“It would be an inconvenience, but a little pain goes a long way. And remember, my claws are sharp. I’ve had a lot of practice with them.”

“You crazy Neanderthal,” she whispered. “We had a deal. Partners.”

“That’s true, and I try to be a man of my word. But for your own sake, I would strongly suggest that, from here on out, you remain a silent partner.”

Chapter 36

Isabel’s one-bedroom apartment sat in the center of Jo’burg’s Maboneng district. The entire neighborhood had once been warehouses and factories, but the industrial had given way to the artistic, and the area was now known for its street art and restaurants. Even South Africa’s most famous contemporary artist, William Kentridge, had his studios in Maboneng, which got its name from a Sotho word meaning “place of light.”

Isabel wouldn’t have normally been afraid to enter her apartment. Nowhere in Jo’burg was immune to crime, but Maboneng was a step up from the city’s average district. However, considering the events of the day and the anonymous threats she’d been receiving to drop the case, Isabel was always on guard, always vigilant.

She unlocked the door and then checked her makeshift security system. Unable to afford anything fancy on her meager constable’s pay, she had invented her own system that was basically free. She had taken five pieces of paper and placed them between the door and the jam on the hinged side. Each piece of paper had a random number written on it, creating a combination lock of sorts.

If someone entered her apartment, the pieces of paper would fall, and even if they tried to put the papers back in order to make it look like no one had entered, the intruder wouldn’t know the proper sequence.

She checked the door and found the small pieces of paper missing. Her breathing grew forced, and she cursed her stupidity. How many of them could be waiting for her? Did Mobius send a hit squad? That didn’t seem likely; Christopher could have killed her earlier. Then who? Angel taking action on his own?

A more disturbing thought struck her. What if the people responsible for the massacre had decided to add her to the list of casualties? What if it was the boogeyman himself, the infamous Kruger? But no, she thought, knowing that she would never see Kruger coming.

She pulled the Px4 Storm pistol that Christopher had returned to her, crouched low, and, with the gun tight to her body for a tactical entry, pushed the door inward. The hinges were well-oiled and silent. The entryway was clear, not that she expected a professional killer to be waiting right by the door.

The one good thing about a small apartment was that there weren’t many rooms or closets to check.

The bathroom was closest. Staying low and to make herself a smaller target, she cleared the room and checked the shower.

Then she heard a noise coming from the living room. She paused and strained to hear the intruder’s movements, his breathing. But instead of breathing, she heard a low and rhythmic rumbling.