“He said that we could never stop you. That you would cross heaven and hell to find him.”

Garrick tousled Riley’s hair, and the boy forced himself not to jerk his head away from the touch.

“Time and space, to be precise,” said Garrick. “And I picked up a few valuable tidbits on my travels.” As he was saying this, Garrick knelt and placed the tip of the switchblade over Duff’s chest. “But one lesson I learned long before this particular jaunt was not to leave any witnesses. Not unless I want to swing for the kindness.”

“Let me do it, master,” blurted Riley. “To make it up to you for all the blundering and trouble I’ve put you to.”

Garrick was touched, but wary. “You would make your bones? Now?”

“Your way is the only way,” said Riley. “I see that now. The time has come for me to embrace my destiny. To back the winning horse.”

Garrick tapped his own chin with the blade, then leaned forward to slice Riley’s cuffs.

“I have no patience for tomfoolery or hesitations, Riley. Strike quickly and earn yourself a footnote in my good books. Otherwise I will be treating you as a hostile.”

Riley took the offered blade. “I am grateful for the chance, master. You can count on me.”

Chevie could only hope that Riley was making a play; otherwise, if he actually intended to do whatever it took to keep himself alive, that might include killing her and Duff both. In any case, she had to appear outraged.

“Don’t do it, kid,” she warned. “You kill a Fed, and there will be nowhere to hide.”

Garrick smiled slyly. “Oh, but there is a place, isn’t there, Agent? Or perhaps a time?”

Riley held the blade in his fist and then moved so fast that even Garrick’s eyebrows lifted. He twirled the knife a full revolution and then slid it cleanly between Duff’s third and fourth ribs, directly above the heart. A poppy-shaped bloodstain blossomed at the spot and quickly soaked the material of the agent’s crisp shirt.

“There,” said Riley, his voice quavering slightly. “It is done. And no big deal either. Shall I send the other one off also? Unto dust, as you always say, master.”

“Murderer!” cried Chevie, aiming a kick at Riley, which Garrick deflected with the heel of one hand.

“All credit to you, boy. That was a clean puncture. In like a hot poker through snow.”

“The girl, master?”

“No,” said Garrick, taking back the switchblade. “Though every strike binds you to me with blood, I must do this one myself.”

Garrick grasped Chevie’s chin with his fingers. They felt like steel pincers along her jawline. He ratcheted her head backward, carefully removed the Timekey from her neck, and laid the blade along her windpipe.

Chevie flinched as her life flashed before her eyes, just as the movies had told her it would.