Delilah noticed Maya standing a bit awkwardly, holding her dog. Larison must have seen as well, because he excused himself and walked over. “You must be Maya.”
She nodded. “Yes.” The dog shrank back a bit in her arms.
“Daniel Larison. That was some impressive intel you got us. Thanks.”
Maya gave him an uncertain smile. “You’re welcome.”
Delilah could tell the girl was nervous. Probably just at the collective decades of killing experience suddenly assembled around her. And probably particularly in the presence of Larison, who even when he was relaxed had an unpredictable quality, some potentially explosive thing, just below the surface.
“What’s your dog’s name?” Larison said.
Maya looked at the dog, then back to Larison. “Frodo.”
Larison raised his eyebrows. “Frodo, huh? Well, I think I get how you’re feeling, Maya. ‘I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.’”
Maya’s face lit up in a surprised smile. “You’re a fan?”
“Of course. From way back.”
Her smile faltered. “It does feel a little that way. But . . . I want to help.”
There was a pause. Larison said, “I’m sorry about your friend.”
Maya nodded but didn’t otherwise respond.
A second passed. Larison said, “One thing I think Frodo got wrong.”
Maya looked at him. “What?”
“When he said, ‘It is useless to meet revenge with revenge: it will heal nothing.’ In my experience? It heals plenty.”
He patted her on the shoulder and moved off. A moment later, he was shaking hands with Manus, both of them smiling as though they were old comrades in arms, when in fact they had met only a few days earlier. Though in fairness, a lot had happened since then.
Delilah looked over and saw John talking to Livia. They were laughing about something, and for a moment, Delilah envied his ease with her. Not in the minor-key jealous way she’d felt about the flirtation with Yuki. This was different—more akin to, what, a teacher and a capable student? John had told her about a conversation with Livia, when they’d all been in Paris, and his sense that the questions she had asked him, about his ability to adopt different personas to blend or disarm or get close, had been the product of much more than general curiosity. That this woman had an interest in killing, an intimacy with it, and not just in the line of duty. Of course, a normal person would have been put off by that. But then again, Livia wouldn’t have been interested in John if he were normal.
It was strange. John had always approached Delilah as an equal. He was the better tactician, but he never talked down to her, and though he was always willing to answer her questions, sometimes in quite personal ways, he seemed to have no particular urge to teach her, either. She wondered whether Livia struck some different chord. Maybe John thought he had something to impart to Livia of which Delilah had no need. If so, she didn’t want to begrudge him that.
Dox walked over with Diaz. “Alondra, meet Delilah. Delilah, Alondra Diaz. Alondra set sail only a few days ago now, but my God, she got her sea legs quick. She’s a good driver, a good interrogator, and for a city girl I think she’s got a way with horses, too.”
Diaz laughed and she and Delilah shook hands. “I think I need you to introduce me more often, Dox. And Delilah, it’s good to meet you. He’s talked a lot about you.”
Delilah smiled and glanced at Dox. “He does talk a lot.”
Dox laughed. “Someone’s got to provide the entertainment around here. It’s not like John’s gonna do it.”
They all spent a while getting acquainted and reacquainted, drinking coffee, taking advantage of the well-stocked refrigerator. At all times, someone kept watch on the parking lot.