Page 175 of Lodestar

Ollie: Wonderful as always.

Me: Any jobs for me?

Ollie: Nope. Your calendar is pretty quiet for the moment.

Me: Might not be a bad thing. I’m out of the country.

Ollie: Where are you?

Me: Croatia.

Ollie: Why? AND why am I only hearing this now?

Me: Long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I come to visit.

Ollie: You’d better. Keep your ass alive, Cin, or I will be pissed.

Me: Love you too, dick.

Ollie: Bye, bitch.

Lips curving, I tossed my cell down on the bed and picked Muñoz’s up again. Spying an unread message from a contact with no name, only a number, I read the text with interest.

Need you in London tomorrow. Will provide address when…

The message preview cut the text off at that point. When I tapped on it, oddly enough, it opened that non-native calculator app again.

Bizarre.

But that was a dead end and I couldn’t see anything in the message inbox either.

Yawning, I checked my cell, saw Star had sent me an address in someplace called Uvala Lapad, and I replied to her with a thumbs-up, then found Goldstein had messaged me too.

God, Interpol agents were always such a drag, but he was the worst.

Goldstein: McClure’s dead?!

Me: What did you think was going to happen when you reported he had a sex slave in his fucking basement?

Goldstein: The whole point of me infiltrating his office was to gather evidence, for fuck’s sake.

Me: Interpol’s fine with sex slaves suffering while their agents dick around looking for evidence?

Goldstein: I don’t dick around. Shit like this is sensitive. It takes fucking time.

Me: She might not have had time, goddammit. I’m not going to argue with you. I wasn’t the only one who okayed the hit. I’ll assume you think it’s easier to get in my face than the Five Points’?

Me: I hate to tell you this but they’ll just kill you. I’ll bite your face off.

Goldstein: You’re a cannibal?!

Ah, my reputation had spread farther than anticipated. Ididenjoy scaring grown men.

Lips twitching, I tapped out:

Me: I don’t particularly appreciate seared ‘Goldstein face’ for my supper, but I’m handy with a knife and I know a dog who’d appreciate those sweet cheeks of yours.

Me: Back the fuck off and if you’ve got any complaints (I’d recommend that you don’t btw) then take them to Conor. He’s your liaison, isn’t he?