Mac’s lips twitched, as though the very thought disgusted him. “You let a girl run your show, friend?”

“As frequently as possible,” said Ash. “Now—”

“Wait a second . . . I know you.” Mac’s beady eyes flicked over to Chandra and narrowed. “Yeah, and you. You’re part of that time travelers’ group, right? The Chronology whatever?”

He was talking about the Chronology Protection Agency, a team of time travelers taken from throughout history and brought to New Seattle two years ago to work alongside the late, great Professor Zacharias Walker.

Mac smiled, and gave a slow shake of his head. “I’ve had people out looking for you and your friends for the last month. You’re well hidden. That intentional?”

“It is,” Ash said, a rough edge to his voice. “We got a little tired of people showing up on our doorstep asking us to take them back in time to see the dinosaurs.”

“That so?” Mac chewed on his chapped lip, grinning slightly. “So you don’t take requests? Say, for local business owners. There would be payment involved.”

Local business owners. The phrase turned Ash’s stomach. “We aren’t going to take you back in time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I could make it worth your while.”

“No, thanks,” Ash said.

Mac’s eyes darted to the makeshift desk under the window. Ash followed his gaze to a small black Glock.

“Go for it and I shoot.” Chandra slid a thumb over the gun’s hammer. “Where do you keep the rest of the girls?”

Mac inched toward the desk. “If you think I’m going to—”

Chandra fired, sending a bullet straight through the pimp’s thigh. He howled with pain, dropping to his knees. Blood leaked onto the floor.

“I was aiming a bit higher than your leg,” Chandra said. “Should I try again?”

“She’s not very good with that thing,” Ash said.

Mac pushed his fist to his mouth and bit down on his knuckles. A tear oozed out of his eye and slithered down his cheek. He had his other hand pressed to the wound in his leg, blood gushing through his fingers.

“They’re—they’re upstairs,” he gasped, cringing. “Room Three-C.”

Ash glanced at Chandra, half expecting her to shoot again, but she only tucked the gun in the back of her jeans, scowling at Mac as she darted out of the room. The young dark-haired girl hesitated for a moment and then followed her.

Ash tipped his chin to the pimp bleeding on the floor. “Pleasure doing business.”

Mac’s moans followed him out into the hall; his ears were still ringing with them when he reached the stairs.

Room 3C looked flooded from the outside. Water sloshed around the bottom of the door, and the wooden frame was rotted clean through. Ash lowered a hand to the doorknob and leaned against the wood with his shoulder, hoping the door would just collapse beneath him. But it held.

“Damn,” he muttered, relaxing. The curtain to the side of the door flicked as one of the girls looked out.