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desire a man’s life, then a bullet in the brain will do it every time.’
    ‘What if you desire more than his life?’ Cain wasn’t being sarcastic or enigmatic. He always liked to take something from his victims – bones in particular – as a reminder of his potency. He wasn’t called the Harvestman for nothing.
    ‘Death is enough,’ Hendrickson replied. ‘Kill this man for me, Cain. What you do to him afterwards . . . I don’t care. In fact, it’s probably best that you do take your trophy.’
    ‘Oh, I intend to.’
    ‘Good, good.’ Hendrickson placed the Colt down, showed Cain the exit. ‘I have men at my disposal. Use them as you will.’
    ‘I work best alone.’
    ‘Yes,’ Hendrickson agreed. ‘But there are others who may need dealing with.’
    Involuntarily, Cain’s hand moved to the scar on his throat. The lesion had never fully healed, a puncture wound that separated his trachea.
    Hendrickson said, ‘Don’t worry. Like I said, I’ve a plan in motion and already have men on their trail.’
    ‘They’re good,’ Cain pointed out. ‘Send plenty of men.’
    ‘It isn’t so much the number as the quality. Rest assured, I have hired only the best in the business.’
    Cain eyed him.
    Hendrickson coughed low in his throat. ‘They’re not as skilled as you, but they’re sufficient to kill a couple of out-of-practice soldiers.’
    ‘Do not kill them,’ Cain said. ‘Take them alive. Once I’m finished with John Telfer, I want to reacquaint myself with Joe Hunter and Jared Rington.’

Chapter 8
    Why Hartlaub and Brigham and, more pertinently, Walter, wanted to waste time showing me the horror wrought by Tubal Cain was beyond me. All Walter needed to do was pick up a phone, contact me at Imogen’s house and tell me what had gone down. I’d have answered his call to arms in a heartbeat.
    His reticence was possibly because the last time we’d met it had been on shaky ground. Walter had used Rink and me in a scheme spearheaded by our old Arrowsake commanders. We had been forced into a showdown with a group of white supremacists intent on bringing down the government. That sounds like a noble cause, but not when Arrowsake were prodding the group to action in the first place. They had planned to use the threat of domestic terrorism to raise funds and support for the intelligence community they served. It didn’t matter to them that an innocent family were targeted, or that Rink or I might die, only that their ends were met. Coming clean about the entire plot, Walter had felt deep shame. We’d kind of cleared the air, but maybe there was still some residual embarrassment in Walter’s heart. His lying about the eventual fate of Tubal Cain wouldn’t be helping either.
    Shit! The man had lied to me about the plot concerning Carswell Hicks and Samuel Gant, but that was because he’d been under orders to do so. Keeping Cain’s survival a secret was his own doing. I’d be justified in telling him to go fuck himself, to deal with the problem on his own, but he knew I wouldn’t turn my back now that I’d seen Cain’s latest atrocity. I’d just lost one old friend in Bryce Lang, and I wasn’t going to lose another.
    Rink was more than a brother to me. We had both served Arrowsake, watching each other’s back, and we’d done the same since leaving the forces, not simply through a sense of friendship or duty, but through a loyalty that transcended even the bond of blood. It’s a terrible thing to admit, but his disappearance meant more to me than the danger my real brother faced now that Cain was back on the loose. I didn’t doubt that John was under the protection of some of the best people Walter could field, but Rink was on his own. Rink was as tough as whalebone, and as capable a warrior as any I’d known. But he was also human and, unprepared for a sneak attack from a monster like Tubal Cain, he could be taken down as easily as anyone.
    Rink can be a mother hen with me at times; he