Justin groaned. “I don’t know why I put up with this.”
“Because Cristobal lets you live like a king,” said Huan, giving him a comforting pat on the back. “When you aren’t insulting his guests.”
“I’d rather be a beggar at the RUNA’s door than king of this nightmare,” Justin replied.
“If it makes you feel better, you did a great job with the story tonight. One of your best performances—even though I’m pretty sure it gets you a little closer to hell each time you tell it.”
“I don’t believe in hell, so it’s okay.”
Silence fell around them, and Huan spoke his next words hesitatingly. “I was just in your old stomping grounds, though.” His expression almost became compassionate. He knew these conversations tormented Justin…but he also knew Justin yearned for them. “Had a meeting in Vancouver.”
Justin jerked his head up. Vancouver! The very word had power. “How…how was it?”
“The same as always. Beautiful and perfect. The jewel of the world.”
“The jewel of the world,” Justin repeated. He raised his unlit cigarette in a toast. The same ache welled up in his chest, the longing he felt whenever anyone talked about the RUNA. All the drinking and drugs and other vices in Panama City could never make the pain go away.
“I’m sorry,” said Huan.
“It is what it is. It has been for a while.”
A hint of Huan’s old smile returned. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever tell me the real reason you left?”
“Nah. I know how much you like the Penelope story. Wouldn’t want to ruin it for you.”
“I thought it was Phoebe. Or Pamela.”
Justin waved it off. “Doesn’t matter. She’s a shameless whore.”
“Right. You’re better off without her.”
“Exactly.”
Huan chuckled and held out his hand. “You going to be okay if I go?”
Justin shook it. “Depends if I can keep the coat.”
“Sure. I’ve got lots more where that came from.” Huan moved to the door. “Until next time.”
“Until next time,” Justin repeated, watching the other man go. Party noise flared briefly as the door opened and then faded once more. A dark mood settled on Justin, and he welcomed the solitude as he lit up.
Smoking outside was a habit from the RUNA. No one cared what or where you smoked here, but there were strict laws back home. He took a deep drag on the cigarette, feeling a pleasant buzz that enhanced the alcohol, which had already made him light-headed. He wouldn’t have been able to smoke cigarettes like these back home either. The RUNA was conscientious of its citizens’ health. Of course, seeing as the RUNA had stopped caring about him, he figured he was welcome to whatever self-destructive behaviors he wanted. Huan’s words replayed in his mind.
Beautiful and perfect. The jewel of the world.
“Goddamn it,” Justin muttered.
Which god? asked Horatio.
Whichever one sent me here, Justin answered.
Judging from Magnus’s reply, the ravens were back in insolent mode: You sent yourself here. The gods merely helped. When they weren’t criticizing his life, the ravens were always talking about gods.
Quiet, Justin told them. I’m trying to have a moment.
Watch out, said Horatio.
Six hulking figures suddenly loomed out of the darkness off to Justin’s right. Moonlight shone off Paolo Jessup’s shaved head, along with the many gaudy earrings he wore. Beside him was his brother Miguel, and Justin soon recognized the other thugs as Jessup-family cronies. He had a sinking feeling that he might be closer to Huan’s hell than he’d realized.
“Hey, Paolo, how’s it going?” Justin managed a smile and wondered what the odds were that this wasn’t about Blanca.
“Don’t fucking waste my time. Did you think you could get away with that? You think you could just take advantage of my sister like that?”
The odds, it would seem, were not good.
Tell him she wasn’t that unwilling, Horatio suggested. Justin ignored him.
“There’s some mistake,” he told Paolo. “I’d never do anything to Blanca.”
“That’s not what she told Dora Ramirez,” growled Miguel.
Dora? And Ana? How many people had Blanca talked to? Justin at least hoped she’d been complimentary about that night.
He also wondered where the hell Cristobal’s security was. The outsides of his establishments were usually crawling with henchmen, and Justin speculated on whether the Jessup brothers had bribed them. He couldn’t imagine Cristobal would be happy about the untimely demise of his favorite houseguest…or would he? Cristobal would certainly get a lot of mileage out of the tragic tale. Justin could practically hear the big man already: He was like a brother to me….
Miguel took a few menacing steps forward, snarling like one of Cristobal’s badly trained dogs. He kind of smelled like one too. “I’m going to rip you apart!” he yelled.
I don’t think Blanca was worth it, Horatio told him. She wasn’t even that good.
Magnus’s comment was more enigmatic: Your Valkyrie.
Miguel’s advance was put on hold as the door opened and a woman stepped outside. Not just any woman. Her. The blonde from earlier. Everyone froze for the space of a heartbeat, and then, with impossible speed, she suddenly put herself between Justin and the Jessups, her stance protective and dangerous. A fighter’s stance. Huan’s words came back to him: She’s military, whoever she is. She made no other moves, but there was a tension in her that said she was a lioness that could strike at any moment.
You know, remarked Magnus conversationally, lionesses do all the work while lions sit around.
“Stay back,” she told Justin, her words verifying that she was indeed Gemman. There were only a few inches between them, and he became acutely aware of the neck and shoulders he’d admired earlier, as well as the way the silk wrapped her body. A few wayward strands of hair blew around her face, and the faintest whiff of what smelled like apple blossoms drifted over him.
The Jessups recovered themselves, and Paolo smirked. “Nice trade,” he said. “You fucked one of our women, now we’ll get one of yours. If you’re lucky, we’ll leave you conscious to watch.”
The others laughed, and Paolo, with death in his eyes, took two steps forward. Unfortunately for him, he never got any farther.
CHAPTER 3
A FEW LESS PROBLEMS
Whatever lingering hopes Mae had clung to of finding glory in Panama had been shattered when Gan had explained her assignment in detail. She wasn’t going to thwart an assassination attempt. She wasn’t even going to cause an assassination. Instead, all of her elite training and military technology would be used to accompany a couple of bureaucrats from the Ministry of Internal Security on their trip to retrieve an exiled servitor.
Neither of them had impressed Mae very much. The woman, with the unfortunate name of Cornelia Kimora, was a supervisor in Internal Security’s SCI division: Sect and Cult Investigation. She was in her fifties, with bobbed hair dyed an orange-ish color that bore a disturbing resemblance to an apricot. Every accessory and article of clothing Cornelia wore was beige, and she had one of the coldest personalities Mae had ever encountered—which was saying something, in light of Mae’s upbringing. At least in the Nordic caste, that kind of cool and supercilious attitude was usually paired with the ability to put on a smiling face and act like you cared. Cornelia possessed no such niceties and made her indifference clear to the world.