Double Down Page 8

  “Probably tomorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”

  “That’s very generous of you. Would you like me to stay here tonight?”

  “No strings.” Maji pinked up beneath her deep tan. “That’s not why I offered.”

  “No, not like that. I meant only to watch over you. You are trying to sleep without the sedative, yes?”

  “Right, of course. That’s sweet, but I’ll be okay. I ran your suggestions by Ava and she approved.”

  “What a handy friend to have. Does she help with your work?”

  Maji shook her head. “Not officially. Ava has her own practice, but she’s also married to my boss. I spent a lot of time with them growing up and saw what they both did to help people. They inspired me to channel my teenage angst into doing some good instead of just raising hell.”

  “Well, they sound like excellent role models.”

  Maji gave her a self-deprecating smile. “At least I picked up the jumping on bad guys part.”

  “Another similarity you and Erlea seem to share. You really should have seen her today.”

  “The way you told it, I feel like I was there. And you do a great Nico the Horrible impression.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I had the pleasure of meeting him when I went to collect my celebrity thank-you note.”

  “I’m sorry, then. He is so aggressive. Frankly, I’m surprised Erlea showed such restraint.” Surprised and impressed. A star like her could get away with terrible behavior, and even Celeste would have been tempted to strike him. But Erlea had made her body a shield, and then used words. And her threats sounded appropriate, protective of her friends and business interests. Just the kind of person you would want on your side.

  “Well, she’s a black belt, right?”

  Celeste sensed a theme. “You said something about that the other day. But you never explained.”

  Maji paused, gathering her thoughts. “Well, don’t use me as an example, but martial arts train discipline—restraint. At best, to master the lizard brain. At the least, to never start a fight or use force for punishment. If Erlea really earned a belt in Aikido, then she’s had years to learn to hold her own without resorting to violence.”

  “Ah. I had not thought of it that way.”

  Maji gave her a rueful smile. “Yeah, well, it’s not what you see in the movies. Fight scenes look a lot cooler than walking away does. And in real life, hurting people is easier, too.”

  “Hey, don’t be so rough on yourself,” Celeste said, slipping out from the little dinette table to give Maji a hug.

  Maji held on tightly a moment, then sighed and spoke into Celeste’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Celeste loosened her hold and started to step back. As she turned her head to reply, her lips brushed Maji’s cheek, the unintentional contact tantalizing. Why was she hung up on an unobtainable celebrity, when this attractive woman was right in front of her? Celeste grasped Maji’s jacket and leaned in.

  Maji tensed all over and stepped to the side, scraping the cabinets at her back. “I’m sorry.” She blinked rapidly, staring past Celeste.

  The clear signs of trauma kicked Celeste into doctor mode. She backed up, put her hands in plain view. “You are safe. Are you all right?”

  “No.” Maji thumped the back of her head against the cabinets, twice. “Clearly not.” Maji squeezed her eyes shut. “Damn fucking lizard brain. What good does it do to understand the limbic system if you can’t stop yourself from freaking out when something perfectly normal and nonthreatening happens?”

  “It was unexpected contact. And a natural reaction, after an incident like the one you described for me.”

  Maji laughed bitterly. “My whole life’s been a series of incidents. And I’ve been training since I was five. Got fight-or-flight under control years ago. Not that you can tell. If I can’t even handle a kiss, how am I supposed to work again?”

  Celeste hated to see Maji pressed up against the edge of the little space like that, so on edge. “I’m going to sit. Over here. Okay?”

  Maji stayed put as Celeste slid back behind the dinette. Then she started to pace. “Great. Now I’ve got you scared of me. Not that I blame you.”

  “No. I just want to give you room to breathe. I don’t think you would hurt me.”

  Maji put both palms on the little table and leaned toward her. “Really? In the hospital, I hit a guy who tried to hug me. Knocked him out. And now I’m tossing around any jerk who touches me. But I’m glad one of us isn’t afraid.”

  “Were your captors all male?” Celeste asked. She wished Maji would back up again, or sit down. Though she trusted her, being loomed over brought Adrienne to mind.

  Maji spun around and started pacing. “No. And before you ask, I was not raped. Okay?” Apparently, Celeste’s carefully composed expression did not satisfy as an answer. “Though every shrink assumes so. And letting them think they were right got them off my back, at least.”

  Celeste waited for more. Maji so clearly wanted to talk. But instead she perched on the bench seat and started unbraiding the cord acting as a bumper on the edge of the table. Finally, Celeste prompted, “Did you ever talk through what really happened?”

  Maji shook her head, eyes on her fidgeting fingers. “They had the incident reports.”

  “Those don’t tell how you experienced the incidents. You know, trauma does not come from the events so much as how you respond to them, what you feel in the moment. Do you want to talk about that?”

  Maji met Celeste’s gaze, but her expression was shuttered. “No. I know what I did, and I have to live with it. Talking won’t change that.” She closed her eyes. “And I’m just so fucking tired. Like, all the time.”

  “Good sleep is vital to the nervous system,” Celeste noted. “Did you try—”

  “Not yet.” Maji popped up and started searching for something, closing and opening all the little compartments around the galley. She pulled out a plastic squeeze bottle, popped the lid, and inhaled deeply. “Bingo.”

  Celeste caught the scent of peppermint. “Good. This aroma calms you?”

  “It’s worth a try. Even asleep, I can’t confuse this with…anything else.” Maji visibly relaxed, even gave Celeste a ghost of a smile. “It’s Ava in a bottle.”

  “How so?”

  “She uses this kind of liquid soap for everything.” Maji looked wistful. “Even shampoo. Ava used to tuck in me and Bubbles—my best friend, more like a sister. We thought we were too cool and grown up, but she’d do it anyway. And when she’d lean in to kiss us on the forehead, her hair smelled like this. I never had nightmares at Ava’s house.”

  “Definitely worth a try, then.”

  Chapter Seven

  Maji woke to the gentle clanging of the spars. She stretched luxuriantly and looked at her watch. Holy shit. Had she really slept through? No, she remembered waking a few times, orienting herself. And then snugging up to the minty pillow. Rios one, lizard brain zero.

  She should call Ava. And go running. Then a big American breakfast before that diner got too busy with tourists. Yes. She rolled out of the V-berth and spotted her laptop on the dinette. Oh, right, she had a contract to deliver. To help Erlea. Hannah had said yes so quickly that Maji wondered if Ava had sold the idea to her as a safe form of occupational therapy.

  Maybe Hannah had sold it to JSOC the same way. Since Command had approved Maji’s return as a Select Reserve, technically she could hold a job wherever she wanted to. But working for their top consultant’s firm was pushing the envelope. But then so was being one of the US Army’s first female operators. This assignment might be small, but failure was never an option. Maybe she’d luck out and Nigel would balk at the price tag, reject the contract outright.

  No. Wrong day to give up, Rios. Maji dressed herself carefully in one of her tourist-gambler outfits, slacks and deck shoes with a button-down shirt. If Nigel said no, back to the tables. She’d work for the money, one way or another. If Nigel
signed off, Hannah could fund her bankroll for Dr. Lyttleton with a paycheck instead of a bailout. And Maji would double down on keeping her shit together and putting the mission objective first: keep Erlea safe.

  * * *

  Maji stepped away from the desk in her hotel room, leaving the building’s schematics open across it. She flopped onto the bed and twisted, right leg to outstretched left hand. Her low back gave a satisfying pop. So much room and no one to play with. Fuck you, lizard brain. But it felt good to be working again. Maji reversed the twist, got a series of little pops. And damn, it felt good to move freely again—a minor miracle, considering her injuries.

  Getting this far took four months’ intensive rehab. And two more on your own, Rios. Maji thought about the check-ins with Ava, the solo exercises, the workouts. Plenty to feel good about, if she needed to hunt the good. Or whatever the mental fitness trainers were calling it these days. What she really needed was to complete this job without fucking up.

  Time to get rolling. The Gran Balearico was a huge site, counting the hotel, casino, theater, and grounds. Maji grabbed her laptop and scanned through Hannah’s protocols for her Paragon Security contractors, which varied slightly from what Special Forces followed. She checked the time in New York and called Hannah.

  “You have questions on the specs?” Hannah answered by way of greeting.

  Maji chuckled. “Just a couple. Is this a good time?”

  “For you, always.”

  “Aw. You say that to all your contractors?”

  “On their first assignments, yes.”

  “This is hardly my first mission.”

  “It is your first time with Paragon, and it is not a mission,” Hannah corrected. “Otherwise, we would not be speaking.”

  Maji sighed. She hated the Army’s firewall, cutting all communications between them. But she’d do whatever JSOC demanded to keep them both working for the unit. “Point taken. Okay, question one: You really want me to inspect the whole facility before starting background checks on any of the crew?”

  “Yes. You only have the all-access key card for forty-eight hours. I have others doing the data pull for you.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “On my team, Maji, no one works solo.” Hannah paused. “Also, we can help with the facility notes if you send photos of obvious deficiencies as you spot them.”

  “Great.” On a Delta team, Maji was never alone either, even when she was the only one to infiltrate. A support system always stood ready to help with exfil. “But I have access to the crew tonight. Just a social gathering. I planned to use it for recon.”

  “By all means. Send notes afterward, please. Other questions?”

  “That’s it for now. Thanks for covering me on this.” Maji wanted to say more, but the words stuck.

  “It’s a good simple assignment. And a pleasure to see you working.” Hannah paused again. “How would you feel about teaching camp with me this summer?”

  “Seriously?” Of all the things Maji missed about home over her years in the unit, Hannah’s self-defense camp was near the top. Right after family. “Hell, yes. Could I stay with you and Ava?”

  Hannah chuckled softly. “You know Ava will insist. And I wouldn’t mind seeing you, myself.”

  * * *

  Several hours later, Maji hung the maid uniform back in the closet, next to the parking valet, kitchen worker, and bellhop outfits. Those had given her access to guest rooms, dumbwaiters, heating ducts, maintenance conduits, and more, all without attracting attention. For the next step, she needed the security uniform—trickier.

  Like Maji’s Army battle dress uniform, the security officer’s trousers and jacket were cut for a man, too big and also boxy. Even with her hair tucked up under the hat, she’d get second glances. Looking at herself in the mirror, Maji weighed whether to spend the time going into town for makeup and other supplies against a quick and easy visit to Roger.

  Avoiding hotel guests until her look was complete, Maji rode the service elevator down to the theater level. She let herself in through the audience lobby with the all-access key card and took a few minutes to explore the vacant front of house areas: box office, coat check, concessions, restrooms, and VIP lounge. Then she took the theater-goers’ ramp to the upper levels, the loges and the box seats. Maji stopped at different vantage points to assess the line of sight and distance to center stage.

  On the orchestra level, Maji spotted all the side exits and made a mental note to try them each from the inside and outside later. Then she skirted the seats on stage right and considered the most direct route to the backstage area. Unlike some theaters, this one had no stairs at either end of the stage and no orchestra pit. The stage itself, including the runway portion, was about seven feet tall. Clearly not meant to encourage enthusiastic crowds to rush the performers or even to reach up and touch them. One point for safety.

  Maji backed up the aisle about fifty feet, got a running start, and leaped at the wall, catching the top with both hands and levering herself over the edge. She brushed the uniform down before heading to the do shop.

  Roger spared her having to lie or explain, delighted to tackle the challenge of completing the disguise. But his idea to turn her into a man seemed like a stretch.

  “Lots of women work in security. Can’t we just add padding to my hips and bust? You have noticed my height,” Maji protested. The idea did tickle her a little, though. Despite having donned the styles, languages, and personas of invented women in over a dozen countries, she’d never tried to pass for a man. How hard could it be? And if she messed up on this experiment, the consequences weren’t death or torture. “Tell me how. I’ll think about it.”

  “We’ll put you in boots, add an inch and a half,” Roger said. “Still short, but not unreasonable. A binder for your breasts, of course.”

  “Charitable. What else—hair under the hat?”

  “Unless you want to cut it. You’d look fierce. And cute.”

  Longer hair was a pain, but it was a mission-ready style. “No.”

  “Then yes to the hat, and we tailor that drab suit a wee bit to fit you better. Now are you game?”

  Maji ducked behind a cabinet and managed the binder on her own, tight enough to compress her breasts but not to inhibit her breathing. Running trumped looking perfect. “Shirt ready?”

  “Come and get it.” When she stepped out, he gaped.

  She stared him down, daring him to say anything about her scar. “What?”

  “Put you in a leather vest and chaps, and you could pick up a sugar daddy in any bar in London. Where did you get those shoulders? Those delts? I think I’m having a hot flash.”

  Maji shook her head. “Just one costume at a time, okay?”

  With the boots, hat, and uniform pants and jacket on, Maji didn’t look half bad, even to herself.

  “Wait, just wait.” Roger slid a pair of black-framed glasses onto her face and his eyes grew wide. “Almost there.” He dug in several cases, finally turning around triumphant. “Come here, lovely lass.”

  Maji rolled her eyes but submitted to having a small mustache applied to her upper lip. She hoped it didn’t turn her into a mini Santxo. Surveying herself in the full-length mirror, she shifted from foot to foot, feeling her way into character. “You win.”

  “Ooh, try that again, lower,” Roger coached her, deepening his voice on the word lower.

  After a few tries, they agreed that she should just keep quiet.

  * * *

  The grand stone front of the casino made Maji think of Monte Carlo, unlike most of the buildings on the north shore, built in the post-Franco era. She scanned the neighborhood for buildings that could provide overwatch to the hotel-casino complex. Although the Gran Balearico was the largest hotel in the area, there were two nearby with lines of sight to the balconies. Maji took photos and sent them to Hannah, to advise on room choices for Erlea.

  Next she sent off photos showing the lack of barriers to automobile access to t
he complex. A valet handing the keys to a Jaguar over to a well-dressed guest gave her a friendly wave, and she touched her uniform cap in return. She wondered how often someone famous stayed here and whether they brought their own security details. Although Alcúdia was on an island with limited access by boat and air, Majorca’s overinflated sense of its own security and its general lack of precautions bothered her. True, the concentration of victims for an attack was low compared to an urban center like Madrid or Barcelona. But getting close to one high-profile target was entirely too easy.

  * * *

  Celeste slipped into the theater from the lobby, hoping for a peek at Erlea onstage. If Maji hadn’t left yet, she might be in here to visit. A shabby excuse, but where was the harm? It wasn’t like she was taking photos or spreading gossip. And there was Erlea, in the center of the stage now outfitted with a drum set, piano, and cases for other instruments. Oddly, Erlea wore mirrored sunglasses and seemed to be speaking to someone over that blocky sort of headset that theater techs and sports coaches favored. Celeste smiled at the analogy, Erlea as the coach for her team, directing the players. Even alone on an empty stage, she appeared to be in charge. Celeste hoped the sunglasses with this dim lighting didn’t indicate a migraine. If it did, she would offer her services. The thought made Celeste blush. Medical services.

  A row of bright lights came to life all at once behind Erlea. She took a guitar off its stand and slung the strap over her shoulder, pacing back and forth in front of the band’s area. Then she stopped and spoke, listened, and hit a mark center stage. A spotlight illuminated her from head to toe, glinting off the sunglasses. Erlea strutted down the catwalk, bobbing a bit to one side and the other, in a rough approximation of her style during a performance. The light followed her.

  Celeste wished she could, too. Instead, she sneezed loudly. Twice. Dammit.