Alessandro blinked. “What did he call it on the phone?”
“His little ranch.”
He swore.
“Before we go in there, I need to warn you. Linus Duncan is a Hephaestus Prime,” I said. “Named after the Greek God of weapon smithing.”
“I’ve dealt with Hephaestus Primes before.”
“Not like him. He can make an antitank grenade launcher out of scrap metal in seconds and explode our car with it. You have to be on your best behavior. There are weapons everywhere in that compound.”
Alessandro smiled.
“I mean it, Alessandro. You’re too vain to die.”
He reached over and grasped my left hand, his face solemn, his eyes earnest. “Tesoro mio, I’m always on my best behavior.” He brushed his lips against my fingers.
“Stop that! I’m serious.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll mind my manners.”
We reached the driveway and passed through a second set of gates, standing wide open. I parked and we got out.
The tops of two short towers rising from the second story split and twin turrets slid out, bristling with barrels. Behind us identical turrets emerged from the wall.
Alessandro arched his eyebrows, a calculating look in his eyes.
“No,” I told him.
The tall mahogany and wrought-iron doors swung open. An older man strode out wearing jeans, a sweater, and a black cook’s apron. Tall and still athletic, with a Texas tan and a wealth of wavy hair that used to be black and now was mostly silver, he cut a striking figure. His features were bold and handsome: square jaw, large nose, lively hazel eyes under the sweep of wide brows. He saw me and smiled, his teeth even and white. The warmth from that smile sparked all the way to his eyes, making the crow’s feet at their corners stand out. His whole face lit up, as if I had brought him a gift he’d always wanted.
Linus Duncan raised his arms. “My dear, finally. I made fajitas. I used your guacamole recipe. I think I’ve got it, but it might need a pinch of salt.”
“You said he was sort of a friend,” Alessandro murmured.
“I might have understated. He’s more like a favorite uncle we’re all scared of. Best behavior. You promised.”
I ran up the three steps to the front doors and hugged Linus.
Linus’ Houston mansion was elegant and refined, with exquisite molding, frescos, and ten-thousand-dollar chandeliers. At the ranch, however, Linus went full Texas. Everything was stone and mahogany and huge fireplaces.
Alessandro squinted at the deer antler chandelier and drawled in a perfect imitation of a local, “Teeeksus.”
I elbowed him and hissed, “Stop it.”
Ahead of us, Linus turned. “People expect it.”
We followed him through the great room and a sunroom to the outside, to a massive patio of Oklahoma stone and a state-of-the-art outdoor kitchen. Padded chairs ringed a table filled with all the things fajitas required, shredded cheese in a pretty bowl, grilled peppers, guacamole, sliced tomatoes, chips, salsa, and queso. An enormous chiminea outdoor fireplace lorded over it all, the fire blazing in its hearth.
Linus headed for the grill, opened it, hooked a skirt steak with tongs, and flipped it over. “Almost there.”
An odd-looking turret slid out of the chimenea’s side and pointed itself at Alessandro with a soft whirl. He took a step to the right. The turret turned, tracking him.
“Is that really necessary?” I dipped a chip into the guacamole. He was right. It did need a pinch of salt.
“It is. He’s a dangerous man and it greatly distresses me to find him in your company.”
Alessandro gave him his wolf grin.
“The turret is fully automated. Nullifying me or it will have no effect on its ability to explode your handsome head.” Linus brushed some marinade over the meat.
I added some salt to the guacamole and mixed it.
“Yes,” Alessandro said, his voice breezy. “But it’s just one turret.”
“Do you see what he’s doing?” Linus turned to me and waved his tongs. “He’s goading me into revealing my weapon placement.”
A loud clang echoed as two dozen assorted turrets and automated guns slid from the walls of the house, the roof, and the ground. A dozen red dots danced over Alessandro’s chest and back. He stopped moving.
“I never understood why you have laser sights on automated turrets,” I said, arranging chips in a bowl.
“It’s a warning. It communicates that standing still is the wisest course of action.”
The turrets slid back, all except the one in the chiminea.
“Catalina is very dear to me.” Linus moved the steak onto a cutting board. “I think of her as family. Should you harm her in any way, I’ll skin you alive and roll you in salt.”
“And lime?” Alessandro asked.
“If you wish.”
“She has nothing to fear from me, but I do wish you would try.”
“Ahh, the arrogance of youth.”
“Ahh, the overconfidence of old age.”
“Are the two of you finished?” I asked.
“My dear,” Linus said, “we’re just getting started.”
Linus pulled three frosted bottles of Corona out of the mini fridge built into the outdoor kitchen and brought them over. “The steak needs to rest.”
I opened my beer and sat down.
Linus passed a bottle to Alessandro, took a wedge of lime from the table, and squirted the juice into his beer. “What are you doing in my city?”
“I didn’t see your name on it when I landed.”
“That’s because I have no need to announce it. You arrive, you don’t introduce yourself, and now you’re here in the company of this bright, capable young woman who is entirely too intelligent to risk being involved with you.” He gave me a pointed look. I knew that look. It said that he wasn’t mad, just disappointed.
How did I get myself into these things?
“I’m here on business, the young lady and I have a professional arrangement, and what happens between us outside of it is none of your concern.”
My beer went down the wrong way. I coughed, and the two of them turned to look at me with identical concerned expressions on their faces. I waved my arm at them. “Please carry on with your manly posturing. It’s very entertaining.”
Linus rolled his eyes and took a swallow from his beer. “It’s not about posturing. It’s about courtesy. Manners matter. They separate us from savagery and cut down on unnecessary violence.”
“You’re being a bit harsh with him. He’s a guest.”
“No, you’re a guest. He’s a guided missile and I want to know where he’ll explode.”
I had to defuse this before it turned ugly. Experience said that Alessandro would do anything to avoid answering questions about himself. I turned to Alessandro. “How is it that he knows what you are, and I don’t?”
Alessandro saluted Linus with his beer. “My apologies. I should have come by. It was rude of me.”
Ta-da. It worked.
“Apology accepted. What’s done is done.”
Linus rose and began carving the steak.
“You’re not an assassin, are you?” I asked him.
“No.”
“Just checking. Lately it seems like everybody is an assassin.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes.” I had to do it quick, like ripping off a wax strip. “Is there a reason why Diatheke would try to hire Sigourney Etterson to kill you?”
Linus stopped cutting.
A long moment passed.