Double Down

by MB Austin

  “No,” Erlea said, looking at him again, this man who could be her father. Was. Is. “It’s okay. Just a lot to take in. And life’s more complicated than just yes or no.” She gave him a smile meant to reassure. “But now we’ll have time, right? After you clear your name and get done with the peace talks.” When he looked down, the fear welled up again. “Daddy?”

  He met her gaze, looking as serious as when he tried to explain the dirty war to her as a child. “I have choices to make. When you were a child, I had to make them alone. And I did what I did to protect you, your mother, my parents. I lost all of you, and all of you lost me. Every day I wanted to undo my choice, but you could not be safe that way. I am so sorry for your pain.”

  Erlea nodded. “Apology accepted.”

  “Don’t forgive me just yet. I did bad things to stay alive and hidden. I had no resources when I ran, but that is no excuse. Soon I will be free from the false charges of murder, but I will still not be free. Not if I want to return to my real calling and help make peace a reality.”

  “Daddy, you have to,” Erlea said. “Good people are risking their lives to clear you. They believe in peace. And I believe in you.” She stared at him, bewildered. “Why wouldn’t you go to the talks?”

  “My life is paid for in sin,” her father replied. “I paid for my new face, my new name and papers, with the suffering of others. I worked for the mafia, and I have much to atone for.” She saw him struggle to hold back tears again. “If I go to the peace talks, everyone will know that I wear this face now. And then I must disappear again, to pay Mr. Brown back for restoring the safety of my family.”

  “He wants you to inform on the mafia?” Surely that was more dangerous even than taking on corrupt officials in the National Police.

  “It is the right thing to do. Peace talks will save lives and let healing begin among Spaniards. But the criminals who helped me years ago will keep destroying lives if I do not help to stop them.” He took Erlea’s hands in his. “Now you are grown, I can ask your opinion.”

  How dare he do this to her? “You’ve already made your choice.”

  “Then your blessing, or at least forgiveness. Because this time when I go, you can understand why. And know how much I love you always.”

  * * *

  When they finally reached the library, Maji scanned the three walls of ancient manuscripts. She hoped Romero knew just where to find the folder of photos and papers Echeverra had stashed among them. She listened politely to Don Pedro for a few minutes, then got the nod from Romero and fanned herself with one of the books for sale on the display table in the center of the room.

  “She’s not much interested in old books,” Romero said. “Would you mind showing her the balcony?”

  Don Pedro escorted Maji out to the expansive balcony planted with shrubs and trees, palms and a tropical-looking plant. “What is this one?” Maji whispered to him.

  “Brugmansia,” Don Pedro replied, “also known as angel’s trumpet.” He went into the horticultural and medicinal history of the plant, and Maji waved Alejandro over to get a close-up of the flower. Tired and hot, she wandered over to the low stone wall and looked out at the sweeping view of tiled roofs and terraced hillsides. Behind her, Amelia asked Don Pedro about farming in the rocky terrain, drawing him farther away from Romero’s search of the library.

  They stood together admiring the view and determined farming efforts until Romero called from the doorway, “Such a beautiful day. But we should get you back to the hotel.”

  Just as Don Pedro began to turn, he took a hit to the torso that spun and dropped him. Maji fell automatically to the ground, hearing the rifle’s retort, three shots in quick succession, as she went down. Romero took cover, barking out orders into his comm, while Amelia scrambled low to reach Don Pedro. She checked on him and prevented his attempt to rise.

  Shielded by the wall, Maji scanned the area inside the balcony. No one moved, thank God. No—there was Alejandro, scuttling in a crouch with his camera out, trying to film the events. Maji yelled for him to get down, but he ignored her, rising to look her way instead. She leaped over a shrub, knocking him back to the ground just as two more shots pinged nearby.

  “Stay the fuck down,” she told him.

  In the distance, sirens sounded.

  “Report,” Romero called out.

  “Don Pedro is stable but can’t crawl out,” Amelia called back.

  “I’m fine,” Maji called. “Alejandro? Can you crawl to the door?”

  “Think so. My arm stings and it’s bleeding, but I’ll try.”

  “No. Stay there. I’ll come to you.” Maji combat-crawled over to him and checked the wound. “He got winged,” she called to Romero. “Not deep. Wrapping it and sending him in.”

  As Alejandro crawled toward the door and safety, Maji made her way to Don Pedro and Amelia. “Can we carry him?”

  Amelia shook her head. “The wall’s too low for cover.”

  So they waited while the ambulance made its way to the monastery and the police on the hillside searched for the shooter. Finally Romero said, “They think he fled.” After a pause, he announced, “Stay down. I’m going to come out.”

  “No,” Maji barked. They couldn’t send the EMTs out until they were sure the threat was over. And she was not going to let anyone else shoulder the risk of drawing fire. “I’ll do it.”

  “Rios,” he objected as she stood. “Oh, hell, move quick.”

  Maji took a deep breath, wondering as she looked into the gorgeous vista where the shooter had hidden. And where he’d run off to. “Okay, I’m coming in,” she said. And then the bullet hit her in the chest.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Celeste found the theater nearly empty with no dancers or musicians, only crew working on the sets. She spotted Nico checking some of their work. “Shouldn’t Erlea be back by now?”

  Nico frowned at her. “You obviously don’t watch the news. Some idiot shot her.”

  “No,” Celeste protested. “She can’t be…” Her vision swam. Gone? No. Impossible.

  He sneered even as he steadied her. “Oh, use your brain. Would I be here fussing with staging if she was dead?”

  “You heartless son of a bitch.” Celeste grabbed his sleeve. “Where is she?”

  He shook her off. “Some hospital, probably giving an interview by now. Maybe she’ll mention you again.”

  “Screw you.” Celeste backed away, trying to dial Maji with shaking hands. “She deserves better.”

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Nico looked smug. “Her new champion, in a skirt for once. Well don’t think that just because you’re a woman she’ll keep you any longer than that string of starfuckers she’s hooked up with before.”

  Nico turned back to his task, dismissing her. Her hands, normally so calm and sure in a crisis, shook too hard to punch the buttons on her phone.

  “There you are,” Imane said from behind Celeste. When Celeste turned, Imane enveloped her in a hug. “Why aren’t you in your office? I know she’s in there, but they won’t let me in.”

  “She’s here?” Relief surged through her veins, making Celeste feel giddy. The injury must be minor. She led Imane down the back corridors, nearly at a run. “What the hell happened?”

  “She went up to Valldemossa, to that old monastery. Someone shot the guide showing her around. They took him to the hospital. She must not be so bad if she’s here instead.”

  “Yes. She must be okay.” She must be. Celeste tried to open her office door, found it locked, and fished in her pockets for the key card.

  “Hey, let us in. I brought the doctor,” Imane said, banging on the door. Before Celeste could key it, Romero stood in the doorway.

  “Let me see her,” Celeste said, pushing past him.

  “Right this way, Doctor,” Romero replied. “Not you,” he added to Imane.

  “Give us a moment,” Celeste said before she could protest. “But stay close.”

  Romero drew back the cur
tain to reveal Erlea reclining on the exam table. She huddled inside a blanket, eyes closed, no doubt chilled by the ice pack peeking out at her chest. And possibly shock.

  “Get a hot pack and make her some tea,” Celeste barked at Romero. “In there,” she added, waving toward the adjoining room.

  “Keep him busy,” Erlea said. “He’s a hoverer.” Only it wasn’t Erlea’s husky voice.

  “Maji?” Celeste said. “What is going on?”

  Maji opened her eyes and gave a weak smile. “Surprise. I brought you a fabulous bruise, and I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt like hell. You can even X-ray it if you insist.”

  “That bad? You promised to be careful.” Celeste wanted to hug her and throttle her at the same time. “What about Erlea? How is she?”

  “Breathe, Doc.” Maji stretched gingerly. “She had a quiet day out of sight. And my jacket caught the worst of it.”

  Romero handed her a steaming mug. “You said it needed ventilation. Be careful what you ask for.”

  “Why don’t you go make Celeste some tea now?” Maji retorted.

  He raised a brow and went back to the other room without comment, leaving the door open a crack. Neither he nor Maji seemed fazed by her state. Celeste wondered at the world they must work in.

  Maji shrugged the blanket off her left shoulder with a wince. Her T-shirt was cut away on that side, exposing her breast below the ice pack. “Little help here?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Celeste said, willing herself to focus. Erlea was fine. Maji needed her now. Celeste lifted the ice pack off and stared at the distinctive, ugly bruise. “Jesus, you’ve been shot. Thank God you were wearing a vest.”

  “Actually, a hot, heavy jacket. Looks great on me, but Romero won’t let me keep it,” she said, raising her voice. “Even though it’s damaged.”

  “Still government property,” Romero’s voice replied from behind the door.

  Celeste shook her head. How could they joke like this? “Can you move your left arm?”

  Maji nodded. “Hurts, but yeah. Clavicle’s intact, shoulder girdle’s fine. I think it’s just strain and swelling from the impact.”

  “Should I ask what happened?” Celeste began her exam, moving Maji’s arm for her and palpating her neck and shoulder.

  “I went out on the balcony at the Real Cartuja, and a sniper shot the docent next to me. Shortly after that, I stopped a bullet with my chest. Remind me to avoid that in the future.”

  Celeste frowned at her dark humor. “How is the docent?”

  “Bruised, scraped, and grazed.” Maji paused. “We think they mistook him for Arturo Echeverra. Have you seen the news yet?”

  “Mr. Salazar has been publicly identified now,” Romero called to her. “The press is asking Nigel about the Echeverra rumors, and he’s only giving a no comment. Oh, and Erlea is officially stable, more details on tonight’s news.”

  “Thanks,” Maji called back. She looked to Celeste with genuine concern. “I can’t tell if it hurts to breathe from the impact itself or if maybe I cracked a rib. Can you?”

  Celeste palpated the area as well as she could without pressing on the worst of the deep red marks. “I would say no, but we should watch over the next few days. Limit movement, stretch gently, and keep icing at intervals.”

  “And call you if the nature of the pain changes or gets suddenly worse.” Maji gave her a weak smile. “I’ve played this game before.”

  Celeste didn’t smile back. “Risking your life is not a game.”

  “It’s the one I get paid to play. But don’t worry—I always beat the house.”

  * * *

  Erlea heard voices on the other side of the doors connecting her suite to Maji’s room. “Is she back?”

  “Sounds like it,” Dave Brown said with a smile. “And that’s my cue to head out. You okay here?”

  “Yes. Thank you for the time with my father today.”

  Dave showed himself to the door. “Thanks for rolling with the change of plans.”

  Erlea opened her connecting door and knocked on Maji’s. It flew open and Celeste reached for her.

  “Beatriz Echeverra, don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she said into Erlea’s hair, her arms squeezing tight.

  “Okay, okay,” Erlea said, hugging Celeste back. She called me Beatriz. “I promise. Where’s Maji?”

  “In bed,” Celeste said, stepping aside so Erlea could see.

  “Can I talk to her?” Maji didn’t look up to a real conversation.

  Maji waved listlessly. “Speak now, ’cause I’m going down for the count.”

  “Painkillers,” Celeste explained. “Maybe we should talk next door.”

  Erlea gave Maji a kiss on the head and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.” There would be time to dissect what had happened and what it meant for them both, later. “Rest well.”

  While Celeste made a final check on her patient, Erlea let Imane in. She took the hug and promised not to scare her best friend like that again. “You sound just like Celeste,” she grumbled. “At least you didn’t call me Beatriz.”

  “What can I say, Beatriz?” Imane countered. “Bossy women love you. Have you ordered dinner yet?”

  “No. I wasn’t expecting everyone here, not tonight.”

  “Where else would we be?” Imane said, already dialing room service.

  Erlea pointed to Maji’s room. “She’s here for Maji.”

  “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” Imane rolled her eyes. She placed the dinner order and fished a beer from the fridge. “Want one?”

  Erlea really did. “After a day like today, I’d like a good stiff drink. But I don’t want to disappoint Celeste.”

  “She’s definitely got you motivated,” Imane conceded.

  Celeste poked her head into the kitchen. “Don’t worry about me. Whether you choose to drink or not drink, it has to be what you want. For you.”

  Erlea met her gaze, recognized the smile in her eyes. Those lovely eyes. “I don’t want to miss anything anymore. I nearly missed knowing you.”

  “Oh.” Celeste’s eyes glowed, and the blush spread from her neck to the ear she tucked her silky hair behind. “I’m on call, myself. But I think it would be safe if we each had one glass, yes?”

  “And now everybody’s happy,” Imane said, opening the cava for them. “So—about today. We rehearsed without you, the band sounds great. Nico was a prick as usual, Tania left the stage crying, Dimitri went after her. The usual.”

  Erlea shook her head. “We can’t afford anyone else quitting. I’ll talk to Nigel again.” She thought about what to tell them about her father, the evidence they had planned to collect, the unexpected switch. Too much. “I met with my father. We spent hours catching up. It was weird.”

  “I’ll bet. Do you like him?” Imane said. “You always had him on such a pedestal.”

  “Well, he’s an adult, I’m an adult. It’s different now—as it should be.” She sipped the crisp sparkling white.

  Imane frowned. “I’m happy for you, really. But now that he’s seen you, he can go. Aren’t there peace talks he has to get to? Like, in a city nowhere near you.”

  “That’s a little harsh,” Erlea said. When Imane only crossed her arms and Celeste shrugged sympathetically, she asked them, “Where is this coming from?”

  “Maji thinks the shooter mistook the man with her for your father,” Celeste said. “And now the press thinks he is alive and on the island.”

  Erlea longed to tell them all, but she had promised. “Well, soon he will be in Bilbao, making headlines for good reasons. Happy?”

  “I just want you to be safe,” Imane said. She glanced toward Maji’s room. “Both of you.”

  Celeste frowned. “Perhaps I should delay my move to Barcelona.”

  “No. You can’t put your life on hold anymore,” Erlea said. “We’ll be fine here. No more risks. Except for that damn bungee number.”

  After dinner, Celeste checked in on Maji and came out
to the balcony with her report. “Sleeping soundly. I’ll stay with her tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Erlea said. “I wish there was more I could do to thank her.”

  “I’m looking for a plastic surgeon for her in Barcelona. If I need star power to get her an appointment, I’ll let you know.”

  It didn’t sound like Celeste was kidding. “What’s wrong with Lyttleton?”

  “She doesn’t like him. Among other things, he’s racist.”

  “Surprise,” Imane said. “Did he know it wasn’t Erlea?”

  “No,” Celeste said. “Apparently, he saw the keloid scar and made a remark about having thought she was of too pure blood for that.”

  “Fuck him,” Erlea said.

  “Leave that to the Barbie doll trophy wife,” Imane said. “I’m going to clean up.” She nudged Erlea. “Play her the cat song. It’s getting really good now.”

  When Erlea didn’t pick the guitar up, Celeste gave her an expectant look. “Well? You said you wanted me to hear it.”

  “It’s still pretty rough. I rewrote some parts, but it’s not ready.”

  Celeste smiled at her. “You are so sweet, really. Not at all what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” Erlea asked before she could chicken out.

  “A hard-living, charismatic player,” Celeste replied. “And you are charismatic. But also a homebody, often shy, a little geeky, very hardworking. And you care so much about your people. You’re a good person, not just…”

  “What?” Please say hot. Or sexy. Or even cute.

  Celeste stood, that adorable blush creeping up to her face again. “I shouldn’t ignore my own rules. You are still my client.” She moved to the railing and looked out toward the harbor.

  Imane was right. The realization emboldened Erlea. “No, I’m not,” she told Celeste. “I’m practically flying on my own. Without you. So—you’re fired.”

  “I’ve never been fired.” Celeste sounded almost teasing. “Why would you do that?”

  Erlea stepped close enough to see Celeste’s eyes reflecting the harbor lights. “Because you don’t date your clients.” She rushed on before Celeste could rebuff her. “I know this is a bad time for you, with the move and all, and you probably don’t want to think about—”