Thirty minutes before reaching Vegas, Gypsy realized one thing. She had nowhere to go once she got there, and whatever she chose needed to have enough privacy for her not to be recognized. The moment that Mary Kennedy entered Vegas, every rag magazine would take pictures and harassing why she was there. Settling on a Motel 6, she called ahead and made reservations under the name Jamie Smith. Hookers and druggies frequented those off the strip places. Not the place that you would find the Great Granddaughter of a dead President. She was sure of one thing, though. After tonight, she would be dead, or free. She was prepared for either of the two. Breathing was beginning to be an effort that she was tired of.