Double Down Page 5

  “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.

  Chapter Five

  Maji found her way to the backstage door in the dim morning by the utility lights mounted near the CCTV cameras. She put her sweatshirt’s hood up, shielding her face. With the hoodie, old jeans, and running shoes, she might be mistaken for crew, but not for the star of the show. If she met Erlea in person, Celeste would enjoy the story. If not, she’d at least get to see the inside of the theater. Assuming she got in.

  Maji knocked on the heavy door, watching the roadies moving equipment in through the nearby loading dock. They paid her no mind.

  “Morning,” she said to a man in a long-sleeved T-shirt as he passed her. He grunted a greeting in return, not looking up from his path to the loading dock. She left the unattended stage door and followed him in, skirting around a man and woman rolling gear in heavy black cases off the large truck.

  Maji scanned the backstage area and picked a direction to wander. Curious to see the fancy theater from a performer’s point of view, she passed between the two sets of curtains in the wings and walked to center stage. A runway extended out into the middle of the high-roller seats.

  Out past the orchestra level, near the doors leading to the audience lobby, Maji expected to spot a control booth. Nope. She scanned the box seats to the sides, then the upper and lower balcony seats in the middle. An impressive place, with more than two thousand seats for sure. Plenty of ticket revenue with a more controllable crowd than in a stadiu
m. Sweeping her view up to the ceiling, Maji finally found the control center, a glass-fronted pod suspended over the upper balcony. Space-age. The electronics probably were, too.

  “Coffee stage right, love,” someone said in English with a British accent. “Pour me a tall one and find me in the do shop.”

  Maji turned to see who had spoken to her and watched a lanky frame in fashionably distressed denim, with a shock of platinum fauxhawk, disappear into the wings without looking back. Intrigued, Maji bypassed the coffee table and looked for movement beyond the curtains. A door clicked shut down the hallway and she headed for it. The handwritten sign Do Shop below the permanent Hair and Makeup stenciled on the door in Spanish made her smile. She knocked.

  “Door’s open,” came the familiar voice.

  Maji pushed through and surveyed the chaos. “How do you like your coffee? Other than tall.”

  Fauxhawk looked up from unloading cases of cosmetics and his jaw dropped. A narrow jaw on an aquiline face with a fluorescent green goatee, which Maji noted matched his nails.

  She gave him her open, nonthreatening look. “I’m not press, I promise. Erlea asked to see me this morning, but nobody seems to be around. Is it still too early?”

  He straightened up and looked down at her. “Not too early for working folk. But you might as well get a cuppa and put your feet up in here.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Maji backed out and the door swung shut behind her. Maybe one of the croissants on the coffee table was chocolate. Or ham and cheese. The Spanish put ham in everything, with cheese as an extra bonus. Maybe she should grab one of each.

  Returning to the do shop juggling two mugs and a plate with three croissants, Maji pushed the door open with her shoulder. “Where can I stay out of your way?”

  “Take any seat,” he answered, not pausing his progress in organizing an impressive array of containers on the counter.

  Maji turned one of the padded pedestal chairs to face him and sat with the plate balanced on her knees. She sipped the coffee and savored the chocolate croissant quietly, watching him efficiently create order.