The screen showed a picture of a sleeping animal surrounded by underbrush. It was a few seconds before I realized the image was not a still frame, but a video clip: the animal’s chest moved very slightly as it breathed. Then it grew still.
“What the fuck.” I glanced at Quinn. “That’s her dog. Tindra’s.”
I played the clip again. The time stamp was barely two hours earlier. There was no indication as to where it was recorded.
I looked at Lyla. “What is this? Who sent it?”
“My brother. It came from Tindra, she forwarded it to him.”
She took the mobile, swiping so I could read a series of texts:
found book
erik svarlight
need help
“Someone poisoned the dog?” I asked Lyla. She nodded. “But if the dog was with her, how could they poison it?”
“I don’t know!”
Gryffin frowned. “Who’s Erik Svarlight?”
“Svarlight—it’s not a person, not necessarily. It could be a band or something.” I glanced at Quinn. “Look, I don’t know what it is. But I saw some white supremacists wearing Svarlight T-shirts, in the Underground. Swedish guys.”
“Tindra’s saying this guy has the book.” Gryffin turned to Lyla. “Right?”
“I told you, I don’t know! Let me think!”
She strode toward a shuttered outdoor café, found shelter beneath its awning, and bent over her mobile. Quinn pulled me to his side.
“Come on, Cassie,” he said. “This is done.”
“Done?” The crank lit up my synapses like a sparkler. “It’s not done—she found the book! This guy Erik, he’s kidnapped her or something.”
“Doesn’t sound like that to me.” Quinn watched Lyla, now frantically texting. “Do you know him? Erik whoever?”
“No. But Tindra said he has the book.”
“No, she texted found book. It doesn’t mean he has it.”
I pushed at him in frustration. “Bullshit. He killed her freaking dog. She needs help.”
“So she got herself in over her head.” Quinn touched his bruised cheek, scowling. “Why the hell do you care?”
“The book,” I snapped. “Remember? You said you can find a buyer, we can get serious money. Now we have a line on where she is, so we can find it.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind, Cass. If she has the book, you think she’s gonna give it to you? And it doesn’t even sound like she does have it—this guy Erik does, maybe. And if a bunch of Nazis are wearing his T-shirt, he’s over there—”
He pointed across the river. “At the demonstration. And if you think going there’s a good idea, you really are out of your mind. We’re pulling the plug on this.”
He grabbed my arm. As I started to argue, Lyla came running back.
“Victoria Park,” she said breathlessly. “Tommy just texted, that’s where he thinks Tindra and Erik are.”
“I thought this was Victoria Park,” said Gryffin.
“Victoria Embankment Park,” said Lyla. “Victoria Park’s in the East End. That’s where they’re marching.”
She started back toward the Underground station. Gryffin watched her as another helicopter roared east into the haze. “I guess I better go, too,” he said reluctantly. “If there’s a snowball’s chance in hell my book shows up.”
“Your book?” I retorted. “You sold it to Harold, and he sold it to Tindra.”
“There’s a hold on the transaction.” He shook his head. “And why would a Nazi even want it?”
“Why not? Everyone else does.”
He turned and headed after Lyla, and Quinn tugged at my arm. “Cassie.”
I twitched away from him. The copter’s drone grew into a thundering pulse as a man hissed my name in a darkened alley.
Cass, Cass…
A knife glinted in the man’s hand, and his arm extended toward me. I froze as a ghostly car cruised past, disappearing into the Thames beneath Hungerford Bridge.
I could tell, when I met you, Tindra whispered in my ear. Don’t you find that sometimes? That you just know?
“Cass.” Quinn’s tone was urgent. “Cassie, come on.”
The roaring in my head diminished to a dull buzz, a wasp trapped inside my skull. I took a few deep breaths, my jaw clenching as I struggled to speak.
“I can’t just leave her.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t explain. Just…” I looked up into Quinn’s cold green eyes. “Look, I have to go. And we need the money.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money.”
“That’s not what you said this morning.”
“This morning all this shit hadn’t exploded in our hands, Cass!”
“We’re broke and here illegally.”
“I can find work here.”
“What work? Killing more guys for the Russians? You want to go back to prison?” I scanned the horizon above South Bank.
“Cassie, baby. Nobody is going to find that book.” Quinn spoke slowly and barely above a whisper, warning signs that I ignored. “It’s on a plane to Miami or Moscow or Dubai or—”
“It’s not. He has it, and Tindra’s with him.”
“Who the hell are you talking about?”
“Erik or whoever killed her dog.”
I stared at Quinn, razor-eyed: the only way he was going to stop me was by force. I knew he wasn’t beyond that. But after half a minute, he let go of me. “Goddamn it, I should never have gotten that shit for you. You’re crazy enough when you’re not tweaking.”
I punched his arm. “I’m not tweaking. Where’s Victoria Park?”
“Near Mile End. The Tube goes right there.” He gestured toward the station entrance. “That chick Lyla, she seems to know what she’s doing. Try to stay close to her. Jesus.” He tugged at his watch cap. “I should have my head examined.”
“Come with me.” My lips brushed his bruised cheek. “We can do it together. It’ll be fun.”
“That ain’t gonna happen, baby. There’ll be cops all over. And I might run into some people I know, which would not be a good thing. If they start kettling, get the hell out. Your burner still got juice?”
“I think so.”
“Whatever you do, don’t lose it. I’ll call or text where to meet me later. You do the same.”
He stared into my eyes, his battered face a reflection of my own. “Do you really want to do this, Cassie? It sounds like the crank talking.” He kissed my forehead and pushed me away. “Go fast.”
I nodded and loped toward the station. When I glanced back, Quinn lifted a hand to me, turned, and walked off into the fog.