Ruben pushed her closer. Johan saw no expression in her colorless eyes. He turned to Kitty, beaten and tied up, but who Tera had believed was dead. This was not a good look for him, and tough to explain—a problem that might need to be solved with three graves, not two.

“It’s over,” Tera said.

“Our deal?”

“Everything. At this very moment, detectives and forensic units from LVMPD are turning over Ramón Sojo Aparicio’s house, clearing those canary flowers out of his barn.” Tera lifted her lip. Her teeth glistened. “We have more units looking for his van. The 2012 Econoline, right?”

Johan stammered. His insides had turned as cold as a Scandinavian winter. “I don’t . . . don’t know what . . . what you’re talking about.”

“You can make this a whole lot easier on yourself if you let me take Luke and Kitty away from here,” Tera continued. “You don’t need to add murder to your résumé.”

“This was your fucking idea!” Johan stormed, drumming the cheek of his ax off his chest. “You were tracking him. You wanted him dead. He’s a wife-killer, remember?”

“Our agreement went sideways,” Tera said, “when I realized Luke didn’t kill Kitty. And guess what, he didn’t kill his wife, either.”

“Lisa,” Luke mumbled, stumbling forward. “Tell me she’s okay.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Johan cried. He rounded on Luke, slapping him hard across the face. If Krókr had been in his right hand, he might have used that instead. “This is all bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit.”

“No,” Tera said. Her voice was a straight line. No emotion whatsoever. “Your canary partner, Ramón, had her imprisoned in his basement, along with multiple other women. He’s not a good guy to be associated with.”

Johan’s shoulders dropped a couple of inches—the wind taken out of his longship sails. He recalled the squealing, raggedy-ass women he’d seen at Ramón’s property. Was one of them Lisa Hayes, the actor’s wife? And was this the real reason he’d gone after Ramón?

“What the fuck is going on, Johan?” Xander asked. He plucked his left earlobe while his gun hand jerked this way and that.

“Relax, Xan,” Johan said. He breathed deeply, fighting to show composure. “She hasn’t got shit on us.”

“Wrong,” Tera said.

Her bland tone matched her eyes and he hated it, hated her. His blood bubbled and sang—his Viking ancestors, beginning to make a din.

“This . . . this Ramón guy you mention. I’ve never heard of him. Don’t know who he is.” Johan shrugged and looked at Xander. “How about you, Xan? You ever heard of him?”

“No,” Xander replied. “Never.”

“Ruben?”

Ruben’s eyes were wide and scared but he kept the PPQ locked to Tera’s skull. That was a good thing.

“Nope,” he said.