Good hands. I thought of Truedell’s self appraisal. One echoed by his mentor. Good hands. And when Truedell started using those good hands for his own gain,
Dionosio had ordered his death.
Uniformed officers and plain suited detectives poured through the hotel’s main doors as an ambulance and two police hovercars, lights strobing the early morning mists, streamed into the parking lot. Shouts filled the air, voices calling. Doors slammed.
Overhead, the sky brightened; a new day tugging back the night’s dark veil.
I wrapped my fingers around the rifle’s thin strap on my husband’s shoulder. “You always carry this when you come looking for me?”
“I’d heard rumors about genetic manipulation and one of the Syndicates. Then Iago told me what Truedell was. I realized you’d gone looking for the killer, not trusting your own talents. I knew there’d be trouble.”
“But a ZAL-4? You travel with this in our luggage?”
Something dark, haunted flashed across Kieran’s face. Something five hundred years past, the last time Captain Kieran Risardas had killed.
The man history had labeled the Butcher of Sinder Station pulled me into his arms, threaded his fingers through my hair, held me tightly against him as Lieutenant Iago strode up.
“You get images, descriptions for me, San’Janeiro?”
I had, but suddenly realized that wasn’t the most important thing at all. What I could do, what I could see, what my lifelong profession was mattered little compared to the one thing I’d yet to say. I raised my face and looked into storm-colored gray eyes. “Kieran, I love you,” I said softly.
Only when he smiled did I turn to Iago. “I have everything you need to know, lieutenant. Your murderer’s name is Derek Valand. He had good eyes.”
Snake Eyes Page 3