“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Ruben asked. It was the first time he’d spoken since Tera had parked her Beretta against his skull and ushered him from his truck.

“I’m a fifty-year-old woman with arthritis in my left knee.” This last part wasn’t true, but it sounded convincing. “You are three capable young criminals. Frankly, you have a much better chance of getting the job done. And besides, Kitty was your friend, not mine.”

Johan regarded her from beneath the ridge of his narrow brow. Tera could tell she had his attention.

“Alternatively, you can turn in the evidence you tampered with, and hope Luke confesses.” She spread her hands and sighed. “Spoiler alert: he won’t.”

“Or we wait here until he gets home. Put a scare on him. Make him talk.” Johan demonstrated reluctance, but the truth was in his eyes. “You’re assuming we want this guy dead as much as you want him dead.”

“And don’t you?”

A brief silence fell, disturbed only by the discreet industry of the house and the hum of the city beyond. Johan maintained eye contact with her, then nodded.

“Where is he?” He gestured at her cell phone.

The tip of Tera’s right forefinger hovered just above the Track-U-Gen icon. “This is a onetime arrangement, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“I don’t care how you do it, and I don’t want to know. Just get the job done and get rid of the body.”

Johan’s faint smile was all the acknowledgment she needed.

“One other thing: We don’t ever talk about this.” Tera lifted her chin and looked at Johan dead-on—the posture of a serious woman. “It never happened.”

Understanding flowed between them, as cold and forceful as water.

“Where is he?” Johan asked again.

Tera opened the tracking app, found Luke’s little red blip, and zoomed in.

“He’s all yours,” she said.

20
El Camino Del Paraíso

Near-empty highway, shimmering beneath a close, indifferent sun. A scuffed green bullet headed east.

Xander drove with his right leg extended, foot bolted to the gas pedal. The muscles in his forearms were as tight as wet knots. Johan sat beside him, exploring Krókr’s engraved handle with the tips of his fingers. This delicate, meditative practice kept him from breaking.

“Ruben’s falling behind,” Xander said, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Fuck slowing down, though. He can meet us in Nueva Vida.”

Johan snarled and shot Xander a reproachful look.

“Shit, man, I know you’re pissed, and I get it, but we can turn this around.” Xander nodded resolutely. The vein in his temple was showing. “We’ll find the actor. Kitty, too. We’ll bury those fuckers.”

“You better hope that happens before they get to Ramón,” Johan said. “Or I’ll bury you.”