Double Down

by MB Austin

  “Okay. Thanks,” Imane said to Celeste’s retreating form. She turned back to Erlea. “What are you waiting for? Get out of that rig and go apologize.”

  “For what?” Erlea said.

  Imane stared at her. “I don’t know. I’m not the one she’s pissed at. Just go.”

  * * *

  Celeste opened her office door to find Erlea, shifting from foot to foot but not speaking. “Are you ill? Was it too soon to send you back to rehearsals?” Now on top of everything else, she was failing as doctor to her only patient. Erlea deserved better. “I shouldn’t have run off. I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Erlea said. “I feel fine thanks to you. And now I’ve pissed you off.”

  Celeste motioned Erlea to come in. “It’s not you I’m mad at.” She turned away, not able to meet her gaze.

  “The reporter then,” Erlea ventured. “I thought she was a safe choice, even read her notes. But after they edited, I can see it sounds like we’re involved. I’m so sorry.”

  Celeste had pushed that worry back, but now it leaped onto the pile of her anxiety. She looked at Erlea, willing herself to not cry. “I was so close to starting over. Now I won’t be surprised if they rescind the job offer.”

  “You got a job in Barcelona? That’s great.” Erlea looked cautiously happy for her. “If it would help, I’ll tell them you’ve been nothing but professional with me. I’ll do a press conference, whatever it takes.”

  “No. I don’t need you to speak for me,” Celeste said, her voice rising. “I don’t need my name splashed across the tabloids. I just want my life back.” She burst into tears, covering her face and turning away again to hide her shame.

  Erlea placed a warm hand on her back. “I’m here. And I believe in you.”

  Celeste spun back and buried her face in Erlea’s shoulder, comforted by her embrace. “Tissue,” she managed after catching her breath. She took the tissue and blew, accepted another, and used it up, too. What a mess. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m sick to death of being scared, of running away and hiding.” Anger surged through her again, but not turned inward for a change. She pushed Erlea away. “She’s still fucking controlling me.”

  “I can’t tell you what to do,” Erlea said. “But I’ll help in any way I can. Do you need a place to stay?”

  Celeste could see she meant that. But it was time to stand on her own two feet. “I can afford a hotel while I get settled. Just for a week or two.”

  “My apartment is empty, except for the cat, who would love you. You could stay as long as you like,” Erlea said. “It’s very secure. And I made Alejandro show me the settlement terms. If she comes near there, the deal is off. I can talk about what really happened that night, even release the whole video.”

  “The whole video?”

  “Yeah. Some guy was stalking me with his phone. He got the whole evening. Most of it’s really boring, until you come in.” Erlea looked sheepish. “Nigel never told me about it. Alejandro showed me.”

  Celeste’s stomach turned at the thought of Erlea watching Adrienne screaming at her, hurting her. “I’m on tape, too? That part never made the news.”

  “Only the little bit that makes me look like a drunken brawler,” Erlea said. “If only I’d been sober, I would have handled things better, made sure you were okay. I missed a whole year of knowing you.” She cradled Celeste’s face in her palm and caressed her cheek with her thumb.

  Celeste ached so much to kiss her, she stiffened up and pulled back. “No, don’t be silly. I’d have thanked you and we’d have parted ways. You were very busy touring.”

  “I’ll never be too busy to care about you,” Erlea said, reaching for the door. “But I can’t seem to stop overstepping. Think about the apartment, let me know, okay?”

  “Yes,” Celeste said. Yes to all this sweet, funny, achingly sexy woman offered. “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

  Erlea smiled and slipped out the office door. Celeste dropped into her desk chair and stared after her, still feeling the warmth of Erlea’s touch on her face.

  * * *

  “Someone’s going to come fetch the moto,” Maji told Carolina as she prepared to leave Villa Perfecta. “Apparently there’s a reporter waiting outside your gates to catch me leaving.”

  “Oh no,” Carolina said. “We can get you out of here in a van. We do it all the time.”

  “No need. I’ve got a car meeting me behind the Cuevas del Drach.” Maji put on her curious face. “They said there’s a path along the cliff top. Show me?” Should match the satellite images she’d gone over with Dave.

  “Of course.” Carolina beamed, delighted with the intrigue.

  Maji changed from her moto-riding leathers into a sundress and sporty sandals, her hair under a wide-brimmed hat and her face half hidden by large sunglasses. She followed Carolina until the woods that shielded the compound from view gave way to hard-packed earth. As the trail opened out to look down into one of Majorca’s many little coves, Maji reveled in the sound of the waves and the feel of the sun. And having a few minutes alone and unwatched, not making her throat raw with a fake voice or minding her every mannerism. She paused to admire the stone wall at the edge of the tourist attraction’s property, the way the Majorcans remade the old into the new, refitting ancient stones into new walls. Life was rebuilt that way at the edges of farms, vineyards, and fincas all over the island.

  A middle-aged couple in capris and sandals walked toward her, talking and pointing to the ocean. She smiled politely at them. They smiled back and even said, “Bon dia.”

  Entering the site’s grounds, Maji coasted past families waiting to enter the caves, discussing the dragons in the attraction’s name. More tourists thronged the shops and café by the ticket area and parking lot. Maji wound through them, listening for any buzz about Erlea, looking for any sign of paparazzi. She got in line for gelato and phoned Dave.

  “I’m ready in the harbor,” he said.

  “Hi, Dave. I’m fine,” Maji said, refusing to hurry. “How are you? Want a gelato?”

  “I’d love one. But you better keep one hand free at least. My guy on overwatch says a camera van just pulled into the parking area.”

  “Almost showtime.” Maji hung up and bought a two scoop cone, chocolate and coconut. She strolled away from the café, licking the cone like getting a little of each flavor in every bite was the most important task of the day. When she spotted the van and a group of tourists speculating on whether Erlea was really going to make an appearance, she looked for Dave’s spotter. He stood up and waved his yellow ball cap at her.

  Maji stopped to say hi and ask him for a thirty-second start. Halfway to the road she took off her hat and heard him yell, “There she is—heading for the Majorica shop.”

  Maji started jogging lightly toward the shop, dodging a group of cyclists as she crossed the road. At the corner, the store’s doors slid open for her and she stepped into the cool dry elegance of the famous pearl jewelry boutique.

  “Welcome, how may I assist—oh,” said the clerk in an incongruously Scottish accent. She switched to Spanish. “We’re honored to have you visit. What can I show you today?”

  “Just the back way out, I’m afraid,” Maji whispered. “The paparazzi are at it again.”

  “Of course,” the clerk said as if famous people being chased by the media was a daily occurrence there. “Right this way.” She showed Maji the stairs down to the harbor.

  Maji scanned the boats docked below, spotted Dave’s yellow speedboat, and smiled. “Thank you so much. Selfie?”

  “Why, yes. Please.” They snapped two shots together just before a disruption at the entrance upstairs signaled the media’s arrival.

  Maji bolted, taking the stairs at a good clip but not so fast they couldn’t keep sight of her. At the promenade at the bottom she stopped and looked up, saw the camera van parked on the road above, and waved. As she reached the dock with Dave’s boat, she heard a voice calling out for her to wa
it. She turned and saw a lone photographer jogging doggedly to catch up with her. She shrugged and untied the bowline, hopping on board with a hand from Dave for good show.

  “This could get interesting,” Dave said, nodding back down the dock.

  Maji couldn’t make out what the photographer was saying, but his wad of cash and gesticulating toward her were clear enough. One little runabout’s owner took the cash and ushered the reporter on board.

  “We’ll outrun him in a hot minute,” Dave said. The engine engaged with a throaty rumble. “Want to go below?”

  “No,” Maji replied. “I want to drive.”

  Dave backed them out and handed the wheel over to her. Maji took the speedboat past the other pleasure boats at a reasonable speed, trailed closely by the runabout. A few boaters looked up and waved, did a double take, reached for their phones. As the harbor opened up, she gauged the channel’s breadth and the locations of other vessels. Nothing small enough to be endangered by a little hotdogging. “Hang on.”

  She opened the throttle and took off toward the ocean, then eased off just short of the harbor’s outlet and swung the agile motorboat into a wide arc, making a circle around the runabout. She smiled and waved at the photographer as he tried to capture her in motion.

  Dave laughed and took the wheel back, piloting them safely out to the coast. Once in open water, he set a moderate speed and gave her half his attention. “Romero says your uplink worked. His team is sifting through Lyttleton’s records as we speak.”

  “Then the trip was worth something. I don’t think I can stomach letting him work on me.”

  “What? He’s good enough for Arturo Echeverra but not for you? Wait, he didn’t brag about her daddy’s face to Erlea, did he?”

  “No. He’s not stupid. Just a racist asshat who takes dirty money and gets off on celebrities.”

  “Point taken. What’s the big deal, anyway? I thought they cleaned you up at Landstuhl.”

  Maji pulled up the cap sleeve on the sundress, exposing her left shoulder and the keloid scar. “They did what they could.”

  “Eh. That’s a distinguishing mark all right. But it’s not Mashriki’s mark. What’s Colonel Wyatt say?”

  “I haven’t asked him. I need to take care of it myself. My body, my life.”

  Dave nodded. “I get that. But fixing your skin won’t get Fallujah out of your brain.”

  “Might make it easier to look at myself in the mirror.”

  Dave turned his eyes to the ocean ahead of them. “I had a hard time with that after my first kill, too. It was your first, right?”

  “First, second, third, fourth. Shit, I don’t even know how many.” Maji held on to the top of the windscreen, looking ahead with the wind whipping her hair behind her. I should at least know their names.

  “Look. You hit one kid by accident—or ’cause he’s got an IED and you have no choice,” Dave began. “You miss your shot at a van and watch a whole mosque go up. You run to a burning car and drag a woman out, only to watch her die while you hold her, waiting for the medics to arrive.” He spared her a glance. “It all sucks, Rios. Whether you pulled the trigger or not.”

  “It’s not the same, Dave. I mean, yes, there’ve been times I had to stay in cover, had to let somebody get hurt. I’ve had the nightmares, I’ve seen the shrinks.” Never Ava before. “They got me back on my feet and back in the field. But this…I did this. I lost control. That’s on me.”

  “You made it three years with no body count, Rios. You know how unheard of that is? Why do you think they call you Magic?”

  “Well, now they can stop. I don’t deserve the fucking pedestal you want to put me on.”

  “I never said you were perfect. Maybe you thought you could be, but seriously, no amount of training will ever get you there.”

  Maji used every swear word she knew in Spanish, then threw in a few Arabic phrases as well. It didn’t help enough. “Then how do I know I won’t do it again?”

  “Just like this,” Dave said. He gave her a quick sideways hug and let her go. “Work your way back to where you trust yourself again.”

  Maji stared out at the glistening ocean, wanting to dismiss his words as too pat, too simplistic. But after a few weeks on assignment, she felt worlds better about her abilities than she had after passing all her field recertification tests. “You haven’t issued me a sidearm.”

  “Did you want one?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Good. It’d be a lot to sell to the press if Erlea whipped out a pistol and suddenly became an expert shot.”

  “Dave. You’ve really got no qualms about working with me right now?”

  “Not a one.” He gave her a small smile. “But take it from somebody who’s been there. It’s better to keep talking with someone you trust than to try and gut it out alone. That will bite you in the ass.”

  “Hooah.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Nice dress,” Romero said as Maji walked into her room to change.

  She stopped, catching the door before it closed behind her and scanning the room. The connector to Dave’s was open. That at least was reassuring. “Thanks. Am I late for a meeting?”

  “I have news for both of you. But I wanted to ask you a question first.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Echeverra says the evidence against Aguilar and Perez is hidden here on the island. But he will only tell his daughter where it is.”

  “Well, she wants to meet him.” Maji anticipated his question. “Yes, I trust her.”

  Romero nodded and went to Dave’s room, closing her connector door most of the way behind him.

  Maji changed into jeans and joined them. “What do Lyttleton’s files tell us?”

  “First, that he keeps meticulous records,” Romero said. “Second, that Echeverra came to him with cash and an assumed identity.”

  “Provided by the Nuvoletta,” Dave reminded her. “But Lyttleton doesn’t appear to have given any proof of the work he did to anyone after Echeverra healed up and left his place.”

  “So the Nuvoletta don’t know what he looks like,” Maji said. “That’s great. Safer for him to provide intel on the guys he worked for, right?”

  Dave nodded. “Sure. They know his name, but we could get him a new one and a backstory to go with it. Except…” He looked to Romero.

  “Echeverra must attend the peace talks as himself. Otherwise, no credibility.”

  “Oh, hell.” Maji considered that. “Another new face wouldn’t help, would it?”

  “Nope,” Dave confirmed. “He’s going to have to choose between playing peacemaker and having Aguilar and Perez target him or helping us with the Nuvoletta and having to go into hiding again.”

  “We still hope to bring Aguilar and Perez in before the talks,” Romero said. “In which case, he may not be a willing witness for you. I’m sorry.”

  “Any more good news?”

  “Yes and no,” Romero said. “Echeverra confirmed our suspicions about Ramon Perez being the second man involved in the bombing. Police archives show that he infiltrated the Batasuna and befriended Echeverra. And that he reported to Miguel Aguilar. Both remained in the National Police and rose through the ranks.”

  “There’s a thank-you,” Maji said.

  Romero lifted a brow. “The dirty war was condoned by the government. Reopening this case will not be popular, but it is necessary. Today Perez is a chief inspector and Aguilar is a commissioner.”

  “And let me guess—one of them assigned the bad medic to us.”

  Dave nodded. “And the AV guy who screwed up our comms and video feeds, too.”

  “Diaz. But he thinks I bought his excuses,” Romero added.

  Maji blinked at him. “He’s still here?”

  “Where we can keep an eye on him. And monitor his communications,” Romero said. “Speaking of which, we have also ruled Lyttleton out as a suspect in the party incident.”

  The guy had been obsessed with Erlea, trying t
o get close to her at every opportunity. And he worked with organized crime. But still. “He was a suspect?”

  “Yes. We picked up some calls from Perez to a man with excellent Spanish but a British accent and a very entitled manner. At first we suspected Lyttleton was the accomplice.”

  “But now you’ve ruled him out, you’re looking in house, right?” The description fit Nigel too well to ignore. “As much of a pretentious ass as Nigel is, I can’t see him helping anyone sabotage his show. Even for a bundle of insurance.”

  “He’s only worried about the show if the star is injured,” Dave said. “If she’s dead, he gets cancellation insurance plus that proven posthumous sales boost for all her prior work.”

  Maji ground her teeth. If she opened her mouth, only swearing would come out.

  Romero nodded. “We tapped his phone after the paintball incident. Nothing of note for weeks, except some considerable financial stress. We’re digging into that now. And we assume he is using a burner phone, with care about where he can be heard.”

  “Smart fucking weasel,” Maji said. “But why would the National Police want Erlea dead?”

  “Aguilar wanted her in danger, maybe in the hospital with barbiturate poisoning,” Romero explained. “Enough to bring Echeverra rushing to her bedside. Initially he tried to extort Nigel to gain his cooperation—use Erlea as bait for her father or they would disable her. Which of course would interfere with the show.”

  “Mr. Bottom Line,” Dave said. “Vulnerable to economic blackmail.”

  Maji shook her head. “Imane calls him Mr. Bait and Switch.”

  “She wins,” Romero said. “After the party he was furious. Turned the tables on Aguilar, made his own demands. Said if they were going to hurt Erlea, they should do it right.”

  “So Nigel’s been telling Aguilar where Erlea is and what she’s up to,” Dave said. “Trying to get them to do what he can’t. We think Aguilar reached out as soon as the peace talks were announced. Nigel might not have been thinking murder that early. But he’s an opportunist.”