Badd didn't take the hand. If it was a merc or a mook, it was a brazen one. Or one that assumed he was a moron.

"You just missed him," he said, his voice a slow graveling tone. "He died three weeks ago. What did you want with him?" He was still assessing the man, calculating where weapons might be hidden on his body. The accent reminded him of Byrne's, which might mean he had come back to fill a grudge. Or angle for an inheritance that he wasn't getting a damn cent of no matter how many lawyers he threatened with.