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  This got a laugh from the few men nearby, and Javier half-turned to them to share in a round of quiet chuckles. Then he turned back to her, his expression solemn, and drew her into another hard hug.

  With his ear close to her mouth, both hands on the back of her head, he whispered, “You’re safe now, mi reinita. Go rest your weary wings.”

  Finn watched the woman in the white bikini lead Cora away and shifted his weight when Javier turned back to them. The man’s seemingly permanent smile evaporated. Javier gave him and Lars another long stare, and then his eyes flicked to Miguel, who’d come to stand a yard or so behind them.

  “Where is he?” Javier asked, in a voice that could have grated steel.

  “In the cells, jefe,” Miguel replied without hesitation. “You go see?”

  “’Do you want to go and see,’” Javier corrected absently, as his eyes flashed back to Finn and Lars. “The trip must have been just as tiring for the both of you. I insist you stay for dinner.”

  “Thanks,” Lars began, “but we’ve—”

  “We’d love to,” Finn cut in.

  Lars groaned.

  “Wonderful!” Javier grinned wide. “I have more than enough room. You will stay for the night.”

  “The night?” Lars stepped forward. “Listen, Mr. Martin—”

  “Please!” Javier waved a hand at Lars. One of his rubies caught the light with a color eerily reminiscent of fresh blood. “Javier. Call me Javier.”

  “Javier,” Lars said through his teeth. “Not to be rude, but—”

  “We would have to leave first thing in the morning,” Finn said. This time, he caught Lars pressing his lips into a line from the corner of his eyes.

  “Of course,” Lars muttered, just loud enough for Finn to hear. “Fucking first thing.”

  “Wonderful,” Javier said again. He lifted one hand high and flicked his fingers. The woman who’d been playing volleyball opposite Ana, her bikini black but as scanty as Ana’s, got out of the pool with more than a handful of eyes staring after her.

  The Latino woman paused to pick up a towel, and dabbed at her wet body as she came up to them. Her eyes remained fixed on Javier as she let out a sulky, “¿Qué?”

  “Silvia will take you to your rooms. You ask anything of her, and she will provide.” Javier waved at the woman, and then nudged her with his fingers in the small of her back. “Irse,” he murmured, a light of annoyance touching his eyes.

  “Estamos jugando,” the woman replied, pointing back to the pool.

  There was a moment’s stiff silence before the woman dropped her eyes and turned to face him and Lars. “Follow,” she snapped. “Estamos perdiendo de todos modos,” she muttered under breath as she led him and Lars away.

  Finn looked back at Javier. The man stared after him and Lars, both hands on his still wet hips, a considering frown knotting his eyebrows. Then, as if he’d been under a spell, his expression cleared and that wide smile came back abruptly. He turned, bellowed something in Spanish, and waded back into the swimming pool, tossing hair from his eyes as he came up from an impromptu dive.

  As soon as the cool darkness of the entertainment room closed over them, Lars touched Finn’s elbow. Silvia walked on ahead, not noticing they’d fallen back a few feet.

  “Dinner? Rooms?” Lars muttered. “When did this gig turn into a stint at the fucking Capo Four Seasons?”

  “I want to make sure Cora’s—”

  “If you say safe one more time,” Lars cut in, lifting a warning finger. “Fuck it, Milo, did you count the number of armed men between here and the fucking door?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “I stopped at twenty. Even an average between the two is more protection than any one person needs.”

  Finn stared at Silvia’s back as if he could see through her. Lars was right, of course. Was the man ever wrong? But there was something in Javier’s eyes, the man’s quicksilver expressions. He sensed a volatility to him, especially when Silvia had seemed unwilling to take him and Lars away from the pool.

  And where had Cora been ushered to? She’d seemed happy enough to go, but what if—

  “Silvia!”

  The woman had just cleared the staircase she’d led them up. Ahead stretched a corridor open to the emerald rectangle of a garden filled with trees and flowers and statues. She gave him and Lars a bored look, and then an annoyed shrug. “¿Qué?”

  “Where is Cora?”

  “¿Qué?” This time with a crooked eyebrow.

  “Eleodora,” Lars said.

  Another shrug. Then the woman gestured vaguely to the right and began walking down the corridor. “Bedroom.”

  “Take us there,” Finn said.

  Silvia shook her head, and then gave a surprised laugh. “No.” She stopped beside a door, keyed in a code, and opened it. She waved a hand inside, sarcastically gracious, when neither of them moved. “Snap, snap.” She clicked her fingers.

  Lars murmured, “Chop, chop,” at her as he passed, and gave Finn a meaningful look on his way inside.

  Silvia led Finn one door down, entered another code, and gave him the same sarcastic wave. “Señor,” she said dryly to him as he passed her.

  “What’s the code?”

  She shrugged at him, sticking out a hand and fanning her fingers as if she was worried they’d chipped during the strenuous trip upstairs. “It open now.”

  “And if I want to close it?”

  She shrugged, twiddled her fingers at him, and said “You safe here.”

  “What about privacy?”

  Silvia rolled her eyes at him before she sashayed away down the corridor, humming to herself and running her fingertips along the banister as she headed back to the staircase.

  29

  Break the toy

  Ana led Cora through the villa, pointing out important landmarks along the way. The library, the sauna, the gym. An old-fashioned music room with a grand piano standing on a dais. The second floor of the villa housed the rooms. Near the center of each of the four corridors were the smaller guest bedrooms and, in the wings, the master bedrooms; all en-suite. Ana led her into one of them, twirling around before perching on the edge of the bed. This room was twice the size of her old one, and it came with a balcony.

  Cora went over to it and stood with her hands pressed to the glass as she peered outside. A haze hung over the land, but what she could see was vast…and empty. Not another structure in sight. Just a few low hills, patches of trees. And rocks.

  No wonder her uncle felt safe out here. There was no one around for miles.

  “You’re size eight?” Ana asked.

  Cora jerked—she hadn’t heard the woman coming up behind her. She turned, and froze when she saw Ana’s hand outstretched to take her Taurus from the small of her back.

  Ana turned her hand, palm up. “Can I see?”

  Cora hesitated, and then slowly drew the pistol from behind her belt. She laid it in Ana’s hand, who turned it every which way with a slow smile of admiration growing on her painted lips. “So beautiful.” She ran a manicured fingertip over the inscription. “A gift?”

  “From my father.”

  Ana’s hand tightened over the pistol. When Cora looked up at the woman, there were tears in Ana’s eyes. “It must be terrible, losing your father.”

  “He’s still alive,” Cora snapped, snatching her Taurus back.

  Ana’s eyes widened. “I meant no offense, Eleo—”

  “And my name’s Cora.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Ana couldn’t have been older than thirty, but the woman had such a bubbly personality that crushing it, as she just had, felt like dealing a physical blow.

  Cora sighed and waved at Ana, her shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. A long week.”

  “I understand,” Ana said. The woman stretched out her hand, jiggling it until Cora took it up hesitantly. “Come, let’s find you some clean clothes. You can have a shower, wash your—” Ana cut off
with a grimace, giving Cora’s mop of raven hair a puzzled look. “You get a haircut. Let’s do that first. Then you shower.”

  “A haircut?” Cora lifted a hand, tugging on the ends of her hair where they hung just below her earlobes. “It just needs a brush.”

  “Whoever cut it did a terrible job. Terrible.” Ana wrinkled her nose and then slipped her arm through Cora’s, leading her from the room. “Come. We have salon here. Javier likes us to look pretty for him.”

  A coldness washed over Cora. “Us?”

  But Ana just giggled, waving away the question with a slim hand. “You drink?”

  “A little.”

  “A lot,” Ana said, tugging her close and nestling her face into Cora’s shoulder. “It gets so boring here.” She poked Cora’s shoulder. “I teach you to drink. Just enough for fun, not enough for hang over.”

  Cora laughed. The sound arrived unexpectedly, and she immediately tamped it down, but Ana returned a sweet little giggle. “See? You always have fun with Ana.” Then the woman paused, made a serious face, and mimicked Javier’s deep voice. “You will always have fun with Ana.”

  They both burst out laughing, Cora leaning into the girl as they made their way through the villa, back the way they’d come.

  Dinner. It couldn’t be that far away—the sun had already slunk low into the horizon and seemed resigned to spending the night hidden from view behind the distant, jagged mountains. Finn could smell himself; sweat and dirty clothes. His room had a queen-sized bed, a small dressing room area with a closet full of generic, if well made, clothes of various sizes, shapes, and colors. And a fully-equipped en-suite bathroom.

  There were, in fact, no golden faucets in this one. But Finn had no doubt Javier’s own suite—perhaps even Cora’s—would have them. It had a marble hand basin. A marble tub with jets. And a shower spanning most of the opposite wall. The bathroom was tiled in jade and floored in gold-veined marble. It was so dark inside, he had to switch on the lights to see himself properly in the mirror.

  Then he wished he hadn’t, because he looked like shit.

  There was a razor in the cupboard. Shaving cream. Cologne. Nothing he’d ever used, but he could recognize the names. Paul Gaultier. Giorgio Armani. He hesitated, and then took one out. Sniffed.

  It probably cost what he made in a month. He tried to sneer, but he felt strangely resigned to the fact that this man had more money than he could wrap his head around.

  Crime paid. This palace was living proof. Javier’s polished teeth and gaudy rings, all proof.

  One of the Paco Rabannes didn’t smell too bad. Leathery and spicy. He set it on the basin and went back into the room to investigate the closet. There were several pairs of jeans inside, immaculately pressed, and a few button up shirts. Various sizes, and all but one pair of jeans too small for him. There were t-shirts, and one black in XL, which was a bit tight around his biceps but at least didn’t strain too much around his chest. He could wear his jacket over it, so it would work fine.

  There were even cotton boxers and briefs, still sealed in packaging. Socks, handkerchiefs, belts.

  You could arrive here a poor man and leave feeling like a king. Was that Javier’s intention? How many of the guests by the pool had rooms like these and how many lived in some squalid staff quarter hidden in the back of this palace?

  The shower felt better than anything—except perhaps his night with Cora—had for a long time. He wondered briefly if he was using up all the hot water, realized the man probably had on-demand heaters everywhere and solar to run it all, and stayed a few minutes longer.

  There was nothing he could do with his hair, but he shaved his face and splashed cologne on himself.

  Better. At least, when he said goodbye, Cora would remember this version of himself and not the grubby, sweaty version she’d been stuck with the past week.

  God, a week? It felt like a month. A fucking lifetime. And he had only a few hours left. Could he get her alone? Tell her some of those things he’d told her dead-cold body after he’d dragged her from the Rio Grande? What if he did, what would it matter? He would still have to leave. It would just make leaving her that much harder.

  No…came a low growl inside his head. We break the toy so no one else can play with it.

  He grabbed both sides of the sink and leaned over the basin, eyes closed and chest heaving until it felt it would burst.

  She’s ours. If we can’t have her—

  Finn searched hurriedly through his jacket, found his packet of mints, and slid two of them into his mouth. He severed them, sucking hard so the strong taste coated his mouth.

  The voice faded, but its sinister intentions clung to his mind like a slick of rancid oil.

  He had to leave. Not tomorrow. Not after dinner. Now.

  When he looked up into his reflection, his eyes glittered like one of Javier’s sapphire rings. Cold and brittle with resolve.

  30

  Hola

  He felt like a million bucks. Fuck it, he felt like a billionaire. Lars stretched at the window of his room, gazing out through the clear glass at the landscape below. This side of the villa looked out over distant, craggy mountains and desert scrub. Nothing moved down there, despite twilight drawing near and color-washing the horizon with pink and purple hues.

  Maybe it was the cologne. He was definitely going to shove a few of those into his pockets before he left. Maybe the shower, big enough for an orgy…with room to spare for some waiters in penguin suits.

  No gold faucets, though. That had been mightily disappointing. He’d really wanted to see some gaudy bathroom fittings. How could Javier proclaim to be a capo if he didn’t have—

  A knock at his bedroom door interrupted his thoughts. He swung around as the handle turned and Milo walked inside.

  “Almost glad you made me stay,” Lars said. He swept out his hands to take in the room. “I mean, fuck the Four Seasons. This is more like—”

  “We’re leaving.”

  Lars let his hands fall to his sides with a slap. “What, now? What happened to ‘dinner’ and ‘first thing in the morning,’” he said, putting air quotes around the words.

  Milo didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  “Fuck it.” He flicked his hand and went over to the dressing table where his jacket hung over the back of the chair. “Who wants to eat caviar on crackers anyway? God knows, champagne always gives me the runs.”

  “Lars—”

  “Don’t worry, Milo, I know my place.” He swung around to face Milo. “I’m at your fucking beck and call, master.”

  “Lars, I—”

  “You fucking nothing.” Lars charged for the door, sliding into his jacket. “Where’d they take our guns, you think?”

  He ripped open the door, startling the maid standing outside with one hand raised to knock. She was a small, petite thing, dressed in a cute little frock with a hat and everything. Latino…then again, why wouldn’t Javier hire illegals to work for him? He probably despised anyone who had paperwork. What criminal would want to associate himself with people that did things by the book?

  “Hola,” Lars said, stepping aside. He saw the bundle of fresh towels and sheets in her hands. “No need, miss. We’re leaving.”

  “Leaving?” Her eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, señor, I came as quick as—”

  “It’s not you,” he said, grabbing her shoulder and giving her a squeeze. “It’s him.” He used his chin to indicate in Milo’s direction and then sidled past the woman. “Now, if you can just show us to our weapons…”

  The maid stood in the threshold of his room, looking from him to Milo, who’d taken up a silent, brooding station by the foot of the bed.

  “Señor, please. You must stay.”

  “Had just about enough of people telling me what to do,” he said through his teeth. His jaw was starting to ache from how hard he clenched it. “Just show us our stuff, and we’ll get out of your hat.”

  The maid re
ached up to touch her little hat, and then scowled at him as if he’d insulted her. “No,” she said, sniffing and disappearing into the bathroom.

  Lars’s eyebrows almost touched his hairline. “Now this, Milo, this is what makes ordinary people start believing in shit like fate. Because right now, every fucking thing seems determined to have us stay here.”

  Milo let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I was being an idiot earlier.”

  “Ya think?” Lars snapped back. He came back inside the room, trying to keep his voice low and failing miserably. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be having a fucking vanilla shake right now, thanking fuck I’d never see Princess Cora again.”

  “I said I’m sorry.” Milo crossed his arms over his chest, which made his muscles seem even more pronounced than before. It looked like he’d also gone through his guest closet. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like he’d had as many choices as Lars, being a triple-x-l and all. That black t-shirt looked like he’d significantly shortened its lifespan.

  Lar’s dark jeans and button up shirt hung like someone had hand-tailored them for him. Then again, he’d always had a model’s body. He could never bulk up, no matter how hard he’d tried.

  Some of his anger deflated. It wasn’t that he was pissed at Milo…he was pissed at the chit of a girl who was messing with his friend’s head. That was why he wanted out of here. If he could just get Milo away, the guy could gather his fucking wits and be done with her.

  Then, as if his thoughts had been a signal, the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Whatever ambient light had infused his room died and the shadow grew more substantial.