Mac was speaking again. “I am, of course, disgusted by the events that have taken place. I’ve always considered Roman a close friend, an ally to the cause. And, more than that, he was a true asset to our city. There might not be any way to change what happened to him, but I believe in my soul that there’s a way we can make things right.

“And now, it’s time to put my money where my mouth is. I’ll be offering a reward for the capture of the traitors in question, Jonathan Asher and Quinn Fox. If any of the fine citizens of this city were to bring me one or both of these traitors—dead or alive, hell, I’m not picky—I’d make it my personal mission to make sure they’re brought to justice and made to pay for their crimes.”

Mac paused for a moment, grinning that horrible, toad-like grin. “And, of course,” he continued, “I’d make that citizen very, very rich.”

Murmurs broke out among the bar patrons. Dorothy felt a sudden thrill of fear. How stupid it was of her to come here! If anyone realized who she was, she’d be taken to Mac at once. She needed to run, to vanish.

She slid out of her seat, thinking she could sneak out using the window in the women’s room, same as she did the first time she came here, when the bartender in the baseball hat suddenly appeared before her.

He looked skittish, nervous. He wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“Miss Fox?” he said in a low, urgent voice. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

7

Dorothy felt her heart beat against the back of her throat. Her palms had started to sweat.

Surely this tiny, baseball cap–wearing boy didn’t think he could just deliver her to Mac?

Not if she had anything to say about it.

She reached into her cloak, fingers curling around the hilt of Roman’s dagger—

“Ah, not so fast, there.” The bartender produced a gun from his jacket. This wasn’t terribly surprising, bars in New Seattle were rowdy, dangerous places, and Dorothy knew that most of the bartenders were armed. This one at least had the decency to look uncomfortable holding a gun.

Still, it was a gun, so Dorothy froze, one hand still clenching Roman’s dagger.

“Why don’t you hand that over?” the bartender said.

She felt the corners of her lip twitch. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”