Fantasy in Death by Fantasy in Death

Author:Fantasy in Death [Death, Fantasy in]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2011-11-07T00:00:00+00:00

“A love dragon? You’re wearing a love dragon on your tit, most of which is spilling out of whatever that is you’re not covered up with.”

“It’s a look—and it works. Trueheart nearly choked on his tongue when I walked through the bullpen.” Peabody sighed. “It’s pretty satisfying.”

“It may be you confused undercover with undercovered. Either way, I don’t want to see your love dragon tomorrow. Now if you’ve rested and recovered from your arduous assignment, I’d like that report.”

“Sure. The contact, Razor, the King of All Weaponry, hasn’t heard of a sword like we’re after—not a real. Props, toys of a similar and nonlethal nature, but nothing that could decapitate or leave those burns.”

“Could’ve been made custom.”

“We thought of that after . . . after a little gaming inspired us. We went back, discussed. After a little persuasion he gave us the names of a couple of sources who might be able to make something along the lines, for a price. A really, really whopping-ass price. Out of those, there was maybe one who might do it off the grid, unregistered. But that ups the price to about double whopping-ass. I know we looked at the financials, and nobody on our radar had an expenditure that comes close.”

“I’m doing deeper runs right now. Maybe it’ll pop. Some people game for money,” Eve considered. “Some game for money off the grid. So, we might have somebody who had a double whopping-ass pile of unreported cash.”

“Well, meanwhile, we did some poking around on the underground game sites on the way back. Razor’s already putting out feelers. We left it like we’d be willing to pay, and how we’d heard one of these swords was out there. Now he’s looking, and we’re watching him while he’s looking. McNab’s going to keep tabs. If Razor gets a hit, we’ll get it, too.”

“That’s good thinking. Go home and take that shower. I can smell you from here.”

“It’s not my fault. Plus, with the sweating I think I might’ve lost a pound or two just sitting there trying not to breathe.” She pushed herself up. “Oh, nearly forgot. We got you a present.”

“Why?”

“Because.” She unzipped one of her pockets and pulled out a very small gun.

“What is it?”

“It’s a toy gun. A derringer—like cardsharps and saloon girls carry in western vids. It’s like a clutch piece.”

“Hmmm.”

“And check it.” Peabody cocked it, and a sultry female voice purred out of the barrel. Put those hands where I can see them, cowboy.

“It has all sorts of audio streams—male, female. I figured you’d want the female. Plus—”

She aimed it at Eve, pulled the trigger even as Eve said: “Hey!”

The little gun let out a brave little bang. Next one goes lower, and you won’t be poking a woman with that stick of yours for the rest of your miserable life.

“Isn’t it cute? You could play saloon girl and Roarke could be high-stakes gambler, then . . . and that’s entirely none of my nevermind.” Peabody offered a big smile.

“Yes, it’s cute, no, it’s none of your nevermind.

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