worries. Have you been to Massachusetts before?”

“This is my first time.”

“Welcome to our state, and to the tribal lands of the Nissequot.” Some people thought it was cheesy when he said that, but it always gave him a good feeling. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No! No, thank you.” She glanced at the bar, looking horrified, as if he’d just thrust a glass of neat whiskey at her.

“I mean a cup of tea, or a coffee.” He smiled. It would to be quite a challenge to put her at ease. “Some of our customers like to drink during the day because they’re here for fun and relaxation. Those of us who work here are much more dull and predictable.” He noticed with chagrin that his uncle Don was still standing behind him. “Oh, and this is my uncle, Don Fairweather.”

She pushed her glasses up on her nose before shoving out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Don’t be so sure,

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