Yulyia said. “But know this: a viper’s poison does not show on the outside. Not like Baptista’s krokodil. Instead, it roils inside, hot like a fever, until it strikes you down. This is how I will attack Baptista. I will burn him from inside out.”
That didn’t sound different from Baptista’s krokodil at all, but Kit wasn’t going to say so to Yulyia. She couldn’t put Dennis at risk.
“I hope you listened when I told you to keep looking forward,” Yulyia continued, as if reading Kit’s thoughts on Dennis. “Detective Carlisle is counting on you. Understand?”
It sounded final. It sounded like she was going to hang up.
“Wait—” Kit tried . . . because she had to try.
“No police,” Yulyia barked over her, and the line went dead.
“Dammit.” Kit looked at her phone, then slapped the steering wheel. “Dammit! She didn’t give us anything!”
“Sure she did.”
Kit glanced at Grif like he was crazy. “What?”
“She just told us she’s going after Marco Baptista. The warning was to stay away and keep quiet. No paper. No police. Then Marco is gone and the whole issue of krokodil in the valley goes away, too.”
Kit shook her head. “What about Dennis?”
Grif said nothing.
Kit searched his face, but his features were carefully blank. “Grif?”
He finally shook his head. “Let’s hope she’s just using him as bait.”
Subtext: let’s hope the Viper hadn’t yet struck.
Forcing air through her nose, into her lungs, Kit sat and breathed and thought. Then she swung the car around in a sharp U-turn.
“Where are you going?” Grif’s expression wasn’t so blank now.
Kit didn’t answer.
“Kit? What are you thinking?”
She felt so stupid for not having seen it or thought of it before. “Little Havana.”
“What about it?”
She shook her head as she said, “It’s under renovation, Grif. It has been for weeks.”
“A perfect place to hide chemicals like paint thinner and propane.”
“Not just hide them,” Kit said. “It’s their kitchen.”
This is how I will attack Baptista. I will burn him from inside out.
“Stop the car,” Grif ordered, his voice emanating from a deeper place in his throat than before.
Kit kept going.
“Stop the car, Kit,” he repeated, clipping his words this time. “Because wherever you’re going, whatever you’re thinking, plasma is suddenly thickening around you.”
Kit double-glanced at him. “Plasma? Like when you first met me? Like when . . . ?”
“When you were destined to die.”
Kit eased up on the gas. Maybe Grif was right. Maybe they should leave Yulyia alone, and Marco to his fate, and hope she would let Dennis live. Just hope.
“That’s better,” Grif said, studying the air around her with squinted eyes. “Yes. That’s just fine.”
But Dennis was a friend, a good one. She could see him now: the way he carried his beer, Pabst dangling between two fingers, a lopsided grin on his face, pomade thick in his blunt-cut hair. Yulyia had him, this man who wore creepers and cuffed jeans, a comb in his back pocket, ciggies rolled in his T. He was a good man. The Viper had him.
And she was taking him to Little Havana. Grif’s ability to sense the supernatural plasma told them that much. What it didn’t tell them was how to stop it.
“You can call the cops,” Grif finally said.
Kit shook her head. “She warned us to stay away. No police.”
And no write-up in the paper after it was all said and done, Kit realized. Not unless they wanted to share Dennis’s fate.
“But maybe we can save Dennis that way. And Marco and Yulyia will both get what’s coming to them.”
Kit thought about it. Yes, it might work. They might possibly rid the city of both the bratva and the Cuban gang in one fell swoop. Then Kit could write whatever she pleased. The truth would be out. Las Vegas would be safer than it was before.
But would Dennis live?
“No, Kit,” Grif said immediately. The damned plasma must have returned even before she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I will sit on you before I let you anywhere near that restaurant.”
“Then you’ll have bite marks on your ass.” The Duetto growled as she accelerated. “She didn’t take Dennis just to kill him. She took him to make a point.”
“The point is that she can touch anyone she wants at any time.”
“But he’s alive right now, and we need to help him.”
“That’s what you said about Jeap Yang, remember?”
“No!” Kit slammed her palm against the steering wheel. She refused to accept that this was the same, or that Dennis’s death was already fated. “This is