Lu raised her brows. “That might be more appropriate for my sister, don’t you think?”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her against him, winding his arm around her back. “It’s old military slang for ‘keep alert.’ In your case I suppose we could change it to ‘keep toasty.’” He pressed a warm kiss to her neck, and she laughed, in spite of her nerves.

“That won’t be too hard, if you keep pawing at me, mister!”

“You like it,” he said, tightening his arms around her.

“No,” she said, sobering. She pulled away to look into his eyes. “I love it.”

They stood there like that for a moment, the words hanging in the air, until the car drew closer and Magnus gently pushed her behind him.

“Really? You still think I need protection?” Her tone was sarcastic, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Everything precious needs protection,” he answered, gaze trained on the car. He gave her hand a final squeeze, then dropped it so he could cross his arms over his chest and glower in an appropriately sinister manner at the long black vehicle approaching slowly over the dirt road.

The car rolled to a stop. It was by far the most luxurious vehicle Lu had ever seen, and she tried not to gape too obviously. The driver’s door swung open and a uniformed driver appeared, bowing and tipping his hat. A brisk, diminutive man with a conquistador’s narrow black beard, he went to the back of the limousine and opened its rear door. He gestured inside.

“Sir, madam, if you please.”

Magnus refused to move. “I don’t have a name for your employer,” he said in a soft, menacing tone. “Or a final destination for this trip. I’ll need both before we get into that car, and if you don’t give me what I ask for, or if you do and I don’t believe you, I’ll make life extremely unpleasant for you, my friend. And by unpleasant I mean painful.”

To his credit, the driver barely blinked. Lu guessed he was probably used to this kind of thing.

“I understand completely, sir,” he said, polite and professional as a majordomo. “However I’m sure my employer would prefer to give you that information himself.” His head tipped toward the open door.

Ah, yes. Lu smelled several different scents wafting from the open door of the limousine. Tobacco and leather and expensive aftershave, the woody spice of an old scotch, and something that might have been . . . fur?

Yes, fur. There was a dog in that car, of all things. To punctuate her finding, it yipped, an anxious, high-pitched sound, followed in quick succession by a rapid-fire burst of more.

A small dog. Wonderful. Lu wondered what on Earth would greet them when they looked inside the car.

Slowly, Magnus approached the open door. The driver backed away, giving another respectful little bow, allowing him space. Magnus bent down and peered inside. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he looked at Lu and nodded. He held out his hand, beckoning.

“We’re leaving the bikes?”

From inside the car, a deep, accented voice replied, “Someone’ll be along to fetch ’em, luv. You let Gregor MacGregor worry about that, so you can worry about the bigger picture.”

Scottish, she guessed, by the lilt and charm of it, and by the name. Assuming he had the odd habit of referring to himself in third person, and wasn’t talking about someone else. Drawn onward by curiosity more than anything else, she reached Magnus, took his hand, and bent her head to look inside the car.

There, taking up most of the wide leather seat, was a bear of a man, hale and solid, with close-cropped ginger hair, and a beard to match. He wore an expensive black suit and a gold pinky ring, and had a diamond-encrusted gold watch almost the size of the trembling Yorkie cowering in his lap. He was close to sixty, with the air of a self-made man who’s come up from the gutter, and has long since abandoned denying himself any pleasure to which he feels due.

“If you’re thinkin’ I’m a gangster or a pimp, you’re spot-on, darlin’,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying her shrewd assessment of his person. “There’s not a thing in this world Gregor MacGregor won’t buy or sell, as long as it lines his pockets.” He waved them in, giving the dog a spasm. He shushed it with coos and kisses, calling it “baby,” hugging it close to his chest.

“Doesn’t like strangers,” he explained once they were settled on the seats across from him. “Although this particular breed is prone to shittin’ themselves if they hear a bloody pin drop.”

“Not much of a watch dog,” Lu concurred, watching its glittering black eyes roll wildly as it shivered and whined. It wore a chunky gemstone collar Lu thought was probably real.

“Ha!” snorted MacGregor. “Tisn’t! But that’s what bodyguards are for, luv. Pets are just to remind you not to be so goddamn selfish. Much like women.” He grinned, revealing a charming, wolfish smile, perfectly suited to the charming wolfishness of his face.

Lu grinned back. Beside her, Magnus was silent, but Lu felt the tension easing from him incrementally as they talked.

The driver shut the door, returned to his seat, and put the car in gear. They rolled quickly away over the narrow dirt road, high-tech shocks smoothing the worst of the ruts and hollows.

“How do you know Jack and Nola?” said Magnus, getting down to business.

“Don’t,” admitted MacGregor, stroking his thick fingers through the dog’s dark fur. The dog looked as if it might be having a mental breakdown. “It’s Eliana I know. We used to be in business together, back in the day. That woman is the finest thief I ever employed.”

“Eliana?” said Magnus and Lu together, their surprise making MacGregor laugh again.

“Paintings mostly, exclusively high-end. Partial to Picasso, like me. Could slip in and out of a locked building like that,” he snapped his fingers, then looked at them askance. “Well. You know how. Anyway, she was always my favorite, even if the little minx did get me shot.” He reached over, wrapped his hand around the crystal glass in the cup holder in a mirrored niche in the door, raised it to his mouth, and swallowed a long, deep gulp of scotch. “Ah!” he said when he’d drained the glass. “Nothin’ like a fifty-year-old Macallan to wet the whistle!”

Lu felt like she was having of an out-of-body experience, or starring in an old western where you can’t tell who to shoot because the good guys and the bad guys are all wearing black hats. If Eliana had known this MacGregor character for years, he was undoubtedly trustworthy. And she had to admit, he had a certain rough charm. But in Lu’s opinion, he was a little too far into the fuzzy, indistinct middle ground between good guy and bad guy.

Magnus was thinking the same thing. “Tell me, Mr. MacGregor, what exactly is it you do for a living?”

“Ach!” said the big man with a grimace. “My grandfather was Mr. MacGregor. Just call me Gregor. And this is Lourdes, by the way,” he added, giving the dog a brisk shake, which made it shriek. “After my mother-in-law, not the town in France where the Virgin Mary appeared to that delusional adolescent,” he explained, seeing Magnus’s look. “And to answer your question, I’m in the procurement business. I get people what they want. Women, weapons, drugs, art,” he shrugged. “Whatever it is, I can get it. And my clients are willing to pay a premium for my services, which is what I want, so everyone’s happy.” He grinned, looking pleased with himself. “In fact, you might say I’m actually in the happiness business!”

Speaking of delusional adolescents, Lu thought. Beside her, Magnus smiled.

“Oh—before I forget.” MacGregor pulled a small box from his coat pocket, and held it out to Lu. “For you, lass. Contact lenses. These are the latest technology, too; they’ll even get past the new ocular scanners.”

She took the box, then, worried what might happen if they were stopped by the Peace Guard or Enforcement, said to Magnus, “Won’t you need some?”