Gabriel turned toward her, and his upper lip curled back over his teeth. "I'll throw her in to the bargain. You must have seen her when she wasn't banged up so you know she's not permanently disfigured. Isn't she worth taking a risk for?"
Keats shrugged. "If the hounds pull you down, she'll be a legal widow anyway."
"Yes, but you'd have no ... chance with her in the body you now have.... No chance," he repeated. His voice broke. "Never had a chance."
"Go ahead, feel sorry for yourself," the other man said. "Nobody else will."
Gabriel's face darkened, but he also had to control his temper to gain what he fancied were his own ends. "You won't deny that this hulk is better than the one you have now?"
"Except that there's one thing about the head that I don't like."
Gabriel stared in bewilderment. His body was beyond criticism. "What is it you don't like about the head?"
"There's a price on it now."
Gabriel pressed his spine against the back of the chair. "Don't play the innocent, Carmody. You've killed people, too."
"Well, sure, but not out in the open like that. You know how many people saw you blast him? Too many. If you're going to exterminate somebody, you do it from a dark doorway or an alley—not in a brilliantly lit hotel lobby, and you blast him in the back. But there's no use giving you lessons; it's not likely you'll ever be able to use them where you're going."