“Boston faction has been working with Dushku for years,” Filip says. “Why the change of heart so suddenly?”
“No idea.”
Across the street, movement within a derelict motel attracts my attention. A man in a black coat steps out from the farthest room on the ground level. He meets my gaze and holds it for a moment. As I reach inside my jacket for the gun in my shoulder holster, the man breaks our eye contact and turns, heading around the building. His steps are sure and steady, so I get a good look at his long jet-black hair, twisted into a thick braid, and a black rectangular case hanging over his left shoulder.
“Is that what I think it is?” Filip asks next to me.
“Yes. The guy is casually strolling around carrying a sniper rifle on his back. And I’m pretty sure he had us in his cros
