At first, the mother seemed afraid of Blue, but when the girl hugged the dog, the woman nodded and let them in, showing Sydney to a second-story small room overlooking the street below.
Sydney gave the girl and her mother several hundred dollars, putting her finger to her lips for them to keep quiet about it. The mother, who looked much older than she probably was, nodded solemnly and tucked the bills into her bra, but not before giving Sydney a wide grin, revealing chipped teeth.
Sydney spent most of the day hunkered down on her laptop or talking to Dan on her cell phone. She needed dirt on Damien and Clem fast.
Finally, Dan called back. He’d hit on something.
“I found the real estate broker for the pied-à-terre. He’s in Rio.”
“Thank God.”
Sydney had worried she’d have to fly to another part of Brazil to confront the real estate broker, her only hope in finding Damien’s pied-à-terre.
She copied down the address and hung up. It was nine at night. Too late to do anything about it. She’d have to wait until morning. But she was ravenous. She called for Blue and left the tiny apartment, then headed to a small neighborhood restaurant where she planted herself at one of the outdoor tables. It was a risk.
If Damien had put word out on the street to look for a blonde with a big dog, she’d be found quickly.
But she was counting on Damien’s snobbishness to protect her. He would never consider staying in the favela—the area ringing the hillside above Ipanema Beach. Even though it was near the beach, it was considered the wrong side of the tracks.
After dinner, Sydney headed back to the small room, but took a circuitous route and kept looking behind her, checking to make sure she wasn’t being followed. While she was counting on Damien’s snobbery to keep her hidden, she realized that was far from a guarantee, and she should keep her guard up.
And it got her to thinking. She had assumed Damien would have a place in an upscale area. But maybe he kept his pied-à-terre in the favelas, the slums. Underground. In the city’s dark underbelly. He could be anywhere.
After she got back to her apartment and got Blue settled in, Sydney went to bed. The next day would be busy.
In the pre-dawn light, Sydney threw on a black windbreaker and grabbed a ball cap to hide her hair. She laced up her sneakers and took Blue for a run along the beach.
Even though she felt pretty safe in the favela, she still set her alarm early, so she and Blue could get in a good run. She felt guilty keeping him cooped up all day in the apartment. Again.
Blue was as eager as she was, so they struck a fast pace heading south toward the more desolate areas. At that hour, they had the entire beach to themselves while the Carnival partiers were still sleeping off their escapades. She was grateful for the solitude and time to think, especially because a blonde woman and her giant, white wolf dog was more than a little conspicuous. At the moment, keeping a low profile would keep her alive.
After the run, she fed Blue, showered, and headed out. Although Blue was bound to attract attention where she was going, she needed him at her side.
In the heart of Copacabana, the shop owners were only beginning to unlock their doors. Men took brooms to sidewalks, and women arranged displays of fresh fruit and vegetables.
She walked past the address she’d written down and staked out a spot at a café table on the sidewalk, ordering café da manhã and pão de queijo – coffee and French bread with cheese.
The waiter brought Blue a bowl of water and she settled in to wait.
50
Vigilante Assassin
“I can’t believe it. That was the hang glider I was supposed to be on,” Damien said, shaking his head.
I’d squinted my eyes at him, blinking away the sleep.
He’d knocked on my door first thing this morning.
“It’s the best hang glider,” he said, as if continuing a conversation we’d been having. “Was the best. Gabriel is, God, was, the best pilot. I thought I’d make it up to Sydney by allowing her the best pilot and glider.”
I smiled, but something about his words was familiar.
That’s when I realized. He’d said the same thing about Mario. How Mario was the best diving instructor. How Mario usually instructed him, but he’d hired him for me and Sydney. I narrowed my eyes, but he didn’t notice, just kept speaking.
“Now, I know someone is out to get me.” He said it matter-of-factly. I drew back. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.
He exhaled exaggeratedly.
“I didn’t want to alarm you, but the accident with your tank yesterday? That wasn’t an accident. And it was meant for me.”
I scrunched up my face.
“Do you see?” He paused and searched my eyes.
I waited.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Someone is trying to kill me.”
I remained expressionless. Too many things weren’t adding up. But was Dante, right? Was everything I felt and saw tainted by my fear of falling in love? Was Damien the target of some madman? It made more sense that someone was trying to kill him instead of someone trying to kill Sydney. He was a public figure practically.
“That diving tank? Supposed to be mine. The hang glider? The one I was supposed to use. Sabotage.”
“Who would want you dead?”
“I don’t know.” But then he gave her the side-eye. “Maybe Sydney?”
I laughed. “Sydney?”
He handed me his phone.
I read the story three times before handing it back to him.
After her brother was viciously murdered, placid dog walker Joy Humbolt killed the man behind it all. She changed her name to Sydney Rye and was at the core of a powerful underground organization called Joyful Justice that fought against injustice.
The article, on the dark web, said she was a vigilante assassin. That people believed many others had died at her hands. Of course, it also said those murders were justified.
“She’s a killer?” I tried to sound surprised and maybe even a little shocked. “Maybe she had good reason.”
He guffawed. “To murder? Hardly.”
I decided to keep my mouth shut about the people I’d killed. And the fact that some would even call me a vigilante assassin. We could get into all that later. When we knew each other better.
But the fact was that Sydney Rye had taken a life—several lives apparently. Same as me.
That explained the bond I’d felt with her from day one. Not something I was proud of. But it was my reality. What I’d learned today had made me wonder about her. Had she been trying to turn me against Damien? Was she the one trying to assassinate him?
“What were you two really arguing about anyway?” I said. “Maybe it turns you on that she’s dangerous.”
Damien squirmed and I knew I had zeroed in on it exactly. That weird tension I felt whenever they were around each other.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Well then what is it with you two?”
“We’re just haggling over some business stuff. She thinks her company stock is more valuable than I do.”
“What is her company?”
“It’s called CyberForce.” He didn’t skip a beat.
“Oh.”
“Let’s lay low today,” he said, reaching over to tug the strap of my nightgown off my shoulder. “Tonight, we have the samba parades and Carnival kick off. It’s going to be a long day and late night.”
He tugged my nightgown down to my waist and leaned over and kissed me.
My body responded. But at the same time, Dante’s words haunted me.
My doubts, my unease, did they stem from my fear of opening up and being vulnerable? Of allowing myself to love again?
Dante knew me so well. He was the closest and longest friend I’d ever had. What if he was right?
I’d wait. Time would tell if my discomfort was justified. Right now, I needed to feel, not think.
51
No
Dogs Allowed
The man in the small office took Sydney in, raking his eyes down her body.
Then he saw Blue.
“No dogs,” he said in a gruff voice.
“Fuck you.”
His eyes grew wide, and his face flushed red.
Fighting the temptation to throat punch him, Sydney instead whipped out her gun, holding it to his temple before he could blink.
“We can do this two ways. You can tell me now, and I walk out of here. Or you cannot tell me and I kill you, draw the blinds, and search your office.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Sydney brought a well-aimed heel into his crotch. He cringed and reached for his lap.
“Don’t move.”
“It’s not here,” he said.
“She drew the gun back a little and tapped his head with the barrel. He kept a straight face.
“Blue.”
Blue stood and growled ferociously and then put his snout near the man’s crotch.
The man winced. “Okay. Okay. It’s at Calle Montego.”
“Show me. I want to see the paperwork.”
“Call off your dog.”
Blue backed away a little, but stood on alert.
Darting a wary glance at Blue, the man reached over into a file cabinet and pulled out a manila folder.
“Open it.”
Even from a few feet away, Sydney could make out the name Clem and the address.
“Perfect.” She jutted her chin toward the bathroom in the corner. “I need you to go in there for a few hours. I’ll try to remember to come back and get you, but if not …”
She trailed off with a shrug.
After locking him in the bathroom, she drew the curtains in the office and put out the closed sign.
52
Samba
We didn’t set out until the night was dark.
The SUV dropped us off on a side street, not far from the main drag where the samba parades would happen. The closer streets were closed to vehicle traffic for the night.
Grasping my hand, Damien led me toward the lights and music.
The night was thick with excitement, sex, and music. The entire city seemed to throb with sensuality.
Nearly everyone we passed wore costumes.
The women wore barely there glittery bustiers, and dresses with masks and tiaras and headpieces. The men wore tuxedos or dressed like Arabian royalty or medieval kings.
We turned a corner and were greeted by a mass of people swaying and drinking and laughing. Damien held tightly to my hand as we navigated the crowd. He turned to say something to me, but his voice was lost in the cacophony of music streaming from the restaurants and balconies that surrounded us.
Flesh pressed against flesh as we squeezed through the crowd. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and fried foods.
Finally, we stood in front of a small doorway tucked back a few feet from the street. Damien unlocked the door and gestured for me to enter first. I scaled blue-painted stairs straight up to another door, this one painted purple. I waited on the tiny landing as Dante locked several deadbolts behind us. Then he pressed against me as he unlocked the purple door.
“This is where we watch the parade.”
I stepped inside and smiled.
The tiny room was done up like an ancient harem.
The largest bed I’d ever seen took center stage. The walls were painted black and the floor was scattered with ruby, emerald, and sapphire velvet cushions.
Across from us, French doors were thrown open to a small balcony.
Candles covered every flat surface. A gust of wind from the balcony made all the candles flicker wildly. “Aren’t you worried about fire, having this burn while nobody is here?”
“My caretaker did it. They’ve only been lit for a few minutes.”
“Oh.”
A small table held a silver bucket with a bottle of Champagne, tiny drips of moisture condensed on it.
Nearby rested a plate of grapes. A tiny alcove held a galley kitchen with a moka pot on a burner and a small refrigerator.
“This is perfection.” I turned to him. He kissed my palm and then walked over to the table with the Champagne. He leaned over and pulled out the bottle of Veuve Clicquot. He popped the cork without a sound.
“I want tonight to be special,” he said over his shoulder. “To be perfect. I’ve waited a long time for this night.”
I swallowed. What was going to happen tonight? He turned his back to pour us some Champagne.
I walked over to examine a series of prints on the wall. They were of stunning beautiful naked women.
He grinned and handed me a glass of Champagne.
“This is my secret hideaway. I call it my pied-à-terre. I love the parties in Rio. I really do. But I must escape and be my myself at times. It’s my personality. All those years spent coding in a garage by myself. My true nature is that of a loner.”
I examined him. I was a loner, too. Maybe that was part of the attraction.
I worried I was falling for him. I couldn’t help it. But a small part of me wondered if it was pure lust. All I knew is that my body craved his touch all the time. I was in a state of constant arousal. It was ridiculous.
Another small table near the balcony contained other snacks, strawberries dipped in chocolate and an assortment of nuts. The sheer curtains flanking the balcony blew into the room, beckoning me.
I took my glass and moved outside. I pressed up against the cool terra cotta balcony wall, the enveloping night heat embracing me.
Below, a mass of sweaty bodies squirmed, maneuvering down the street, preparing for the parade to start.
In the distance, at the end of the street where the parade began, a half dozen brightly colored hang gliders dropped out of the night sky leaving a trail of fireworks that seemed to spark from their feet. The sight of hang gliders made my throat grow dry. I shot a look at Damien but his eyes were only slit with pleasure.
I turned my attention back to the street below— the pulsing, wriggling bodies laughing and drinking and dancing.
The sound of a shrieking whistle made everything shift and grind to a halt.
The street below suddenly cleared as the thousands of people lining the parade route pushed onto the sidewalks in a crushing mass. Music started up, and the anticipation built.
“About three blocks down there are massive bleachers on each side of the street,” Damien said, appearing at my side to refill my Champagne glass. “This block is the first one where the parade weaves through the old part of town. We get an up-close experience. Anywhere else and you are dozens of feet back. This street is so narrow, when the big floats go by, you can reach out and touch them.”
“Wow. This is great.”
“It’s the only way to experience Carnival.”
He offered me a joint, holding it between my lips and lighting it for me.
Finally, the front of the parade reached us.
It was led by an astonishingly beautiful woman wearing little more than a bright blue braid of fabric for a G-string that snaked up her body to silver cones covering her breasts. Massive blue-feathered wings spread out from her shoulders. The band behind her was dressed in the same bright blue and wore cartoonish, oversized silver crowns and beat on drums and tambourines and gourds draped in silver chains.
But I couldn’t stop looking at the float behind her. It was taller than our entire building. It was comprised of a dozen twenty-foot tall gold bulls and platforms with half a dozen dancers. At the top of the float, a woman in a flowing gold dress floated on water that shot up from inside the float.
I gasped.
“Pretty dope, huh?”
I only shook my head in answer.
Damien wrapped his arm around me and put the joint between my lips again. After I exhaled, I spoke.
“This view. This place. It’s amazing.”
“I always come here to watch the first night samba par
ade during Carnival. I’ve done it every year for a decade.”
A small flicker of jealousy zipped through me, imagining all the women he’d brought here before me.
Suddenly, he left, rushing inside. I heard his voice over his shoulder. “Wait. I forgot something.”
He came back and handed me a mask. A beautiful courtesan mask with jewels.
Then he strapped on a mask that sent a chill down my spine.
“Wow,” was all I could. The mask was basically a white face with a large nose, no mouth, and creepy beak-like chin
“It’s a Rio traditional mask called a bauta. It is very symbolic. I wear it here every year.”
The samba music was mesmerizing. I found myself swaying to the beat, leaning back against Damien’s firm body. The beak-like chin of the mask stuck out as he rested his chin on my shoulder.
I was high and horny and in heaven.
The atmosphere of the parade was intoxicating. The air exuded a carnal sensuality that sent electric shocks tingling from my scalp to my toes. At the same time, the heat and the rhythmic music and the weed made me feel languid.
As we stood there, Damien nuzzled my neck sending chills down my limbs. He took my palm and opened it, placing a tablet in the center.
It was like the other pills I’d seen, but it was pink.
Molly.
“Just this one time?”
I stared into his eyes. I was already so fucking high. My inhibitions were already nil. Why not? It would just enhance our lovemaking.
I searched his face. His eyes were soft, and I saw something in them that I would swear was love.
“Turn it over.”
At first I was confused, but then he looked down at the pill in my palm. I took a finger and flipped it.
Stamped on it were three letters. GIA.
I looked up at him.
“I had them specially designed and flown down yesterday.”
His voice was slightly muffled by the mask.
I stuck out my tongue. He placed the tablet on it. I swallowed.
Taste of Vengeance Page 15