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  “Nigel,” Erlea protested. “There’s no need to threaten Maji. She put herself in harm’s way for me.”

  “Oh, please. A political stunt. It was bound to happen, what with the peace talks looming on the horizon. We should go over your talking points for the press.”

  Erlea acknowledged Maji’s evident confusion and curiosity. “My father is Arturo Echeverra. A rather famous Basque separatist.”

  “Was, dear,” Nigel corrected in a tone that made Maji cringe.

  “If you have proof he’s dead, Nigel, I’d love to see it,” Erlea retorted.

  Nigel sniffed. “Apparently those ETA types have doubts, too, if they’re trying to get his attention through you.”

  “That idiot was not ETA,” Erlea said.

  “And you would know this how?” Nigel countered.

  Erlea looked incredulous. “Because I grew up with them. I may have been a kid, but I know how they act, how they talk, even how they think.”

  “Then you should be more concerned with your safety than with the paparazzi,” Nigel replied.

  “He’s right,” Maji said, hating to agree with him. “The Gran Balearico’s security is not adequate for you. You need a professional review by a third party to tell the resort what to upgrade.”

  Erlea looked intrigued.

  But Nigel’s nostrils flared. “And you would know this how?”

  “Mr. Winterbottom, personal security for high-profile individuals is my field.” Maji suppressed a smile. It was true. She wondered if Hannah’s agreement to help one friend would extend to two, plus using her for a tidy little job like this. Hopefully. “If you’re interested, I can give you references, a quote, whatever you need.”

  “That sounds like an unnecessary expense. The hotel is providing security, after all.”

  Erlea coughed pointedly. “Like they did in the lobby? Thank God it wasn’t a real gun.”

  “I’m not trying to undermine Mr. Quintana or his staff, Mr. Winterbottom,” Maji said. How had she gotten so invested, so fast? Hero complex, Rios. “But the truth is, practically anyone can get into the theater, the rooms, the kitchen, or the parking area here. Security staff follow normal protocols for a casino resort of this caliber, but they’re concerned mainly with normal economic threats—gamblers who beat the house, dealers who collude, guests missing their jewelry, rooms missing their fluffy towels. Sure, they use CCTV like everyone in the EU. But all the closed-circuit cameras in the world won’t keep an intruder at a safe distance. And keeping Erlea in one place for months means you should take the threats she receives more seriously, not less.”

  The color draining from Nigel’s face told Maji her guess had hit home. He glared at Erlea. “What have you told her?”

  “I didn’t say a word,” Erlea replied. “But I will, if you don’t take her seriously.”

  Nigel breathed slowly, his aquiline nose flaring again with the effort. “Have your proposal ready for my review tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Celeste jumped when the phone on her desk rang. She paused the music video on the large desktop monitor. “Dr. Guillot. How may I help you?”

  “Doctor, are you in your office?”

  “Yes, Santxo. That is where the office phone rings.” Celeste blinked at the frozen image of Erlea on the screen. Maybe it was time to stop hiding out here. She could forward the phone to her mobile, wear her pager, and get out more.

  “Of course, of course. What I meant was, do you have a patient in there?”

  “No. I am alone. What can I help you with?”

  “I have great news,” he said. And the office door opened, the frame filling with his beaming figure. He spotted the monitor before Celeste could black it out. “Oh, good, you are doing your research.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Learning about the prior tours, getting prepared for any medical issues that might arise,” Santxo explained. “Like watching the training tapes and competitions for your athletes.”

  Celeste fiddled with the computer to cover her shock. What had management told security about her troubles? She didn’t want to discuss them with Santxo, but she was done hiding them. Calling in sick after Adrienne hit her, covering the bruises with makeup, fabricating excuses to decline social invitations—old behaviors. But her work… “My athletes, yes. What about them?”

  Santxo looked sheepish. “I am sorry. You are on sabbatical, I shouldn’t have brought it up. But with the dancers and all, this just seems so perfect for your expertise.”

  “This what? What is this great news?”

  “Oh. Yes.” He pulled himself to his full height to make the announcement. “They want medical supplies backstage.”

  “I see. And they should have first aid materials on hand. Wraps, ice, the usual. So?”

  “So perhaps they will need you.” His smile vanished. “Unless that is what you are on vacation from, dealing with sports injuries.”

  “I think, my friend, you have the wrong idea about my normal practice.”

  “But you are a physician. And you work with athletes. Your website says so.” He looked puzzled. “And the testimonials, from Olympians and prima ballerinas and—”

  “Yes. All that is true. I did start in traditional sport medicine, sending injured athletes to proper rehabilitation. But the interesting part was how they dealt with their recovery. I got additional training and now specialize in the mental aspects of performance.”

  “You mean all that visualization business? See the ski slope, feel yourself making all the slalom turns, win the gold?”

  She chuckled. “Close enough. But I can help them stock bandages and splints, for now.”

  “They will be pleased. And if you told them about your success with famous athletes…”

  “Santxo. I am on sabbatical from dealing with the rich and famous, remember?”

  His posture drooped. “Of course. Are they very demanding, the big name players?”

  “Some are very self-absorbed. Some are humble and just driven, hard on themselves. Like everyone, I guess. A mixed bag.”

  “Hmm. I wonder which type Erlea is.” Santxo brightened. “Perhaps you will find out. And then tell me.”

  * * *

  Erlea cleared a corner of the stage-side coffee table and sat to review Alejandro’s spreadsheet of tasks and timelines. The kid was turning out to be an ideal production assistant, super organized and the polar opposite of Nico in personality. Fresh out of school, he deferred to everyone on the crew. In time he’d learn to draw clearer lines, say no when appropriate. But on the technical side he was nearly as meticulous as his boss, asking all the right questions and taking thorough notes. This one about her doing aerials in one number, though…whatever he had in mind, some other dancer could fill that role. And where was he this morning?

  Erlea dialed his mobile.

  “At your service,” Alejandro answered. Perky as always. Did he say that to everyone, or just her? If he started fawning, she’d have to nip that in the bud.

  “Where are you? I want to run through the set list again.”

  “Of course. I went to the airport. We’ll be at the theater in three minutes—no, two. Make that—”

  The door by the loading dock banged open and Imane appeared seconds later. “Erlea, darling. Always the worker bee. Put that thing down and hug me already.”

  Erlea grinned, closed the laptop, and ran to her old friend. Imane’s long arms enveloped her, and Erlea squeezed back. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  “Not as much as I’ve missed you,” Imane said. “How long since we’ve been on the same continent, much less the same city?”

  Erlea stepped back to meet her gaze. “Too long.” The beads in Imane’s hair clinked together as they touched cheeks, and Erlea swatted at them, thinking of her cat. “Love these. Nico will probably say something hateful though. Ignore him or punch him, I don’t care.”

  Imane squinted down at her. “Oh, seriously? His reputation is earned then.”

 
; “On the best-shows-ever side, we’ll see. But for Asshole of the Year, no competition. I swear he’s driving me to drink.”

  “As if you needed anyone’s help with that.” Imane smiled to take the sting from her words and slung an arm over Erlea’s shoulders. “We’ll show him. Don’t you worry.”

  “What do you think of the theater?” Erlea asked, hoping Imane would find the space suitable for her signature choreography, a blend of modern dance and Cirque-style acrobatics. That Imane had put other projects on hold to finally work with her meant the world.

  “It’ll do.”

  “Staying here for an extended run, we can do things with the set and rigging that a concert tour would not permit,” Alejandro piped in. “Within limits, of course—bearing in mind the risks of repetitive stress and sheer physical fatigue for the performers.” He caught himself, coloring. “But why am I telling you this?”

  Because you want to impress her, silly boy, Erlea thought. “Perhaps you’ve caught the mansplaining bug from Nico. I hear it can be cured, if you catch it early.”

  Imane just shook her head at Erlea. “Really, I’ve missed you more.”

  “Not possible,” Erlea countered. “Alejandro, show her the set list. I want to know what will really work here. And after the residency, what we should scale back for touring.”

  Alejandro fished a folder from his shoulder bag and handed it over, blushing. “I made you a welcome packet.”

  Imane scanned the notes in the color-coded information packet. “Mostly your top hits, eh? Playing it safe. I wish you’d include those two I love from your first album. I have some ideas for them.”

  “Ready to hear them any time.” Alejandro held his tablet in both hands.

  Imane glanced over the sheaf at him, a little smile playing on her purpled lips. “Soon. What cities do you have lined up?” she asked Erlea.

  “Nigel has a list, but he hasn’t locked in any venues. Says we might extend our run here, give us more time to engineer the live album from the new show.”

  Imane raised one skeptical brow. Erlea knew how her friend felt about Mr. Bait and Switch and hoped she knew better than to say it in front of Alejandro. Sweet as he was, he still reported to both Nico and Nigel.

  “And the making-of video,” Alejandro added. “I’ll be filming bits of rehearsals, that sort of thing. But I promise you’ll never even know I’m—”

  “There you are,” Nico bellowed from the wings, sounding aggrieved as usual.

  All three of them turned to face him.

  Alejandro put on a face that showed he was used to placating difficult people. “Yes, we made good time from the airport, and I already have some notes—”

  “You don’t take notes from them,” Nico interrupted.

  Imane extended a hand. “You must be the legendary Nico. I’m—”

  “I know who you are. When we’ve got lights and sets ready, you can bring your dancing boys out to play. For now, you two get off my stage.”

  “Your stage?” Erlea felt Imane’s hand on her arm, a gentle reminder to curb her temper.

  “My boys arrive in three days,” Imane said without a trace of irritation showing. “And when will the aerialists get here?”

  “Who the fuck knows? They are pleading some business with visa issues. Like always, they want to work here but don’t want to follow the rules to get here.”

  Erlea bristled at his tone and insinuation. Barcelona might be an official refuge city, but that didn’t stop the prejudice toward outsiders. She’d lost her tolerance years ago for the micro-aggressions Imane faced every day. Erlea took a deep breath, ready to crucify him.

  But her friend jumped in first, with her usual aplomb. “I’m sure it will work out soon. If you give me their contact information, perhaps I could help.”

  Nico snorted. “Of course. Who understands a harraga better than another—”

  “That’s enough,” Erlea spat at him, stepping between her friend and Nico, her face so close to his that he instinctively took a step back. The distance only gave her room to charge up.

  “Cool down,” Imane cautioned her. “He’s not worth it.”

  “Damn right,” Erlea agreed, still glaring at Nico. “You’re not worth it, you ignorant asshole. You know how many people wouldn’t work this show when they heard you were stage-managing? And I’ve already lost two, not counting my assistant.”

  “She hardly counts,” he replied. “Replaceable as your precious roadies.”

  “Everybody on my crew counts,” Erlea snapped back. “It’s my name on the show, and they rise or fall with me. They trust me and I need people I can trust in return. You drive any more off, and we’ll do the show without you.”

  Nico crossed his arms over his chest. “Then you’ll all fall together. I’d like to see you pull off a show this ambitious with anyone else in the industry today. I’m irreplaceable. Nigel can see that, even if you’re too blinded by love and stardust to see anything in the real world.”

  “This is my real world, you arrogant prick. And my people. Either you treat them with respect or you go. Try me, Nico. Just try me.”

  * * *

  Celeste watched from the wings, frozen by the ferocity in Erlea’s tone. Despite having excellent Spanish, the heated exchange was a bit too fast for Celeste to follow completely. She caught the word harraga, a slur for Algerian immigrants. Was the woman Erlea shielded with her body North African? Perhaps. And gorgeous. Did Erlea stand up for all of her crew this way, or was this woman special?

  Either way, Erlea in protector mode was electric. Celeste let herself soak in the details of Erlea’s physique, aware even as she did so that her assessment was not clinical. Where Maji was all hard angles and wiry muscle, Erlea had a bit more softness, a curviness that Celeste found quite alluring. Plus that sultry voice.

  Nico turned away from Erlea and noticed Celeste witnessing the charged interaction. “You.” All eyes shifted to her. “Are you the medic? About time you showed up.”

  Apparently the lecture on respect hadn’t sunk in. “I am Dr. Guillot, the house physician. I understand you requested assistance with medical supplies.”

  “Talk to the boy,” he said, then literally snapped his fingers. “Alejandro.”

  The young man stepped forward, offering Celeste a handshake and looking apologetic. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Guillot.”

  Nico strode off, and seconds later a slammed door reverberated through the stage floor. Celeste smiled uncertainly at the trio. “If this is a bad time…”

  “With Nico, every minute is a bad time.” Erlea sighed and looked to the tall graceful woman. “I’m sorry. You know me.”

  The woman gave her a wink. “Don’t ever change, love.” To Celeste she added, “Erlea means bee, you know. And she can sting.”

  “Yes,” Celeste said. “So I hear. And I thought your singing voice was powerful.”

  “Thanks,” Erlea said, shifting uncomfortably. “This is Imane, our choreographer, and you’ve met Alejandro.” When Imane winked at the young man and snapped her fingers, Erlea scowled. “It’s not funny.”

  “Laugh or cry, my dear Doña Quixote,” Imane replied with obvious affection. “If your words were lances…”

  “He’d be dead. But if I started with him, where would I ever stop?” Erlea shook her head. “And I shouldn’t admit this to a physician, but now I really need a smoke.”

  Celeste laughed, charmed despite the tension still roiling in the pit of her stomach. “Understandable. But if you decide to quit, remember I am here to assist.”

  “Can you find me a stage manager who isn’t a racist or a misogynist? One must exist.”

  “That’s outside my realm, I’m afraid. I have only nicotine patches to offer.” Courage, Celeste. That’s not all you have. “And some well-tested techniques for dealing with stress and anxiety.” Damn—that wasn’t supposed to sound flirty. Why was it so hard to act professional? She was a doctor, not a hormone-addled adolescent.

 
Imane smirked. “I bet you do. Do you make house calls?”

  Erlea blushed, and Celeste felt herself color as well, gratified to see her reaction and embarrassed by how much it pleased her. “I have an office here.”

  “May I come see you? Or others on the crew?” Alejandro asked. Bless him.

  “Of course,” Celeste responded. “All resort guests are welcome, although my resources are limited. I should give you local hospital information, in addition to advice on supplies.”

  “Excellent.” Alejandro gave Erlea and Imane a little nod, as if totally at home with the power couple. Were they a couple? There were rumors about Erlea and women, but the media always photographed her with men. Not that Celeste should care. She wasn’t in the market for a celebrity of any stripe.

  “We won’t forget you’re available,” Imane said, nudging Erlea.

  “Yes, thanks,” Erlea said, shifting again from one foot to another.

  As they walked away, Celeste couldn’t help but grin. She’s bashful. Not from a thousand videos would Celeste ever have gleaned that insight. And now, just like that, Erlea was a person. Brave for others. But also shy. Surprising—and sweet.

  * * *

  “Your boat is so charming,” Celeste said as she laid her silverware aside, full of fresh fish and salad. A crisp white wine would have made the meal perfect. But with the sedatives issue, perhaps it was best that Maji had no alcohol on board her little boat. “And the days finally feel longer. I love spring. And your magnificent yacht.”

  “I’m glad you like her.” Maji gathered up the plates with a nod to the sunset. “Can’t take credit for that. But I have an offer for you. Tea?”

  “How can I resist?”

  Down in the cozy cabin, Maji put the kettle on and leaned back against the cabinets that stored everything away so neatly. “I may be off the boat for a few days. If you like, you’re welcome to use it.”

  “Oh, but I love the dorms so. My cheese never spoils. At least not the expensive kind—the mice are very discerning.” Seeing Maji’s uncertainty, Celeste abandoned the attempt at humor. “Yes, I’d love the privacy. Thank you. Starting when?”