Page 51 of Duke

He shook his head on the way out the door, slinging his Barrett over his shoulder. “You are too irreverent for your own good.”

“It’s like you know me,” I joked.

When he was gone, I showed Temple the spare bathroom. “Take your shower while I make a call.”

After the water was running, I sat down on a stool at the island, the Mossberg leaning against the side of the counter and the rifle on top of it, and dialled the single number programmed into the satellite phone.

“Anselm, what’s going on?” came Harris’s voice.

“It’s me, boss. Heard you guys were missing me.”

“I’ve got Duke,” I heard Harris say, his voice muffled, speaking to someone on the other end. “Where the fuck have you been, jackass?”

“Well, you see, I took up ballet. I was working on my pirouette and lost track of time.”

His voice was razor sharp. “This isn’t the time for fucking jokes, Duke. Where—thefuck—have you been?”

I let a sliver of my irritation show through in my voice. “I got snatched, dude. Like, cracked across the head, drugged, and stuck in a basement somewhere in Denver.”

“You got out, obviously.”

“Well, no shit. That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

“They snatched someone with me.”

“Who?” Harris asked; I heard voices in the background—sounded like Puck, Thresh, and a female voice I wasn’t familiar with.

“Temple Kennedy,” I answered.

“Temple Kennedy? Why does that name ring a bell?”

The female voice in the background spoke up. “Her mom is Jane Kennedy, and her dad is Craig Kennedy, like from Suicide Cult. She’s got her own reality show.”

“Oh yeah, I think Layla watches that,” Harris said. “So…they kidnapped youandthis Temple Kennedy chick?”

“Sure did.”

“And what were you doing with Temple Kennedy in the first place?”

“Nothing…yet, at least. I was setting up to talk to her, andwham, next thing I know I’m bound hand and foot and I’m in a shitty basement, and this chick is bound and gagged beside me. Bunch of Cain’s Eastern Bloc gangster types came down talking shit, kicked me, and left again. Dumbasses tied me up with zipties—”

Harris snorted. “Amateurs.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. I took ‘em out, and hightailed it out of there with Temple.”

I filled him in on the rest of the events of the day, leading up to showing up at his compound, including what Anselm had said about the possibility of me having been implanted with a tracer.

There was a long, tense silence on the other end. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Another pause. “This changes things.”

“I think you might have underestimated your guy Cain.”

“Yeah,” Harris agreed. “I mean, I never said he was stupid, just that he wasn’t a great tactician. He’s definitely not stupid. This doesn’t feel like Cain, though. That’s the problem. He doesn’t snatch, and he doesn’t go in for elaborate revenge plots. He goes in and kills you and your family and your friends and anyone you ever spoke to, and he does it brutally, bloodily, and publicly.”

“So maybe he’s got a tactical advisor or something?” I suggested.

“Possibly, but I don’t know. Something about this doesn’t feel right.”