Page 101 of Lone Star

“What’s wrong you two?” Tenny asked them.

They shared a glance, and didn’t answer.

Ten raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing up in glossy tufts. He was coming unglued, Reese thought; his seams couldn’t hold much longer. Like it had at the crash site, the knowledge comforted.

“You’re scaring them,” Reese said.

Tenny sent him an ugly grin. “Me? What makes you think it isn’tyou?”

“I’m not scared,” Pup said, but they ignored him.

“You’re losing control,” Reese said. “That scares people.” He’d learned that much, at least, in his time with the Lean Dogs. Humans thrived on predictability.

Tenny’s gaze flared–

And the door opened. Fox walked in; paused a moment to take in the scene. “Ten,” he said, calmly, “you want to take a walk and cool down?”

He pulled himself together with obvious effort; strapped down his expression, forcibly eased the tension from his shoulders. It was a remarkable thing to watch, the way he slipped between personas like this. Reese had seen all the Dogs display emotion, laughing, and cursing, and sighing and fuming. All of it, no matter how baffling, spontaneous; honest emotion, belly-deep, that waxed or waned as situations evolved. None of them did this; none of themactedthe way Tenny did. He hated the other assassin, and knew it was a mutual feeling, but Reese had the sense he himself wasn’t the root of whatever was happening to Ten now. This unraveling didn’t feel personal.

Fox nodded with approval, and turned to Nickel and Pup. “Either of you boys have a strong stomach?”

Pup shook his head.

Nickel cleared his throat and said, “I do, sir.”

“Brilliant. Go get a notebook. Pup, go see about digging a hole. A big hole.” He walked over to the tool chest where the tape rested and picked up a heavy wrench. Swapped a glance between Ten and Reese. “It’s too bad Mercy isn’t here – this is really his specialty. But I suppose we’ll make do.”

The man in the chair lifted his bloody face, eyes white-rimmed, but jaw firmly set. A last scrap of defiance that Reese knew wouldn’t last.

And it didn’t. It took a half-hour. Fox had a finesse that Badger and his men had lacked; his voice was low, soothing, even friendly. His hands were quick, and precise, and he knew where to inflict the kind of pain that would elicit a scream, but which wouldn’t cause his quarry to pass out or become insensate. He questioned him, but he toyed with him, too; there was no joy in his expression – he didn’t enjoy this the way that Mercy did – but he was satisfied with his own effectiveness. At moments, the resemblance between him and Ten was startling.

And Ten, watching with arms folded, nearly smiled a time or two, Reese thought; he looked impressed.

When he had his answers, Fox killed the man, neatly and effectively, his knife sliding right between the ribs without resistance and finding the heart on the first stroke. He withdrew it, after, and cleaned the blade on the dead man’s sleeve.

Reese had forgotten Nickel was there, until he heard the door opening, and turned to see it closing behind Nickel’s hasty retreat.

He turned back to Fox, and found the man studying him, gaze assessing.

“Learn anything?”

“Yes,” Reese and Ten said together.

Ten probably hated that.

“Good.” He headed for the door.

“What about the body?” Reese asked.

Fox threw him an amused glance over his shoulder. “Our kind don’t have to do the cleanup. One of the perks.”

Tenny followed him out.

Reese waited a moment, glancing one more time at the dead man. Blood had run down his chest, glittering wet on the black fabric, and dripped now onto the concrete.Splat,splat,splat.

Why did anyone ever cling to their secrets? How could something like knowledge offer you any hope in the last moments of your life? Everyone died, eventually; he didn’t understand inviting all the pain that came beforehand.

Thirty-One

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