As soon as the local police left his suite, Nigel poured a glass of whiskey and handed it to Erlea. “What a troublesome business. How are you holding up?”
Nigel’s avuncular act always put Erlea on alert. She sipped the drink casually, trying to project a calm she didn’t feel. “I’m fine. I just want to go unpack.”
“Soon. Let me just see if your new room is ready.” He opened the door and spoke to the hotel security guard standing sentry in the hall.
“Very soon, sir,” the guard reported. “She is on a different floor now, and only a select few have the number. May the house doctor come here in the meantime?”
“Certainly.” Nigel closed the door and turned back to Erlea.
“Nigel. I’m fine. I’m not letting some strange man examine me.”
Nigel set his own whiskey tumbler aside. “Just answer a few questions for him so he can check off the right boxes for the insurer.”
Of course. The insurance. Nigel needed her in top shape to get the rest of the show’s backers on board. No wonder he was being so solicitous. “Fine. Just give me some privacy.”
“Naturally. I’ll be in the bedroom, making some calls,” Nigel assured her. “Help yourself,” he added, gesturing to the tall bottle on top of the minibar.
A moment later, Erlea opened the door at the first knock, ready to dispatch the house doctor as quickly as possible. The terse words she had prepared for him vanished from her mind at the sight of a lovely blond woman in a white coat. “Hello?” she said instead, feeling stupid for being tongue-tied.
“Hello,” the woman said, her hand extended. “I am Dr. Guillot. Were you not expecting me? If this is a bad time…”
“No, sorry,” Erlea managed. “I mean, come in.” She stepped aside, as much to break the hold of those oceanic eyes as to make room. “Can I get you something?”
The doctor eyed the bar skeptically. “I don’t drink on duty. But thank you.”
“Right, of course. Water? Or there might be soda, or—” Erlea’s phone rang and she moved to silence it. But it was Imane calling, and Erlea didn’t want her hearing about this from someone else. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. Please have anything you like.”
Erlea turned her back on the distractingly attractive stranger and took the call. Before she could even say hello, Imane asked, “Are you all right?”
Too late. “I’m fine. Not even a scratch. It’s on the news already?”
“Some guy shot at you—how can you be fine? He shot at you.”
Erlea sighed. “Calm down. He only tried to. And it was a stunt, with a paint gun.”
“Really? Twitter said you were attacked by Basque separatists.” Imane sounded calmer but still anxious.
“Yelling a slogan and wearing the blue beret do not make you a real politico. It was just stupid, that’s all.”
Imane was silent briefly, then asked, “Did Nigel stage it?”
“Well, he wanted an entrance,” Erlea conceded. “But this is not the kind of publicity he likes. Anyway, now I have to answer some dumb insurance questions. I should go. I wish you were here already.”
“I’ll try to shave a few days off the wrap-up here,” Imane said. “You know I love you.”
Erlea smiled. “I love you, too. See you soon.” She turned back to the doctor, who had found herself an Orangina from the minibar. “Sorry about that. Let’s get this done and not waste any more of your time.”
“Don’t worry. Dumb insurance questions are very quick.” The doctor’s voice and expression didn’t give away her feelings, but Erlea swore her eyes looked stormy now. “Let’s start with your physical well-being. You were not injured?”
“Well, I got pushed out of the way when the asshole with the gun pointed it at me.” She wasn’t hurt, but Erlea couldn’t just let this woman walk out, insulted. “My arm is kind of sore, from trying to catch myself.”
“Okay, let’s take a look. Would you mind sitting?”
Erlea grabbed the chair from the nearby desk, then zipped off her leather jacket. She felt a bit exposed in just a tank top. Didn’t matter that this woman was a physician. Just knowing she was watching made Erlea feel buzzed. “Sure.”
“The other direction, please,” the doctor said, her French accent coming through her precise Spanish. “Your chest to the chair’s back.”
So Erlea straddled the chair, her hands draped over the top of the leather upholstery. “The left arm,” she said, deciding on the spot.
“Just let it hang, please. I am going to check your spine first.”
Warm fingers pressed firmly on either side of her neck, walking down the tight cords along the bone. Erlea stifled a hum.
“Let me know the instant anything hurts. Yes?”
“Mm-hmm.” Erlea breathed as slowly as she could, allowing her head to be tilted down, up, and side to side. The fingers gliding down her back, gentle and smooth, felt like a caress. When they reached her belt line and withdrew, she asked, “Nothing out of place?”
“No structural issues. May I manipulate your arm? Do not assist with your muscles.”
“Whatever helps, Doctor,” Erlea replied. Imane would tease her mercilessly if she could see her now, faking an injury to get a woman to touch her.
After an equally pleasant examination of her arm, interspersed with questions in a caring, professional tone, the doctor stepped away. “I can sign off that you have sustained no lasting injury.” She took a seat on the couch facing Erlea and sipped on her soda. “And you do not appear to be in shock. So the usual antidote is working.”
Erlea followed her gaze to the whiskey glass. “It doesn’t hurt. I will admit the guy scared me and the cops pissed me off. But your bedside manner is better than liquor. I’m sorry if I was rude.”
“No matter.” Above the white coat, pink bloomed on the doctor’s throat and cheeks. “I am happy to assist. And relieved that you are well.”
She’s blushing. Erlea felt her own face begin to heat and stood, seeking out her jacket. Feeling more composed with it on, she said, “You seem so familiar. Have we met?”
“That is a terrible line. Surely you can do better.” The teasing look turned sardonic. “You did the night we met. And you offered me a drink then, too.”
“Was I a total jackass?” A vision of herself plastered and hitting on this woman made her cringe. “I had to have been really drunk to not remember you.”
“You see? That is a much better line.” The Mona Lisa smile suggested forgiveness, the sparkle in her eyes the possibility of more.
Erlea stared back at her, all the clever comebacks fleeing when she needed them most. Why were the women she liked best the hardest to talk to?
A knock from Nigel’s bedroom broke their connection. “Everyone decent out there?”
“Enter,” the doctor replied, sounding again like the woman in charge. It suited her.
Nigel stepped out and gave them a quick scan. “Thank you for your prompt service, Doctor.” He shifted his attention to Erlea. “And speaking of which, security called. Your room is ready. You needn’t stay for the paperwork—we’ll handle it from here.”
“Right. Good.” Erlea zipped her jacket, scrambling for words that didn’t sound sleazy. “If I need anything…medical, can I call you?” Dork.
“Of course. Dial my office from any hotel phone. Good day.”
That was it, then. Erlea headed for the door, done embarrassing herself. She stopped, struck by an idea that had fled the moment she looked into those aquamarine eyes. “Nigel, I want to talk to that woman. The one who leaped off the balcony to protect me. Maybe she knows what this was really about.”
“I can’t imagine how,” Nigel replied. “But fine, yes. Give her a thank-you and an autograph. Have Alejandro video you being gracious.”
“That’s not making-of footage,” Erlea protested. “And I don’t want him lurking around with that camera, taping every fucking minute of my day.”
“Just the highlights,” Nigel promised. “Now go unwind. Tomorrow work begins.”
* * *
Celeste opened her office door to find Maji waiting inside, her smile strained.
“Sorry to sneak in. I needed a place to hide out again.”
Unsettled as she was by her office’s lack of security, Celeste was more concerned with Maji’s welfare. “How badly did you hurt yourself, jumping like that?”
“You heard already? That it was me?” Maji frowned, moving without her usual catlike grace to the exam table, her gait thrown off as she resisted putting weight on the right foot.
“It is normal to call in a physician after incidents like that.”
Maji settled herself on the raised bench, crinkling the paper coverlet. “Of course. Is the guy I jumped okay? I didn’t stay to check.”
“I don’t know. The police took him away before I was called.” Celeste unlaced Maji’s sneaker, thinking about her encounter with Erlea. Had the star found her as awkward as she felt? Had Erlea noticed the effect she had on her? And who was that on the other end of her phone, the one she said I love you to—a parent, a sibling, a boyfriend?
“Oh,” Maji said slowly, drawing the sound out. “Right. The star. Is she okay? I’m pretty sure she didn’t get hit in the confusion.”
Celeste gave her a stern look. “You know I cannot discuss my clients, even to confirm who they are. At any rate, you have nothing to feel bad about. Word is you were quite the hero.”
Maji didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch or make a noise as Celeste palpated the ankle, then the heel and arch of the foot, and finally the toes.
Celeste looked up at her, frowning. “It would be helpful to have an indication of which parts hurt. Before the swelling interferes with an accurate diagnosis.”
“Nothing feels broken,” Maji offered. “There’s just a sharp pain when I flex it. You want me to show you?” She made a move to sit up.
“No. Just stop being so damn stoic.” Celeste flexed Maji’s toes up and down, watching her face.
Maji shrugged. “Maybe I’m more French than you.”
“A smart-ass is what you are. Be serious for a bit.” Celeste rolled the foot gently clockwise, then counterclockwise, putting the ankle through its full range of motion. “Anything?”
Maji frowned. “Yeah. Go slow and I’ll say when it hits.”
“Very good,” Celeste said. “Do speak up.” She put her palm on the ball of Maji’s foot, cupping the heel with her other hand, and pressed the whole foot slowly and steadily toward her shin.
“There.”
Celeste eased the pressure off and repeated. “Here?”
Maji nodded, swallowing.
“If you are as stoic about pleasure as you are about pain, then I am glad we decided to be friends.”
Maji colored at the reminder. “So nothing’s broken, right?”
“In my opinion, no. But if you want an X-ray, I will refer you to the local hospital.”
Maji shook her head. “No offense, but I’m sick of doctors.”
Celeste rolled the chair back, giving her friend some space. “Then let’s talk about those pills. There are alternatives you should consider.”
Maji sighed. She’d been composing the story in her head all morning, trying to find the balance between truth and divulging classified information. “Yeah. I…thanks. Do you have anything to drink?”
Celeste left her with an ice pack and disappeared into the adjacent room. After a few minutes, she wheeled a metal instrument cart out with a full spread—teapot, real cups, cookies, and even a sandwich. “Et voilà. I cook here more than in the staff housing. My supplies there are not secure, even with my name on them.”
“Living with strangers can suck. No rooms in town?”
Celeste narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Oh no. You are too good at moving the light off of yourself. Now you begin your story wherever you like. Wait.” She removed the white coat. “Two friends talking, yes?”
“Sure.” Oddly, that did help. Maji reminded herself that Celeste had no connection to the Army, couldn’t get her in trouble no matter how much or little she told her. Still, less was better, and a little fabrication was warranted. “I have a high-risk job in personal security. Jumping toward jerks with guns is like instinct after years of protecting clients.” All true, if she thought of the high value targets, or HVTs, as clients. “A few months back, a job went sideways.”
“It went wrong?”
“It went very wrong. My team was hired to get a kidnapped woman back from some people known to kill their hostages even when ransom was paid. We had a good plan, but…we became hostages ourselves.”
Celeste waited quietly. Not letting me off the hook, huh? Maji picked a focus point on the wall before continuing.
“One of my team was killed, and all of us were beaten, deprived of food and water. The usual.” Except for the brandings. And roasting Palmer’s headless body like an animal. “We didn’t know if anyone would come to help, so we tried to escape.” Maji shifted her gaze to the second hand on the wall clock, watching it tick inexorably forward. She wished she could remember more—and less. “I lost control during the fight and hurt some people.” Killed, Rios. Killed people. Her throat closed on the words that wouldn’t come out.
Celeste took her hand, but Maji didn’t look to see the pity or fear or condemnation in her face. “You have seen someone for this? A counselor?”
Maji nodded. An Army captain had assured her she had followed the rules of engagement, according to the official debrief. That whatever memories came back as her brain rewired itself back into fighting shape were unreliable bits of information. That she’d acted like a good soldier and should let the rest go. Maji was pretty sure he really believed that. The chaplain they sent in was more interested in listening, but Maji had nothing to say to him. And the neuro rehab folks really just focused on function, so sleep mattered for the critical role it played giving the brain a chance to mend itself. Like maintenance cycles between sessions with the speech therapist, occupational therapist, and physical therapist. Too damn many therapists, and none of them called her on acting like a zombie. Maybe they didn’t care if she was dead inside. But Ava did. “Yes. Ava, Hannah’s wife.”
“Good. Did she give you the pills?”
“No. She doesn’t prescribe.” Unless you count forgiveness. They worked on baby steps, two forward and one back. “She would disapprove as much as you do.”
Celeste sighed. “I am not opposed to pharmaceuticals when they are needed. I disapprove only of you becoming dead or damaged in the brain from drugs administered without proper safeguards. Whatever you did, killing yourself will not help anyone.”
That sounded so much like Ava. She should go home already, try to be of use. Maji slumped over, exhausted at the very thought.
Celeste joined her on the examining table, one arm around her shoulders. “I am very sorry for what happened to you and your friends. Although this situation is outside of my experience, my practice is very mind-body oriented and quite successful with athletes. If you will let me, I can help you with the sleep and also calming while awake. Yes?”
If she were back at Fort Bragg instead of on leave, Maji would surely work with a performance consultant. All of Special Forces used them to help the soldiers literally keep their heads in the game. As long as Celeste stuck to helping her be able to sleep again and didn’t try to put her on a therapist’s couch, why not? “Sure. Thanks.”
An insistent tap came on the office door. “Doctor?” Sanxto’s unmistakable baritone.
“One moment.” Celeste leaned back and looked at Maji sympathetically. “Shall I hide you?”
Maji shook her head and blinked back the tears that often threatened but rarely fell. “Let him in.” She leaned back and elevated her leg, pushing the last of her emotions down and sealing them off.
“I knew it was you.” Santxo shouldered his way past Celeste. “How badly are you hurt?”
“Just a twisted ankle. What did you tell the press?”
Santxo smiled almost mischievously, his mustache and eyebrows lifting in unison. “That we have excellent plainclothes security. And that the police would confiscate their cameras for evidence if they hung around to learn more.”
“How did he even get a gun in here?” Celeste asked.
Reasonable question, Maji thought. Also, is my face on camera now? Will it be in the news?
“It was a paint gun,” Santxo replied. “Plastic.”
Maji groaned. “So I saved a celebrity from a trip to the dry cleaner?”
Santxo shrugged. “And now the police wish to speak with you.” He turned to Celeste. “In private. You will be so kind as to loan us your office?”
Celeste looked unsure.
“I’m fine. Really.” Maji thought of Reimi. “But if you could give a note to a friend of mine? She may be worried about me.” She scribbled: Reimi, blackjack dealer. Maji fine.
An odd look flitted across Celeste’s face as she deciphered Maji’s scrawl. “I’m sure she will be very relieved.”
Before he let the police investigator in, Santxo said, “Now, don’t let this guy intimidate you. We served together in the military, and I know him well. Our wives are friends, but he…well. Always knows better than everyone else, like that Brit who manages Erlea. He contacted me last week, wanted to make sure we had security for a celebrity of her caliber. As if she’s our first. Tried to tell me how to do my job. Is it my fault some fans send her terrible messages? No. And they are not the ones who we must watch out for, anyway. No, it is the quiet ones like this man pretending to have a political cause.”
Maji held up a hand to pause him. “Pretending?”
* * *
Celeste led Maji through the back hallways to a service entrance. Like Reimi’s tour in reverse, minus the hand-holding. Maji was beginning to build a map of the non-public parts of the building in her mind—training become habit, turned to distraction. So what are you avoiding?
Oh, right. She’d sell a kidney for a good night’s sleep. “Thanks for your help. Last night and today.”
“Happy to help, my friend.”
“Yeah, well.” Maji paused. “I won’t take anything tonight. What do you recommend instead?”
Celeste stopped before a set of doors, glancing through the windowpanes before speaking quietly. “I can teach you a number of techniques for quieting the mind. And there are supplements—they need to be ordered online but in a few days can be here. Tonight, do you have anything you can hold? Preferably with a scent that comforts you.”
What am I, four years old? “No, I don’t really have a blankie.” Maji followed Celeste’s gaze through the door to Reimi smoking by the exit. Maji raised one eyebrow suggestively. “But our mutual friend smells nice.”
Celeste scowled at her. “And I’m sure she would…accommodate…you. But a kick in the night would not be a suitable thank-you.”
“No. No it wouldn’t.” Maji stared at her shoes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I try to sleep alone.”
“Hey,” Celeste said, touching her arm. “You didn’t know I was there. Don’t beat yourself up. Besides, I don’t think Reimi is the staying-over type.”
Maji searched Celeste’s face for judgment, but found none. “I’ll look for something on the boat that might work. And take a run in the evening.”
“Yes, good. A full exercise an hour or two before you lie down. And do not expect sleep to come right away. Just rest and direct your mind to something pleasant. A place you like, a joyful time. Plan to visit there while you sleep. But don’t force it—relax yourself.”
“Without drugs or whiskey.”
“Of course. But if exercise does not release enough endorphins, try self-pleasure.” Celeste nodded toward the door. “You can have Reimi all night in your imagination.”
Maji fished for an appropriate comeback. “You follow your own prescription, Doctor? With, let me guess, someone salvaje.”
Celeste blushed. “The advice is medically sound, and my fantasies are off-limits. Now I should go back to the office. Stop by tomorrow?”
“Right after my command appearance with the queen bee.” Maji smiled at Celeste’s bafflement. “Erlea means bee in Euskara, the Basque language. I looked it up. Anyway, it’s some thank-you thing. Want an autograph?”
“No, no. Not I. Enjoy the brush with greatness, yes? You earned her gratitude, paint gun or no.” Celeste left her at the exit with a kiss on each cheek.
When she spotted Maji, Reimi’s face lit up. “Thank goodness. I heard you were well, but I hoped to see for myself.”
“The doctor promises I’ll live to tell the story. Thank you for the behind-the-scenes tour.”
“I couldn’t leave you out there on the sidewalk with such excitement inside. I would gladly show you more, if it were not against the house rules.” Reimi gave her a kiss on both cheeks, casual as female friends all over Spain. But she only stepped back a fraction, keeping close eye contact.
Maji felt herself flush and caught a hint of satisfaction in Reimi’s eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble.”
“You are capable of handling trouble.” Reimi ran a fingernail lightly down Maji’s bicep and smiled enticingly. “Are you sure you won’t change to a game I don’t deal?”
“I can’t. I’m playing for money, not for fun.”
Reimi stroked Maji’s forearm lightly. “Myself, fun is all I seek. No harm in that, is there?”
“Not if that’s all two consenting adults both want.”
Reimi smiled and continued caressing her arm, creating a pleasant tingle. “There are so many other pleasures to enjoy here. The beaches, the ocean, the sun on your skin.”
Hannah’s offer popped into Maji’s head. “As soon as I can afford to give up the game, I’ll definitely let you know.”
Reimi drew her in, someplace between a slow dance and a hug. The softness of her breasts and hips pressing against Maji’s own lit up all the nerves in her body at once. It was hard to hold back the urge to claim the lips so close to hers. But if Maji broke the house rules, one of them would pay. And she wasn’t that kind of player.
“Promise?” Reimi whispered against Maji’s neck, her warm breath a caress.
Maji sighed. “Promise.”
Reimi chuckled and pushed herself away.