Free Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) by Kathleen McClure Page B

flush.
    It was the blush that told him. “You wanted Elvis. You wanted my draco.” He thought about that. “ Why did you want my draco?”
    “Not me,” she said quickly. “My fagin’s the one wants it and Ellison only wants it because ain’t no one else in Nike has one, they’re that rare.”
    “And rare means pricey,” he said, quietly furious with himself for not giving a second thought to traipsing the streets of Nike with Elvis perched on his shoulder. By doing so, he’d basically invited every thief in the city to come after the draco. Smarter, he thought, to have let Elvis take flight and tail him to the hotel.
    Of course, had he done that, there would have been no dodger at the bathroom window when the morph took effect, in which case he wouldn’t be standing here, in a tub with a towel wrapped around his middle and making himself dizzy playing ‘what-if’.
    He looked at the girl, who was watching him, her small frame balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to run.
    “Tell me about Ellison,” he said.
    “Naught to tell,” she said, shrugging. But not running, which was something.
    “Okay,” he said, stepping carefully out of the tub, where he imagined he looked the utter dodo. “I get where you’re coming from, but this is where we are now. First, don’t worry about me calling the cops. After all this,” he indicated the tub he’d likely have drowned in, without her, “there’s no way I’d swear a complaint. I also won’t let you go back empty-handed, but your fagin’s going to have to make do with whatever cash I can spare because taking Elvis is not an option.“
    “Then I’ll be out!” she protested in a voice sharpened by fear. “S’what he said when he marked you. To come back with the draco or not at all. If I don’t bring Elv—that draco — then I’m as good as dead.”
    “That’s not—“
    “Not gonna happen? Is that what you think?” She lifted her chin, all youth and defiance. “Maybe you was a dodger, maybe you wasn’t, but you ain’t —“
    “Aren’t,” Gideon murmured.
    “— one of Ellison’s hive,” she continued over his grammatical distress. “Ain’t a dodger ever left his protection before graduating and lived to tell it.”
    “It’s not supposed to work that way.” Even as he said it, Gideon knew it was an asinine statement because obviously—
    “That’s how it is,” she confirmed his thoughts with a weary certainty. “I do what he says, or I’m done.” She gave Elvis, peeking from behind Gideon’s leg, another look. “Guess I’m done.”
    “No, you’re not,” Gideon said. “I won’t let that happen.” Which, from her expression, probably sounded just as asinine as his previous statement. “I know I can’t ask you to trust me—“
    She snorted, he presumed in agreement.
    “—but you’ve got to trust me. If only because, even if I did let him go, Elvis wouldn’t leave me. You’ve seen what he can do when he’s motivated,” he pointed to his talon-raked shoulder, “and he likes me.”
    Something in her eyes told him she thought it might be worth the risk. Or maybe she’d just like to see Elvis have a go at her fagin. Either way, there was still something he didn’t understand, and he found he needed to. “If you’re so sure this Ellison will put you out, why didn’t you just let the Morph finish the job?”
    She shrugged and scuffed her feet looking, he thought, embarrassed. “I may be a dodger, but I sure as comb ain’t no killer.”
    A distinction Gideon could appreciate, but it also got him thinking. “I’m not sure whoever dosed the soup was, either,” he said, following the thought. “Morpheus is a sedative, not a poison.”
    “And?” she asked, then slapped herself on the forehead, “And no way the fop would know you’d be nutter enough to eat your dinner inna tub!”
    “Yes. Not exactly how I’d put it but yes. Wait,” he held up his hand as his thoughts caught up with her words. “What fop?