“You gave them the address of your flat?”

“I did.”

“Then what comes next depends on your level of commitment.”

I’m watching the road while I drive in the direction of the Old Town, but when Talyssa doesn’t answer, I look to her. She is staring me down with anger, and I realize I just said the wrong thing. Quickly I add, “I didn’t mean to question your commitment to your sister. I just mean that the more risk you take tonight, the larger the chance that the opposition will take the bait.”

“What sort of risk?”

“Well, we can do this a couple of different ways. I can take you someplace where they won’t find you, and then I can haul ass back to overwatch your room. If they come for you tonight, I’ll be able to photograph them and, hopefully, identify them. Maybe even follow them back to somewhere associated with the crimes, or grab one of them tomorrow.”

“That sounds like a good plan. No?”

“It’s the safest for you, but there’s a way we can increase the odds they’ll make their move.”

“How do we do that?”

“We walk you through the city, with me trailing you. We make it obvious you’re here alone, and I look for someone tailing you. Then, tonight, we put you in your flat, just where you told them you’ll be.”

“And then they come to kidnap me?”

“Exactly. If the police have watchers or informants around your hotel, we’ll make it look so easy for them, they’ll have no reservations about snatching you.”

She bites her lower lip and closes her eyes as if she’s just willing this to all go away. “Are you making it too easy for them?”

“If you do as I say, I won’t let them get you.”

She replies, “If someone comes, how will you know it’s someone from the Consortium?”

“Let’s just say I have pretty good asshole radar.” This doesn’t translate well to Romanian, apparently, because I get no response. I add, “Trust me. I’ll know.”

“You ask for a lot of trust as a man who has told me little about himself.”

“That’s fair. What do you want to know?”

“What is your background?”

“Meaning?”

“Are you a member or former member of the U.S. military, American law enforcement, or an American intelligence agency?”

“I can’t answer that. Sorry.”

“Okay, you won’t tell me about your distant past. Tell me about your recent past. You assassinated General Babic, saw the women being held there, and then left them behind, running away to save yourself. Am I correct so far?”

“Not very charitable, but also not wrong.”

“And you kill for money, yes?”

She’s drawing conclusions here, but she happens to be right. I think about giving her a non-answer, but I need us to keep up this relationship if I’m going to recover the women. I say, “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no.”

“You are a hit man, then.”

This lady’s not going to be president of my fan club any time soon, I can see that plainly. “I operate. I’ll leave it there. Not all jobs are like the Babic op.”

I turn into a parking garage right outside the pedestrian-only Old Town along the coast. As I look for a place to park, Talyssa says, “These women. What is it about them that is making you do this? I mean . . . why are you even here?”

It’s a variation of a question I ask myself over and over. “They were in a bad situation, and I might have put them in a worse situation. I feel responsible. If I can help . . . I want to do that.” I add, “And I also want to help you find answers about what happened to Roxana.”

“But why?”

“Because sometimes I have to do what’s right.”

“But you are a killer.”

“I said ‘sometimes.’” I park the car while she thinks. When she doesn’t speak, I say, “I only kill bad people.”

She chuckles mirthlessly, showing me she thinks I’m joking. I don’t reply, but she adds, “Is it maybe that you aren’t so interested in saving people, but are more interested in the action? The danger? The killing? I mean, why else would someone do what you do for a living?”

Damn, she’s hitting close to home, and I don’t like it. I say, “I didn’t choose this life. Let’s leave it there.”

“But you are here now, when you could go anywhere else and do anything else. Do you like to kill? You don’t seem like a psychopath.”

This is her first compliment. “Thanks,” I reply. “This is what I do now. I’m good at it, even though it’s a shitty thing. I figure I might as well use it for good.”

“You kill people for ‘good’?”

We’re sitting in the still car, looking at each other. “You know what Ratko Babic did, don’t you?”

“Of course. I was a baby then, I guess, but I’ve heard the stories. Still . . . that was a long time ago. What is the point in killing an old man now?”

“I like the thought of terrible people hiding out, running scared, because even though they were bad a long time ago, they know that there is someone dangerous out there who hasn’t forgotten about what they did. If there is one chance in a million that the bogeyman is going to come for them to make them pay for their past sins in the present, it will terrorize them. Even if I can’t get to everybody out there who deserves a visit from me, I can give a lot of assholes sleepless nights, and that’s better than nothing.”

“You are a strange man.”

Also fair.

I reach into my backpack and pull an earpiece out of a charging cradle and hand it to her. I pull a second, identical unit out of the cradle and put it in my ear, then cover it with my brown hair, which is plenty long enough to hide it. I say, “Put it in and let your hair cover it. It can transmit and receive, and the charge will last at least sixteen hours. The silicone cap will keep it in place. You could fall off a bridge and it won’t come out. I’ve got another set to switch to if necessary.”

“So I just talk and—”

“And I’ll hear you, so don’t say anything bad about me.” I’m joking, but she’s not in the mood. I can see her stiffening up some, knowing she’s about to become live bait in waters where predators are lurking.

She puts in the earpiece and adjusts her short red hair, slings her purse over her shoulder.