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groaned and crumpled my burger wrapper, wishing it were Petrov’s head.
    â€œI take it you know her?”
    â€œUnfortunately, yes.” In addition to being my biggest competition in assassin school, Mischa Petrov was also my nemesis. She lorded my mixed blood over me whenever possible. And despite my higher grades, my grandmother had chosen Mischa as the Primora of the class. The honor ensured Mischa was fast-tracked into getting the plum jobs, unlike the rest of us, who had to serve time collecting tithes and tracking down petty criminals.
    Slade laughed. “In addition to being completely incompetent, that female had the worst case of vagina dentata I’ve ever had the misfortune to experience.”
    I grimaced. “You fucked her?” My newfound respect for Slade took a nosedive.
    He snorted and shook his head. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t let that she-devil anywhere near my unmentionables.”
    I smiled. “Good for you.”
    â€œAnyway,” he said, “after that horrific experience, I didn’t expect you’d be a pleasant surprise. Especially since—” He cut himself off and looked away quickly.
    I nodded. “Let me guess: the mixed-blood thing?” He nodded, looking sheepish. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”
    He shifted uncomfortably on the small seat. “Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for earlier.”
    â€œDo you feel bad enough to split the take with me fifty-fifty?”
    He threw back his head and laughed. “How about eighty-twenty?” His tone made it sound like he thought this offer was magnanimous.
    I leaned forward, looking him in the eyes. “Sixty-forty.”
    He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at me. Finally, he sighed. “Seventy-thirty. Final offer.”
    â€œGods, you’re stubborn,” I said.
    He shrugged. “Despite your luck tonight, I’m still the lead on this mission. When we go in tomorrow, you’re going to have to let me call the shots.”
    I saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
    His lips twitched. “Smartass.”
    Â Â 
    I let myself into my house and dropped my jacket and gun holster on the side table. After a night spent in the seediest establishment of the San Fernando Valley, it was time for a shower.
    On my way past the kitchen, I ducked in to grab a beer from the fridge. I peeled back the tab on the can and chugged half of it before taking an extra for the trip to the bathroom.
    The bathroom had pink tiles that I hated but not enough to make the effort of tearing them out.
    I turned the water on to scalding and quickly stripped from my clothes. My shirt smelled like the inside of an ashtray mixed with grease and onions from the burger. I tossed it on the ground next to the rest of the week’s discarded clothing.
    The needles of water hit me between the shoulders. I gritted my fangs and relaxed into the welcome pain. Placing my palms against the tile, I lowered my head and let the heat and the pressure massage away the tension.
    It’s not that I considered the night’s work a failure. Quite the opposite. We’d covered a lot of ground and found some useable clues about Zeke’s whereabouts. But I was definitely feeling the pressure of needing to both prove to my grandmother that I could be trusted to work alone, and show Slade Corbin I had the stuff to become a great assassin like him.
    I sighed and leaned my head back to wet it. While I lathered up, I thought about ways I could help the investigation move along. My fingers worked over my scalp, as if the massage would make my brain work faster. I rinsed my hair and took a long swig of the beer I’d brought in with me. Surely someone knew where to find Zeke Calebow.
    I continued to ponder my options as I completed my shower, dried off, and polished off the first beer. I pulled on a clean Charlie’s Angels’ T-shirt and some cut-off shorts before padding back into the