Gun Metal Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

Parkour at my age. I’ll never be of their caliber.”
    He thought about that and sipped his vodka. “You mind me asking…?”
    Daria drained her cup. She had known Diego for ages; their relationship dated back to her years in Europe. Initially she had thought of him as a necessary evil, a way of establishing a cover as a gunrunner. Over time that relationship had somehow changed into respect and, perhaps, at some level, friendship. Or at least comradeship. One or two of their jobs had gone south, and every time, Diego had proven himself to be a stand-up guy. Thief he may be. Thug he may be. But a good guy, all the same.
    Diego leaned on the wall. His hips were narrow, his shoulders wide.
    â€œLast winter, I was sick,” Daria spoke into her chipped coffee mug. “A kind of flu, but more than a flu. I got better. I started working out. I ran. I lifted weights, kickboxed, climbed rocks, went back to archery and fencing. All my old bad habits.”
    Daria glanced up at his scarred face. She knew that some of the scars were from childhood acne. Some were from a razor fight in an alley in Ciudad Juárez. Some were from a roadside bomb outside Falluja.
    She stared up at him, and Diego took the stare from those raven-black eyes the same way he’d taken punches. Without comment.
    â€œI’m not one hundred percent. My body got better but my mind … my reaction time, my instincts. They haven’t come back.”
    â€œAnd this…?”
    â€œParkour. It’s all about split-second decisions. About judging bad alternatives and picking the least bad. Or sometimes the least likely. Or the least predictable. It’s also fun. And, just maybe, it’s working.”
    â€œAnd the bruises?”
    Daria smiled up at him and twisted her long brown legs into a yoga position, feet under her, knees akimbo. “Do you fret over your bruises?”
    Diego allowed himself a shallow smile. The number of people on earth who got to see that smile could be counted on two hands.
    â€œSo tell me what you need me for.”
    Diego poured them both another couple of shots. “Remember Vince?”
    Daria rolled her eyes. Vince Guzman, a beefy American, had been Diego’s friend and partner in crime since childhood. A Los Angelino and half Latino, Guzman was younger and considerably dumber than Diego. But by the time they were in their midteens, the two were joined at the hip. Guzman wasn’t terribly bright, and he was nowhere near as reliable as Diego. But Diego had a blind spot for him. Always had.
    â€œAnd how is Vince?”
    â€œMissing. In Florence.”
    â€œBest tell me about it.”
    Diego was quiet for a while. He sipped his drink. He never liked talking. “Vince got us a job. Bodyguarding an engineer, protecting her invention.”
    Daria came close to spitting vodka across the room, and her rib snarled at her. “You two? Bodyguards?”
    â€œWe’re good at it. Who’d fuck with us?”
    Daria blinked at him. Diego flickered that smile, on and off. He actually seemed to blush. “We’d have gotten around to stealing the thing eventually.”
    â€œThat’s more like it.”
    â€œFigured the engineer was paranoid. We’d take her money. Hang in Florence. Good enough work.”
    â€œBut…?”
    Diego shook his head. “Not paranoid. Bad guys.”
    â€œ Bad bad?”
    He said, “Way bad. Russians. Organized. Good weps, expensive comms. Chain of command. Training.” He shrugged. “Paramilitary.”
    Daria sipped, waited.
    â€œRussians had tatts. Scorpions. All white.”
    She coughed, the caustic liquor hitting the wrong tube, her rib spasming and sending sparks of heat through her frame.
    Diego waited.
    â€œYou’re joking! Skorpjo? ”
    He sighed. “‘Scorpio?’ You know ’em.” It wasn’t a question.
    She wiped her lower lip with the back of her hand. Diego