Page 134 of Till Death Do Us Part

Alfonso looked at Dr. Sala in shock. He shrugged. “Must have missed that one.” He dug in his ear and wiggled his finger, like he was trying to scratch an itch.

Dr. Sala had patted me down, but he hadn’t taken my gun.

“Emanuele.” Alfonso moved his hand away, palm covered in blood. “Kill him! Do it now!”

Corvo chucked his chin toward the door. “Get out of my house, Al.”

Jack had to force him to move. He bitched the whole way out.

Dr. Sala stood, squeezing my shoulder. He looked atEmanuele. “How about a bite to eat while we talk this over?”

Corvo sighed and stood. “Follow me.”

Dr. Sala adjusted his glasses and smiled at me. “My old friend was right about romance and ruthlessness, ah?” He patted my back all the way to the dining room table.

* * *

“Hello?” A step. “Hello?” Another step. “Who’s here?”

“Turn the lights on, Burton.”

“Shit!” Something hit the floor. A book, maybe.

He flipped the lights on.

He blinked at me. His hair was a mess, his glasses smeared with what looked like chip grease. He wore flannel pajamas and was barefoot. I was sitting in a chair in his house, pointing a gun at him.

He fell to the floor, like he’d passed out. I sighed and moved toward him. His eyes were shut, and he was keeping very still. I kept quiet as I stared at him. After a minute or two, he peeked.

“Boo,” I said.

“Ah!” He froze, staring at the ceiling, not blinking.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was trying to play dead.” He panted. He wasn’t taking any breaths before, but he was almost gulping air. “It makes predators uninterested. They don’t enjoy dead meat. They like it live and fighting. Fresh. The blood right at the surface to make it juicer.”

I pointed the gun at him. “My gun doesn’t fucking care if you’re alive or not when it’s making holes. It only listens to my trigger finger. Where’s my wife, Burton?”

He fixed his glasses and stared up at me. “Can I get up?”

I nodded and used my gun to point at the sofa. “Here to there. My gun listens to my trigger finger, but my finger gets an itch sometimes. Don’t fucking try me.”

He sat there for a second, like he was gaining courage, then a nasty stench wafted in the air as he got to his feet. He cut his eyes to me, then avoided them as he took a seat on the sofa. He slumped down.

“I don’t know—”

“Not what I want to hear—”

“Please. Let me finish. I don’t know where she is, exactly, but I have a feeling about…what she’s doing.”

“A feeling is not fact,” I said. “I’m hunting those down.”

“True, but sometimes it turns into one. Someone accessed my computer right before she left. There’s a database for dig sites all over the world. I had a feeling it was Roma.”

“How big is this database?

“Huge,” he said. “It’s loaded with information. Who’s funding the dig, who’s on the job, what they’re digging for, and where.”

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