"It would explain how they are able to keep finding you." He tipped his head to one side. "But that is an expensive proposition. That technology is not so easy to procure, even if you have the requisite funds. And it seems to be a lot of effort to expend merely for revenge. If he could kidnap you, he could have easily put a bullet into your head and be done. The mystery of his tactics worries me. There is something we are missing, I think."

  I hissed. "And now I led them here, to Harris's compound."

  "It is only conjecture on my part," Anselm said. "I do not know for a certainty if you have been implanted with this tracker. We should be safe here for a time."

  "Still, we should get contact Harris."

  Anselm nodded. "Perhaps bring your friend into the house." His action suited his words and he headed inside, where I noticed the front door had a new biometric lock.

  In fact, the windows seemed reinforced, and the door looked heavy...

  "Hey, Anselm...looks like you've been busy up in here." I opened the passenger door of the Jeep as I shouted to Anselm.

  He nodded. "Harris has been wanting to improve the quality of physical security, so I did that while covering the compound."

  I looked down at Temple and shook her gently. "Hey, babe. We're here."

  She blinked awake, twisting in the reclined seat, peering at me as she stretched. And goddamn, that stretch...arching her back, pushing her tits out, looking sleepy and sexy and fucking temping as hell.

  "Where are we?"

  "My boss's compound." I couldn't help brushing a flyaway lock of hair out her eyes. "Safe, for now."

  "That's what you said about your stash house."

  I grimaced. "Yeah, well...this place is fortified. Plus," I gestured at Anselm, visible through the open doorway of Harris's house, "now we've got some back up."

  "Who's that?" Temple asked, pulling the seatback forward and yanking her hair out of the ponytail holder to rearrange it.

  "That's Anselm."

  "The scary German dude?"

  "That's him. But he's on our side, and be glad of that. We should be okay here for a while."

  I grabbed the duffel bag out of the back seat, along with the other rifle and the Mossberg. No sense being caught unarmed, right? Temple and I went into the house, and I closed the door behind us. The lock clunked home, a solid and reassuring sound.

  The inside of Harris and Layla's house was as nice and unassuming as the exterior. Cozy, country, and comfortable, is how I'd describe it. Lots of wood, exposed beam ceilings, hardwood floors with hand-woven rugs on top, and artfully, intentionally mismatched furniture. It had an open central floor plan, with the master bedroom on one side of the house, and a set of guest rooms on the other, and a spacious study for Harris off the living room. I'd only been inside a few times, as the HQ for the crew was housed in a separate building over by the runway and the barn, and that's where we A1S guys spent the bulk of our time when at the compound. This was Harris and Layla's personal full-time residence, and thus seemed a little...off-limits, I guess.

  "The doorway can withstand a sustained automatic weapons fire," Anselm said from the foyer area, "and the windows are all bulletproof. Additionally, there are now motion sensors along the perimeter, and extra cameras in key locations. I have installed sniper's nests in several places up in the hills as well, each with its own rifle, ammunition, and range finder, as well other hideout locations with backup weapons and food."

  "You've been a busy boy, buddy," I said, laughing.

  Anselm nodded. "I do not enjoy idle time. And I do not ever underestimate my enemy. I am prepared to defend the compound against any who wish to try their luck." He unslung the mammoth rifle and set it butt-down on the floor, leaning it against the doorframe. "If they wish to take this place, however, they should better be ready to dance with the devil."

  Temple was eyeing the rifle. "Holy shit, that is the biggest gun I've ever seen."

  Anselm patted the barrel. "Ja, the Barrett, she is my very best friend." He held out his hand to shake Temple's. "I am Anselm See." He pronounced his last name zay, rhyming with weigh, or hay.

  Temple seemed wary. "I'm Temple Kennedy. Nice to meet you."

  Anselm gave a small, but charming grin. "I think Duke has been telling stories again. He and Thresh, they like to make anyone who meets me think I am some kind of Boogie-Man." It was obvious from his lack of reaction that Anselm hadn't heard of Temple, which wasn't surprising; he wasn't really the pop-culture sort of guy.

  "Motherfucker, you are the Boogie-Man," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're just our Boogie-Man."

  Anselm shrugged one shoulder. "I will accept that." He shot me a look. "And you know, Duke, you curse more than anyone I've ever known. A foul mouth is the sign of a weak mind, my father used to say."

  "Yeah, well, my father used to say people who swear a lot are smarter."

  Anselm cocked his head in confusion. "You did not know your father. I am sure of this."

  "And you don't have a father," I retorted.

  "Everyone has a father."

  "Except you. I've always assumed you were created fully-grown in some super secret spy laboratory."

  "Spies do not work in laboratories," Anselm said, deadpan serious. "That is scientists."

  I laughed. "You gotta get a sense of humor, my man." I hesitated, and then figured I'd just ask and see what he said. "Where did you grow up?"

  As far as I knew, none of us had ever dared ask him anything about his past, under the assumption he wouldn't answer, or would get pissed at the invasion of his privacy--and nobody wanted to risk a pissed off Anselm.

  Anselm was quiet a long moment. "I was born in Berlin, Germany, April 30th, nineteen seventy-nine." He hesitated another long moment. "My father was a government official, and my mother was a homemaker. My childhood was unremarkable in every way. It is my adult life which is...more difficult to explain."

  "Well, I hate to interrupt such a riveting conversation," Temple said, "but I'm hungry. Is there anything I can eat?"

  Anselm nodded. "I will fix you something. Do you have any allergies to food?"

  "Nope."

  "Well then, I shall see what there is. Please, be at home." Anselm moseyed into the kitchen, and I heard the sounds of cabinets opening and closing.

  We moved into the living room and sat down on the couch, which was a deep, thick leather monstrosity, well worn and stupid comfortable, the kind of couch that liked to eat you and never let you get up. Temple curled up with her feet under her legs, sitting closer to me than I'd assumed she would, after that last conversation we'd had.

  When Anselm was busy and out of earshot, Temple eyed me skeptically. "He seems nice. You made me think he was some kind of vicious assassin."

  I laughed. "Oh, he is. He's also super nice. That's what makes him scary. He's never anything but nice and polite and calm. He doesn't get excited, doesn't yell, doesn't curse. I'm not sure he even drinks booze. He's just...utterly calm, all...the...time. It's unnerving. We'll be in the middle of a shootout, bullets flying every which way, people dying, screaming, fucking rockets exploding, and Anselm will be in my earpiece acting all cool and collected, like it's just a day at the fucking beach. Or whatever it is that freak does for fun. If he even knows what fun is." I leaned backward over the couch. "Hey, Anselm!"

  He was at the island in the kitchen, making sandwiches. "Ja?"

  "What do you do for fun?"

  He finished one sandwich and started on another, answering without looking up. "Practice at the shooting range. Read books. Track down my enemies and eat their hearts." He glanced up and winked at Temple. "The usual."

  I boggled at him for an entire half-minute. "Holy shit, was that a joke?"

  "I don't know, was it?" His grin was subtle, but it was there. "That is the Boogie-man, ja? He eats the hearts of his victims?"

  I laughed at that. "Fuck me, Anselm, what kind of Boogie-Man stories did you grow up with?"

  His grin vanished abruptly. "I was sent to a private military school when I was fourteen, so, for me, the Boogie-Man was the kommandant. He was the most frightening and unpleasant man I have ever known, and I have been acquainted with professional torturers. Children who infracted the rules would go to his office and never return. Some of the children at the school whispered rumors that he ate the rule-breakers, and others said that he did things far less savory than mere cannibalism to them."

  "Well that's...fun," Temple said. "Aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"

  "I have never been accused of being jovial," Anselm said, and went back to making sandwiches.

  "Yeah, I guess not," Temple said.

  "I think you're getting a little too much me-time, Anselm," I said. "You're going stir-crazy. This is the most I've heard you talk about yourself in the entire time we've known each other."

  Anselm brought two paper plates with cold cut sandwiches and corn chips, carrying those in one hand and two cans of light beer in the other.

  "Harris does not believe in soda, it appears," Anselm said. "So you drink beer."

  I cracked open the beer and crammed half the sandwich into my mouth. "Soda is bullshit," I said, around a mouthful of food. "Cancer juice. I never drink soda."

  "Why not?" Temple asked, biting into her sandwich with a little more delicacy than I was displaying.

  I nodded. "Had this buddy in the Army, he was a mechanic, worked on the deuce-and-a-halfs. He'd clean parts with Coke. Like, he'd scrub dirt and rust and shit off the metal with Coca-Cola, and it'd be shinier than new. If it does that to fucking steel? Hell if I'll drink that shit."

  We all ate in silence then. Anselm finished his food first, somehow, and went about making more sandwiches, bringing me another and one for himself. When we were finished, he took our plates and disposed of them.

  "I must return to the nest. Your information is worrisome." He indicated a large, blocky cell phone on the island counter. "A sat-phone, with Harris's terminal number programmed into it. Call him, tell him you are alive and what you told me about Cain."

  Temple stood up. "Is there a chance I could shower? Things have been...yucky."

  Anselm nodded, his eyes going to the bloodstain on her skirt. "Of course. I think Layla has some clothing to possibly fit you, if you would like."

  "That would fantastic."

  Anselm went into Harris and Layla's room, and emerged a minute later with a pair of black yoga pants, a T-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of flip-flops.

  "I do not know if the sandals will fit, but they might be more appropriate under the circumstances than your current footwear," he said.

  "Better than nothing," Temple answered. "Thank you."

  He nodded and then from a counter in the kitchen, he grabbed a military grade long-range two way radio with an earpiece and throat mic and handed the set to me. "Keep in contact and be alert. I'll be watching, but at this point in the game, I think perhaps anything is possible."

  "I might try to pop over to the HQ. I've got some spare gear over there."

  Anselm shook his head. "Nein. You stay here. This is the safest place on the compound, and you have Frau Kennedy to worry about. You need BDUs, I assume, ja?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, and some extra hardware. All I've got is those scrounged pieces, my HK, and a couple of pistols."

  "I will raid your quarters and bring you what I find."

  "Great."

  Anselm gestured at the sat phone. "Now call Harris. We have to be coordinated."

  "Yes sir," I said, mocking a salute.

  He shook his head on the way out the door, slinging his Barrett over his shoulder. "You are too irreverent for your own good."

  "It's like you know me," I joked.

  When he was gone, I showed Temple the spare bathroom. "Take your shower while I make a call."

  After the water was running, I sat down on a stool at the island, the Mossberg leaning against the side of the counter and the rifle on top of it, and dialled the single number programmed into the satellite phone.

  "Anselm, what's going on?" came Harris's voice.

  "It's me, boss. Heard you guys were missing me."

  "I've got Duke," I heard Harris say, his voice muffled, speaking to someone on the other end. "Where the fuck have you been, jackass?"

  "Well, you see, I took up ballet. I was working on my pirouette and lost track of time."

  His voice was razor sharp. "This isn't the time for fucking jokes, Duke. Where--the fuck--have you been?"

  I let a sliver of my irritation show through in my voice. "I got snatched, dude. Like, cracked across the head, drugged, and stuck in a basement somewhere in Denver."

  "You got out, obviously."

  "Well, no shit. That's not the point."

  "What is the point, then?"

  "They snatched someone with me."

  "Who?" Harris asked; I heard voices in the background--sounded like Puck, Thresh, and a female voice I wasn't familiar with.

  "Temple Kennedy," I answered.

  "Temple Kennedy? Why does that name ring a bell?"

  The female voice in the background spoke up. "Her mom is Jane Kennedy, and her dad is Craig Kennedy, like from Suicide Cult. She's got her own reality show."

  "Oh yeah, I think Layla watches that," Harris said. "So...they kidnapped you and this Temple Kennedy chick?"

  "Sure did."

  "And what were you doing with Temple Kennedy in the first place?"

  "Nothing...yet, at least. I was setting up to talk to her, and wham, next thing I know I'm bound hand and foot and I'm in a shitty basement, and this chick is bound and gagged beside me. Bunch of Cain's Eastern Bloc gangster types came down talking shit, kicked me, and left again. Dumbasses tied me up with zipties--"

  Harris snorted. "Amateurs."

  "Yeah, that's what I said. I took 'em out, and hightailed it out of there with Temple."

  I filled him in on the rest of the events of the day, leading up to showing up at his compound, including what Anselm had said about the possibility of me having been implanted with a tracer.

  There was a long, tense silence on the other end. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Another pause. "This changes things."

  "I think you might have underestimated your guy Cain."

  "Yeah," Harris agreed. "I mean, I never said he was stupid, just that he wasn't a great tactician. He's definitely not stupid. This doesn't feel like Cain, though. That's the problem. He doesn't snatch, and he doesn't go in for elaborate revenge plots. He goes in and kills you and your family and your friends and anyone you ever spoke to, and he does it brutally, bloodily, and publicly."

  "So maybe he's got a tactical advisor or something?" I suggested.

  "Possibly, but I don't know. Something about this doesn't feel right."

  "Well, all I know is that I barely got us out the last time, and if Anselm is right and the pattern holds, they're gonna show up here eventually. So...I guess I'm just saying sorry in advance for what might happen to your compound."

  "Yeah, well, it's all just stuff. Keep yourself and this Temple of yours alive until we can get there. Stuff can be replaced, you can't."

  "Awww, you're makin' me all mushy inside, boss," I said. "Hey, is Thresh with you? I heard he had some fun. And who was that girl I heard talking? It didn't sound like Layla."

  "Yeah, Thresh is with me, and no that wasn't Layla. That's Thresh's new girlfriend. Her name's Lola."

  I was stunned silent. "Thresh's new who-the-what-now?"

  Harris laughed. "Yeah, that was my reaction, too. She's cool, though."

  "Huh. Weird." I decided I couldn't handle the idea of Thresh with a girlfriend, so I just wouldn't think about it. "Where's Layla, then?"

  "I sent her and Sasha down to stay with Roth and Kyrie while this whole thing is going on. After what Thresh went through, I wasn't taking any chances. She's probably not gonna talk to me for a month, but better that than Cain getting his hands on her. Roth's place in the Caribbean is a fortress, and I hired a bunch of extra guys to keep an eye the place."

  "She let you send her packing to safety?" I asked, incredulous.

  Layla wasn't exactly known for her practicality when it came to being safe; she preferred to be in the thick of the action, wherever Harris was, no matter the risk, and got...pissy, let's say...when Harris tried to put her somewhere out of the way.

  "It was a fight, but she went," Harris said, and the tone of his voice told me how serious that fight must have been. "She hadn't seen Kyrie in a while anyway, so I think that was what convinced her more than anything I said."

  "So what's the plan, boss?"

  "We're in the air right now, headed your way. I've got Thresh and Puck with me, Lear is who knows where, and Anselm is there on the compound. I think you need to hang tight."

  "Have you thought about bringing Lear in?" I asked. "He can do okay, but the guys I've been tangling with are no slouches, Harris. I barely got away, and that's with a shitload of fucking luck and experience." I laughed. "I called him awhile ago from a non-secure line, and he hung up on me. He's a space cadet when he's working. Not sure he'd even hear the bad guys coming, Boss."

  "Don't underestimate Lear," Harris said. "He's tougher than you think. But, yeah, I've been in contact with him, and he's better off out there, wherever the fuck he is. What he lacks in combat experience, he makes up for in the ability to run and hide while still making himself useful. He's digging for intel right now, so hopefully he'll come back with something that'll give us a plan of attack."

  "Sounds good," I said. "Can I talk to Thresh?"

  "Sure." I heard muffled sounds on the line, and then Harris's voice, distant. "Yo, Thresh. Your boyfriend's on the phone for you."

  Thresh came on, then. "You worried me, fucker."

  "Did you cry?"

  "Nearly."

  I toyed with the charging handle of the rifle on the counter. "Heard you got yourself a girlfriend."

  "And I heard you like it in the ass, you twinkie."

  "You wish." I hesitated a beat. "But for real. I thought we didn't believe in that shit."

  "The right chick comes along..." Thresh trailed off for a moment. "I don't know, man. I know it sounds like that sappy bullshit we've always made fun of, but dude, it's real, and it's no fucking joke. This shit just...changes you."

  "I think I might be tracking that myself, brother."

  "No shit?"

  "It's confusing, man. Like, the things I think, the shit I find myself doing and saying when I'm around her...it's been literally a matter of hours, and she's..."