Dylan, dressed in a formfitting white bodysuit and a man’s suit jacket, sat on the floor at Mrs dott’s feet like some kind of exotic pet, her green eyes bright in contrast to her close-cropped red hair. The Valkyrie looked distracted and sleepy and wasn’t either one of those things. Behind Mrs dott stood Riley and four of Mrs dott’s bodyguards, all of them looking lean and mean in matching buzz cuts and suits that didn’t show the weapons they were undoubtedly carrying.
Mrs dott looked up, met my eyes for a second, and gave me a serious nod. She moved her right hand in a tiny gesture, palm up, hand tilted toward the sofa beside her. I nodded and made my way over to her.
“Harry,” she said, her tone light and delighted. “What a pleasure to see you. Won’t you sit for a moment?”
“Very kind,”
