“Losing that Cadillac was the smartest thing you’ve done since I met you,” she says. “Too bad you don’t have any taste in replacement vehicles. I’d have stolen a Porsche.”

“I didn’t exactly lose the Cadillac,” I say. “And what part of recon did you not understand? You’re loaded for bear. If I’d known you were bringing heavy ordnance, I’d have stolen something bigger. I’m not sure it’ll fit.”

“Oh, I dunno,” she says. “It’ll be tight, but I think I can shove my big gun into your tiny car.”

“Are we still talking about the shotgun?”

“Shut up and open the door.”

I lean over and push the passenger door open. I feel a flare of magic as she slides into the seat and the Benelli, machete and bandolier are gone.

“I don’t even want to know where you put those,” I say.

I fill her in on what happened with Werther, Letitia, Chu, and Chu’s pet lawyer, Peter. I hand Gabriela the compact. “The mirror’ll only show things, not people,” I say. “Concentrate on Quetzalcoatl’s lighter, it should give you a good view of where it is. Last I looked she was right next to it. And hang onto it. It’ll jump in the direction of whatever you’re looking for.”

I don’t want to say it, because she knows her shit, but I have to. I’m a little nervous about this whole venture. “You get that this is more of a stake-out than a frontal assault, right? I’d really like to come back from this one in one piece.”

“I don’t think I like this new cautious you,” she says.

“Yeah, well, I don’t usually have to worry so much about some rando on the street shooting me, poisoning me, or blowing up my car while I’m still in it. When people try to kill me they tend to space it out over a few days, not shove it all into one afternoon.”

“I can take care of myself, Eric,” she says.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen it. And that’s not what I’m talking about.” I nod toward her crew watching us. None of them look happy. “What about them? Look, I got nothing to come back to. If I die, big fuckin’ whoop. But you?”

“I’m not risking their lives,” she says, an edge in her voice that makes me start to wonder if this is really about going after Sastre for her. “If you didn’t want my help, why did you call?”

“I do want your help,” I say. “And I know you’ve got a vested interest in this. But I also want to get you back here in one piece.”

“Jesus, Eric. I know my way around killing cartel sicarios.” She’s right. She can take care of herself better than almost anyone I’ve ever met.