The woman gave him a slow up-and-down appraisal.

“Toys,” said Violin, “you look awful.”

“Yeah, man,” said Harry Bolt, “you really look like shit.”

Toys stepped back to let them in. “Well, you can both kiss my arse. But … come on in anyway. Did Church send you?”

“No,” said Violin as she breezed past. “My mother did.”

“Looking for Ledger, I assume,” he said, closing the door behind them. “Well, you just missed that rotten son of a bitch. He’s probably out of the effing country by now.”

“Yes,” said Violin, “and he’s on his way to Germany. Get dressed and packed. I have a plane waiting for us at the airport.”

“What?”

“Arklight has had people looking for Joe ever since he went gonzo,” said Harry. He was a former CIA agent, and according to everyone who ever worked with him, a truly awful one. He’d only gotten fast-tracked through the academy and into the field because of who his father was. If Harry was the worst, then his father, Harcourt Bolton Sr., was arguably the best the agency ever had. The irony was that the senior Bolton, the most decorated agent in the company’s history, had also been the worst traitor. While Harry, however inept at tradecraft, had proved himself to have unbreakable integrity. Violin had taken him under her wing and was teaching him—a task that proved to everyone who knew them both that she had the patience of a living saint.

Toys nodded. “Have a seat. There’s still some wine left. And beer, though it’s lukewarm by now.”

“Works for me,” said Harry, taking a bottle. He offered it to Violin, who shook her head. So he twisted off the top and took a long drink.

“What happened here?” asked Violin.

Toys glared at her. “Ledger is a shit-eating arsehole.”

Harry snorted beer through his nose.

“Tell me about it while you pack,” said Violin, settling back in a chair.

CHAPTER 86

IN FLIGHT OVER GERMAN AIRSPACE

It wasn’t a very long flight from Rotterdam to Berlin, but it still gave me time to think.

I felt like a bit of a shit for what I’d done to Toys. The more I thought about it, the more I regretted it. And, of course, once he told Junie what I’d done, that would likely be the last damned straw.

Was I trying to drive her away?

The Darkness whispered one answer to me; the other voices—the Modern Man, the Killer, and the Cop—whispered another. But each answer was another shade of yes.

Ghost had his head in my lap and was benefiting from my jangling nerves by getting even more pets and treats than usual. Dog therapy. It’s a thing.