Page 21 of Gamma

“All right.” Duke tosses back his whiskey, glances at me and then the door. “Thanks, pal.”

A wave of his hand. “Pelo que?”He doesn’t spare us a glance. “A word of advice? Be cautious of what you ask for. Maybe you will find it, and it is not so good you have found it,sim? This man, he is…a friend only to money and to blood.”

“Well, I’m not looking for a friend,” Duke says. “But thanks for the warning.”

I’d only pretended to sip my drink. Duke tosses some local currency on the bar and then we’re back outside. Duke pulls me into a fast walk, and we take a circuitous route seemingly nowhere—I can sense this isn’t a time for questions, so I simply do my best to keep up and keep a lookout around me. My heart pounds, for some reason—and it’s not the exertion.

I spot something—a figure, a block or so behind us, walking seemingly nonchalantly, but he’s wearing a coat that’s far too baggy for his frame, and it’s a hot day to boot. It sparks my worry.

“Duke.”

“Been following us since we left the bar. He’s why we’re moving like we are.”

“Who is he?”

“Lookout, most likely. Someone Rasmussen left behind to see if anyone’s looking for him—like us. He’s paid to listen, and if someone asks about Rasmussen, to shut them up.” He yanks me abruptly to the side, into the lee of a deep archway covering a thick wooden door. Blocks me with his body. “I expected it, but not this quick.”

“What do we do?” I’m realizing how far in over my head I am.

“Keep quiet, keep still, and let me handle it.” He glances at me over his shoulder and winks, his long red ponytail bouncing as he returns his gaze to the street. “You’re with your uncle Duke. Nothin’ to worry about.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Thinking maybe you shoulda stayed home, huh?” His voice is low, teasing.

It irks me. “No, I’m not thinking that.”

A huff of amusement. “Well, you’re game enough so far. And you handled Apollo neatly enough. But this is a different sort of carnival. Folks are gonna bleed, sweetheart.” He tenses. “Don’t scream. Don’t faint.”

“I was in the command center when you rescued the diplomat’s son from the kidnappers in Mogadishu,” I remind him. “I saw everything.”

“On-screen is one thing. In person is another.” He crouches a bit, like a panther preparing to pounce.

Our tail rounds the corner and passes right by us—and that’s when Duke strikes. It’s like lightning, faster than my eyes can track. One instant he’s blocking me in the doorway, all broad shoulders and thick muscles, and the next he’s pinning the man on the ground, a knee in his throat, a long, wicked black blade held a centimeter from the man’s eyeball.

“How many.” Duke’s growl is terrifying. It’s a command and carries with it the promise of death.

The man babbles in Portuguese, gasping.

“Slow the fuck down, goddammit, my Portuguese ain’t that good. Better yet, in English.”

“Me, only me!” the man says. “One thousand euro a day, to see if anyone says his name.”

“You tell him we’re askin’?”

“I must! I tell him, he say find and kill.”

“He ask who we are?”

“I do not know! I do not know, I tell him. He say no matter, just kill.”

“Shit.” Duke replaces the blade in a sheath somewhere on his body—I genuinely don’t see where, only that it vanishes as if it never existed. Duke moves off the man.

“I oughta kill you. If my niece wasn’t with me, I would. I don’t like loose fuckin’ ends.” He glances at me, and then at the man on the ground. “Get. Go on. Get the fuck outta here before I change my mind. And if you tell him you found us, I’ll hunt you down and kill you quicker than you can spit, you get me?”

“I got it, I got it. I lose you, is all. I find no one.”

“That’s right. You never found us. You heard someone was asking for him, but you never found them.”