"Cassandra!" he yelled.
Halfway down the hall, Cassandra turned. Slowly.
"Aaron!" she called. Her lips stretched in a wide smile as she headed back to us. "My God, is that really you? How long has it been? All these years and you know, you haven't changed a bit."
"Very funny," Aaron said. "Now, Cass--"
She gathered his hands in hers and pecked his cheek. "I can't believe this. When did I last see you? Nineteen seventeen, wasn't it? Philadelphia?"
"Nineteen thirty-one, Romania," Aaron growled, disengaging himself from Cassandra's embrace. "Fifth stop on our Grand Tour. We could have gone to Prague, Warsaw, Kiev, but no, you had to stop in some Romanian backwater so you could amuse yourself playing Dracula for the peasants. And I'm sure it would have been very amusing if you'd been the one locked in a church cellar for three days and almost drowned in a vat of holy water."
"It was a mistake," Cassandra murmured.
"Mistake? You left me there!"
"She abandoned you?" I said. "Fancy that."
"Oh, no," Aaron said, his glare boring through Cassandra. "She didn't just abandon me. She gave me to them. Her little prank got out of hand, and when the mob came, she saved herself by handing me over."
"It wasn't like that," Cassandra said.
"I'm sure it wasn't," I said. "Well, I guess you two have a lot of catching up to do. Go ahead, Cassandra. Clay and I can handle Winsloe on our own."
As I walked away, Cassandra tried to follow, but Aaron grabbed her arm. They were still getting reacquainted as Clay and I left the cell block to find Winsloe.
CHAPTER 47
RETALIATION
The dog was in the kennel.
We smelled Winsloe as soon as we got within twenty feet of the out-building. We scouted the perimeter as I whispered my plan to Clay. Before I finished, he reached for my arm, stopping me.
"You sure about this, darling?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm sure. Aren't you?"
Clay pulled me closer and tipped my face up to his. "I'm sure I want to do it, and I'm damned sure the bastard deserves it. It's certainly poetic justice. But is it really what you want?"
"It's what I want."
"All right, then. If there's any trouble, though, I'm taking him down."
"No, I will."
Clay hesitated. "Okay, darling. If we have a choice, he's yours. But I won't hold back if you're in danger."
"Agreed."
We headed for the kennel.
Winsloe sat in the rear of the middle dog run. His back was to the wall, knees up, pistol trained on the door. Once we'd determined his position by peering through the dusty windows, we chose a course of action. Obviously, barreling through the door was out of the question. We weren't bullet proof. Since the entrance was to Winsloe's left, I selected the window closest to his right. Clay hoisted me, and I carefully unhooked the latches, pulled the pane free, and handed it down to Clay. The opening was roughly two feet square, too small for Clay, so I had to go it alone. He boosted me higher, and I wriggled through feet first, straining to hear Winsloe below, ready to yank myself out if he so much as moved. He didn't. Once my lower torso cleared the window, I grabbed the upper sill with both hands, swung sideways, and pounced, landing on Winsloe's head and shoulders. He screamed. I grabbed his gun and flung it over the wire fence into the adjoining cage.
"Nice scream, Tyrone," I said as I brushed straw from my jeans. "Very macho."
Clay strolled through the doorway. "Sounded more like a shriek to me, darling."
Winsloe jerked around to stare at Clay.