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 curtain 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—”
“Kiss me.”
“I don’t want to push you into anything you—”
Celeste pressed a finger to Erlea’s lips. “Kiss me.”
Erlea put two fingers under Celeste’s chin and gently raised it, leaning in toward her. She stopped just shy of touching her mouth to Celeste’s, still afraid the incredible pull she felt was one-sided. Celeste’s fingers running through her hair at the base of her skull, pulling her in to make a perfect fit of their mouths and then their bodies, erased all doubt.
Erlea opened up to her, riding the high of Celeste’s hunger. She slid a hand down Celeste’s back to the curve of her hip and snugged her closer, sinking her weight so she wouldn’t topple them both. Who was humming? Must be her—Celeste’s little noises were more like moans, increasing in intensity as the kiss deepened. A harmony to her melody.
A clattering from the kitchen tugged at Erlea’s awareness, an irritation. But Celeste stiffened in her arms, pulled Erlea’s head back with a gentle tug on her hair that only felt erotic, not painful. “No,” Celeste breathed.
Erlea searched her eyes, trying to see beyond the desire on the surface. “Are you okay?”
“No. I want so much more.” Celeste shuddered. “And I’m not ready. I need to be me again. I can’t do this—not now.”
She looked so anguished that Erlea wanted to hold her, to make it better, to convince her to take a chance. But instead she stepped back, gently removing Celeste’s hands from her hair and holding them in the space between them. “Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m sorry,” Celeste said, rubbing her thumbs across Erlea’s knuckles. “I really am so attracted to you. And I want to get to know you, to spend time with you. Not just in bed. But—”
“You’re not ready. I get that. No need to apologize.”
Celeste nodded, and Erlea still felt the pull between them. “I should go check on Maji,” Celeste said, but she didn’t move.
“Yeah,” Erlea agreed. But if Celeste didn’t stop looking at her with those eyes, they’d surely be kissing again any second. Erlea wrenched her gaze away, stepped back, and picked up her guitar. “I’ll play for you soon.”
She heard Celeste make her good-byes with Imane, then both doors clicking shut between the rooms.
Imane came out and took the seat near where Erlea sat, strumming without noticing the tune. “What did you do to her?”
“Kissed her.”
Imane laughed. “Finally. Wait, should I leave?”
“No. She’s not coming back.” At least not tonight. “Could you stay with me awhile?”
“Uh-oh. Don’t tell me you’re sorry.” Imane paused. “Was it bad?”
“No. It was perfect. Worth waiting for.”
* * *
From her favorite box seat, Maji watched Erlea fly toward the wall, singing as she went, and come back to the stage in a soft landing that fit the music almost perfectly. When Dave slipped into the seat next to hers, she looked at him sideways. “I’m officially cleared to work again.” Three days of sitting around was more than plenty. “You can stop checking on me.”
“Great news,” Dave said, keeping his eyes on the rehearsal. “But I came to check on this. Pretty cool.”
Imane called lunch and the dancers began to disperse.
“That’s it for a while,” Maji said. “Any updates?”
“Yeah,” Dave replied. “Hey, look—she’s going again.”
Maji watched as Erlea found her placement, ran for the wall, and moved through the air while singing a cappella. The wall didn’t fall away as usual, and she bounced off it, flailing back to the stage.
While Imane rushed over to her, Dave raised both arms like the barrel of a rifle and sighted down them to the spot where Erlea had hit the wall. “Winterbottom’s a criminal genius.” He mimed firing a shot and laid his imaginary rifle down with a smile. “At least he thinks he is.”
“No fucking way,” Maji said.
“Yes fucking way,” Dave replied as Erlea limped offstage with her arm over Imane’s shoulders. “Romero fed the National Police the idea that Echeverra is staying on the island to see his daughter perform just once before he heads off to the peace talks. Aguilar wants to nab him on opening night, and Nigel suggested they shoot her down during the finale.”
“And I suppose Romero wants to catch them all in the act?” Maji asked.
“Makes the case against Aguilar and Perez really solid,” Dave acknowledged. “Plus, don’t you want to see a solid case against Nigel?”
“Not if he kills Erlea in the process.”
“We’re working on that. Thinking some costume modifications, along the lines of that jacket you wore at Real Cartuja.”
Maji glared at him. “No. What if the sniper takes a head shot? Or hits her in the vest, but she’s injured. This is her career and her life, Dave. She’s a civilian, for Chrissake.”
“I hear you. What if we could sub their sniper for one of our best?”
That would help. But so many things could go wrong, using a civilian as a moving target. Erlea had enough trouble with the flying bungee without that kind of stress added. “That helps on our end. But Erlea is a wild card, and it’s not fair to ask her. Use me instead.”
Dave laughed at her. “What are going to do, lip-synch?” When her silence made it clear she wasn’t joking, he added, “No, Rios. This is your first time back in the field, and you’re banged up already. I’m not risking you.”
“Dave, I respect that you are team lead on this op. But if you put Erlea in danger, I will go over your head. And Cohen will tell the colonel I’m ready.” At least, Hannah had better.
“Look, I don’t like risking a civilian any more than you do. I’ll run it by Command myself, get clearance to use you.” He frowned. “And please don’t bother Cohen right now. I heard she lost her wife recently.”
“No. Ava’s sick. That’s all.” It had to be. “They’ve been through this before.” Maji stood. She needed to call Hannah. No, that would get Hannah in trouble and if Ava was in the hospital again, she didn’t need any more trouble. “I have to find Celeste.” Before she caught her flight.
“Hey,” Dave said, grabbing her arm. “Maybe I misunderstood.”
Maji shook him off. “Damn right you did. And now I have to get my head clear on this.”
“Rios,” Dave said, starting to follow her. “Where you going?”
“Marina. I need to hear for myself.” She looked back at him. “Just give me an hour.”
Dave nodded. “An hour. Don’t blow your cover.”
Maji called Celeste from the car park as she climbed on Reimi’s bike. “Call Bubbles right now. And stay there. I’m coming to you.”
Celeste was waiting in the cockpit. When Maji flipped her face screen up, she told her, “Your friend Bubbles’s number just keeps going to voicemail.”
Maji swung herself over the rail and climbed down into the cabin, whacking the helmet on the low ceiling as she tugged it off her head. “Try Ava’s line.”
Celeste dialed and put her phone on speaker. An automated voice intoned, “This number is no longer operable. If you need a provider—”
Maji swayed and caught herself on the counter. No. Ava would never quit practice. Maji tried to dial, but her hands shook. She gave her phone to Celeste. “Try Bubbles again.”
This time the phone rang twice before a man’s voice answered. “Maji?”
“Yes,” was all Maji could manage.
“Hey, it’s Rey Martinez.” Bubbles’s husband. “La Bubbles is out cold. It’s been like that all week. Losing Ava is crushing her. I’m doing what I can, but…Wait. You are off duty, right?”
“No,” Maji said. And then it was all she could say, over and over. She felt Celeste against her, drawing her head to her chest.
Celeste kept speaking with Rey, her voice low. Maji couldn’t make the words fall into order, make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. Maji closed her eyes and shut the world out.
* * *
Celeste left Maji below deck to speak with Dave in the cockpit. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who else to call.”
He nodded. “I got her. Could have avoided this if I’d fucking known they were family.”
“How did you not? Ava was very dear to her. How big is this company you two work for?”
“Big. Rios and I only met once before. And it’s the kind of work where you don’t want the guys thinking you got your job due to any kind of favoritism.”
“I don’t think I like security work,” Celeste muttered. “Medicine has enough politics.”
“Yeah, well. Is that your taxi?”
Celeste spotted the cab on the drive, heading for her dock. “I could stay here, delay my job start.”
Dave shook his head. “I got her. And I’ll tell the others. You go on.”
“I’ll call her when I get settled in.” It felt like much too little to Celeste.
“Yeah,” Dave said. “She’ll want to know you’re safe. Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t answer her phone for a few days. Just keeping leaving messages.”