CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MESQUITE, NEVADA
The new black Lincoln town car screamed across the Utah border like a demon from hell. With the tires protesting, it made a high speed turn into off-ramp #122 and slid into the parking lot of The Virgin River Inn at beautiful Mesquite, Nevada. Well, that's what the jerk on the all night disc jockey show called it. The guy who kept talking about the hubcap-sized ham breakfast. Well, it damn well better be good. He was hungry and, with dawn less than an hour away, he wanted to eat and get moving.
A security guard watched him as he moved toward the coffee shop inside the casino. This guy spelled trouble. About six-foot-two, a body hard as a rock, a mean pocked-marked face, faded blue eyes, and all of it framed by long stringy blond hair. It looked like he
