Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

at
    Cambridge?”
    “Every litter has its runt,” Romodanovsky said.
    “What about self-made millionaires or geniuses in a family of ordinary people?”
    “Mutations,” he said decisively. “Mutations are always welcome when they better
    the species. But a man like you, with your background, you should have children.”
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    52

    The Russian knew nothing about Kael’s background. Like most people who met
    him and knew where he had gone to school, Romodanovsky assumed he came from
    wealth. “I thought we’d already established that I’m queer.”
    “Queer?” The man laughed. “Interesting word. You are very handsome, highly
    intelligent, and determined to have your own way. Just like me. Just because you prefer
    men does not mean those superior genes of yours should not be reproduced.”
    “That is highly unlikely to happen. Have you ever made a pass at a man before?”
    “Yes, I’ve just never been refused. Am I too old for you?”
    “Not at all,” Kael said.
    “You don’t find me attractive?”
    Looking directly into the man’s eyes, Kael said, “Yes, I do.”
    “Then what? Professionalism. Never fuck on the job just as policemen are not
    supposed to drink on the job?”
    The memory of all the men Kael had fucked on the job brought an involuntary
    smile to his face. Fucked and then killed. “I have no such scruples.” Or I didn’t used to.
    “You have a man in your life, and you are loyal to him,” Romodanovsky said as if
    reading his mind.
    Kael shook his head. This was a man he did not want knowing about Angel.
    “There’s no one. I just wasn’t in the mood.”
    The Russian put his hand on Kael’s knee, sliding it toward his groin. “Are you in
    the mood now? There’s still plenty of time.”
    Shoving the hand away, Kael stood. “We’re going to return to Number 10, and
    you are going to keep your hands off me or I’ll smack your other eye.”
    Accepting the admonition with a shrug, Romodanovsky stood. “Let’s run back.”

    * * * *
    Fyn Alexander | Sins of the Father

    53

    It was a little after eleven when Kael and Mattie left Number 10 under a bright
    blue sky. The wind was chill and sharp, blowing any thoughts of sleep from Kael’s
    mind. But Mattie looked tired despite the Red Bull. The rest of the team he had released
    ten minutes ago.
    “Can I go straight home, sir, or do I have to debrief at Legoland first?”
    “You can go home and sleep. I’ll talk to Conran. I’m heading over there now. I’ve
    got a firearms class after lunch.”
    “Aren’t you exhausted, sir?”
    “I’m okay. I’ll sleep tonight.”
    The constables at Parliament Street opened the gate, and they walked on through
    the crowded London streets, heading toward the Victoria Embankment. “So what
    happened to Romodanovsky’s face?” Mattie asked, looking up at him. “And, sir, I can’t
    keep up with your long stride at the best of times, but right now I’m knackered.”
    Kael slowed his pace, cutting the length of his stride in half. “He made a pass at
    me, so I smacked him.”
    “Never! I thought he was married with grown-up kids. I’d have felt really unsafe
    alone with him, but I’m a woman. He’s got that look about him. You know, dangerous.”
    “Yes, he does. I think he is dangerous.” No more dangerous than me, though.
    “You know, sir”—she lowered her voice to a whisper, which would have been
    difficult for anyone other than Kael to hear amid the heavy London traffic—“I’ve
    wondered if I might be bisexual a few times.”
    “Why? Because you kissed a girl and you liked it?” He chuckled. He’d never
    heard of Katy Perry until Angel was playing her music one day. “There’s no such thing
    as bisexual. They’re just people who can’t make up their minds. You pick a team, and
    you play for it.”
    “You’re very rigid, aren’t you, sir?”
    “Yes,” Kael said.
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    54

    “What was a married bloke doing coming after you if he’s not bisexual?”
    If only Mattie knew about Conran. “Romodanovsky is like a dog. He’d hump
    anything that moved.”
    They came to a halt at Westminster Bridge and stood against the wall beside the
    river to stay out of pedestrian traffic. Mattie shivered in the cold. “Sir, can I ask your
    advice?”
    “You’re damn good at your job. Don’t worry about it. Have you been offered a
    move?”
    “No, sir, it’s not about the job. It’s personal. What do you