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“But not above handling the rough stuff?”

“Not above it, but prefers not to. Clean hands.”

“So who gets blood on theirs?”

“Whoever Urrea has sent north to assist.”

“That’s quite the insight you have into the souls of men.”

“Women, too. I’m an equal-opportunity misanthrope.”

I’d finished eating, leaving half my food untouched. I’d overestimated my appetite, but I’d also lost some of what I originally had. I realized that, in a moment of weakness, I’d wanted Urrea’s hunters to catch Wyatt Riggins because Zetta Nadeau would be safe once they did.

“How much of this will you share with Zetta?” Louis asked.

“I may tell her that, like Jason Rybek, she should take a short vacation where nobody knows her and Spanish isn’t even spoken in a Mexican restaurant. After that, I’ll see if anyone in the U.S. military will talk to me about Riggins or provide a lead on his buddy and co-conspirator, Emmett Lucas. If I can get to Lucas, I’ll be a step closer to Riggins.”

“Or,” said Angel, “you could just advise Zetta to find another boyfriend, especially if Vaughn’s people can assure her he hasn’t been dumped in a barrel of acid by Urrea’s hunters. That would allow you to walk away.”

“I could do that,” I said, “but where would be the fun in it?”

CHAPTERXLI

Seeley was driving east, the light fading behind him and darkness ahead. Seeley drove nearly everywhere. He used airplanes only when they could not be avoided and rarely traveled beyond the United States. His recent trip to Mexico had been clandestine, and no record of his passage existed at any border crossing. Blas Urrea’s people had been paid well to transport him safely over the border and back again, though Seeley had not returned to the United States alone.

Urrea was becoming impatient at the lack of progress, but Seeley had convinced him of the importance of not acting precipitously. If they did, it might put the children at risk or break one of the links in the chain that Seeley was so diligently exposing. Elizalde: found and dealt with. Bilas: found and dealt with. Now, after days of searching, of reaching out, twisting arms, making promises, paying bribes, Seeley had a probable location for Emmett Lucas, one of the two ex-military operatives hired by Vaughn and his associates to move against Blas Urrea. Wyatt Riggins was concealing himself well, but Lucas had not been so circumspect.

From Bilas, Seeley had learned that just as one, even two, of the conspirators had elected to keep Wyatt Riggins close, so had another drawn Lucas to his cause, or Lucas had offered his services to him for a price. Bilas had not been confident of the precise arrangement, but then he was dying as he tried to explain it, so some confusion on his part wasforgivable. Regardless, Seeley now had the names of the three ringleaders, and those of Lucas and Riggins, the mercenaries employed to operate on their behalf. Of the principals, two, including Devin Vaughn, were dangerous men. The third, as far as Seeley could establish, was not, but had fallen into bad company out of avarice or zeal.

Seeley’s contacts were among the best in the underworld, a network of intertwined threads that could be traced back to him only with difficulty. One of those threads had recently been tugged in Portland, Maine, by a private investigator asking questions about Wyatt Riggins. Seeley did not want anyone else looking for Riggins. He most particularly did not want this particular private investigator nosing around because Parker had a reputation for immunity to intimidation, damage, and, so far, death. Seeley saw no reason to make an enemy of him, and thus he was better avoided. But Blas Urrea had made it plain that Seeley was to assist in the punishment of all involved, as well as the removal of their hearts. At first, Seeley had regarded this latter condition as an unnecessary piece of theater—if Urrea wanted proof of death, a photo would suffice, or even a finger—but that was before he had been introduced to Urrea’s agent.

If Seeley failed to fulfill the contract in full, it would harm both his reputation and his finances. More worryingly, the agent, seated beside him in the car, might take it amiss, and that would be unpleasant for Seeley in ways he did not care to imagine. Seeley had witnessed what was visited upon Elizalde and Bilas at the end. He had never seen a man’s heart exposed before, not while it was still beating. Oh, Seeley had known it was possible to uncover the heart of a living man, if not for very long, but he would carry to his grave the image of long, skeletal fingers closing around that same heart, like the pale legs of a cave spider seizing its prey. He did not wish the last thing he saw before he died to be his own heart similarly gripped before being torn from his chest.

All this done by a woman. Seeley did not have a name for her, and she had not offered one, so he now thought of her only as “la Señora.”

“You want some music?” he asked.

“No,” said la Señora.

And so they continued on their way in silence.

TO THE NORTH,Devin Vaughn gave a series of instructions. Aldo Bern was to proceed against Eugene Seeley. The private detective Parker was to be watched, and actively discouraged from pursuing his investigation if he persisted. Finally, without Bern’s knowledge, Vaughn ordered the immolation of one of the children.

3

But the day of the absolute is over, and we’re in for the strange gods once more.

D. H. Lawrence,Kangaroo

CHAPTERXLII

It would not have been true to claim that I had good relations with the Veterans Administration. I knew one person in the VA who probably never wished to hear from or see me again, and she was the best contact I had. However, if I’d let such feelings stand in my way, I’d never have left the house. People not wanting to talk to me came with the territory.

Dr. Carrie Saunders was based at the Togus VA Medical Center in Augusta, where she specialized in PTSD. I’d met her some years earlier when a group of war veterans decided to get into the antiquities-smuggling business. It hadn’t ended well, with the resulting fallout leaving me persona non grata in military circles. I could have tried pointing out that I wasn’t the one who thought it might be a good idea to transport stolen artifacts halfway across the world, but it wouldn’t have gotten me very far. Where the U.S. military was concerned, bad press was bad press.

I was waiting in the lobby of the mental health center when Saunders appeared. In fact, I’d been waiting for almost two hours, even though she knew I was there. It was my own fault. I hadn’t told her I was coming, out of concern that she, like Jason Rybek, might feel a sudden hankering for someplace else. I’d shown up at reception, handed over a business card in a sealed envelope, told the receptionist I’d like theenvelope passed to Dr. Saunders, and confirmed that I was happy to take a seat until she found a convenient gap in her schedule. I’d even brought a book to pass the time, along with a large coffee in my reusable Coffee By Design travel mug, which had nostalgia value since the original outlet on Congress Street, where I’d purchased the mug, no longer existed. Short of producing a pipe and slippers, I couldn’t have looked more ready to make myself comfortable for the long haul.

Saunders stood over me as I closed my book. She was now in her forties, her blond hair still worn short, but she’d acquired a wedding ring since last we’d met, along with the altered physique that came with recent motherhood. She still looked like she could go three rounds with the champ, but would now try to put him down in the first to conserve her energy.