Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) by Kathleen McClure

I thought you didn’t know who did it?”
    “I don’t know , know. I just seen the bloke leaving while I was out there,” she pointed to the window. “Poison green jacket and sick yellow pagri — couldn’t miss ‘im.”
    “And his fashion sense makes you think he did it?”
    “No,” she huffed, he presumed at the idiocy of adults. “I think he done it —”
    “Did it,” Gideon corrected automatically.
    “— because he was following you, too.”
    “Huh,” Gideon managed. For a guy less than two days out of prison, he was proving awfully popular.
    “Bugger tried to warn me off’a you, too,” the girl continued, puffing up some at having been able to shock the seemingly unflappable man. “Gave me a ‘hands off’ sign,” she said, then went on to describe her rival’s behavior, from the way he’d changed his clothes in the alley before entering the hotel’s front door, to his departure just as she’d reached Gideon’s window. “I wasn’t planning on coming in so soon,” she admitted, glancing at Elvis, then the tub. “But then I did.“
    “Huh,” Gideon said, again. Then he tilted his head. “Are you hungry? Because I’m hungry.”
    Her mouth actually dropped in surprise. “Didn’t you just eat?”
    “Temporarily.” They both looked at the trash bin. “Besides,” he stepped around the girl, to where his clothing lay neatly folded, “whoever dosed me might be coming back.”
    “But whoever dosed you would be thinking you’re out cold,” she turned to watch him. “Why not stay here and, you know,” she punched a fist into her hand, “give ‘em a good pounding for their trouble?”
    “Because,” he reached down to pick up his pants, “as much as I’d enjoy it, I’m not in full pounding form just now.” As if to prove his point, he overreached, missed the trousers, and almost fell over. He didn’t look but was fairly certain she was rolling her eyes.
    “Here,” she grabbed the pants and handed them to him.
    “Thanks.” He took them, straightened up and waited.
    She crossed her arms over her chest and waited, too.
    “Do you mind?” he asked, making a ‘turn around’ gesture with the pants, so the trouser legs seemed to perform a little jig.
    “Mind what?” the girl looked confused, then the crystal flared. “Ohhh.” She drew the word out into three syllables, then grinned. “Are all Fordians prudes?”
    “This one is,” he muttered. “Especially in the company of minors. How old are you, anyway?” he then asked. “Eleven? Maybe?”
    “Thirteen,” the girl responded, unoffended. “Best guess, any road.” Still, in deference to what she obviously considered unnecessary modesty, she did turn around to stare out the window, where the rain had finally ceased.
    Since Gideon was already dry (and cold — so cold), he dressed quickly, hands still shaking somewhat as they buttoned up the trousers. He ditched the padding over his shoulder before donning the shirt — it wasn’t the first time he’d have gotten blood on his clothes — and it didn’t look as if stitches would be necessary.
    By the time he got to the boots, he could tell right from left, which was nice, and soon he was sliding his arms into the coat and clicking for Elvis.
    The girl turned in time to see the draco land on his right shoulder. “So,” she said, “where we going?”
    He was encouraged by the ‘we’. “Don’t have a clue. Got any suggestions?”
    She considered him, then seemed to come to a decision. “I know a place, nothing too posh, mind, down on Marlow- oy! ” the street name turned into a squeak as Elvis gave a massive leap from Gideon’s shoulder, wings brushing the girl’s hood on the down-sweep. In one flap he was at the window, where he scented the air briefly before turning his eyes downward and letting out a low keen — the draco equivalent of a canine’s warning growl.
    “Keepers!” the girl said, obviously impressed.
    Gideon said nothing, but moved to the