“Your father told you, did he?” he asked.
His casual mention of her father surprised her. After two years of never speaking of him, it was bizarre to have Heriberto say that so baldly. “I haven’t had any contact with my father since I got here, as per our orders. Not a word.”
Heriberto crossed arms over his bare chest. “And I went directly to him, so how else would you have found out?”
She could claim that Carlos, the footman she’d seen with him, had told her, but she was going to have to go with the truth if she wanted to get her father off Heriberto’s hook. “I followed you Wednesday when you met him at the Golden Church. I was standing right under where you were talking. I believe what I heard was called extortion. If you’re looking for me, there’s no reason to bother him. He doesn’t know my whereabouts.” He didn’t deny the charge of extortion, she noted. “Who is Maria Melo, and why did you tell her that I’m not human?”
Heriberto shook his head. “You’re not entitled to that information.”
“Extortion isn’t in your orders,” she reminded him. “My aunts are high up enough in the ministry that if I should happen to mention your extra source of income, it would come back to haunt you. There are other ways of getting correspondence out of the city than by going through you. I can go around you.”
For her first attempt at blackmail, it seemed to work. “Do you think it’s that simple?” he asked. “There are those in the ministry who outrank me. When she demanded a list of my people in the city, I didn’t ask why.”
Oh no. Oriana stifled the desire to walk away. The saboteur knew she was a sereia not because Heriberto revealed that fact . . . but because she was a sereia herself, a member of their intelligence ministry.
She’d been put in that house to watch Isabel die by one of her own people.
Oriana lifted her chin. “Where can I find her?”
“Thanks to your appearance in the gossip columns of this morning’s Gazette, she knows exactly where to find you.” Heriberto grabbed her arm and hauled her closer. “Don’t think . . .”
Oriana bared her teeth and dragged her arm free from Heriberto’s grasp.
He smirked. “It’s all over the street whose house you’re living in now, girl. If she wants to talk with you, she will. Take my advice: keep your distance. She’s been undercover a long time, and we’re all expendable if we endanger her mission.”
Did her government have agents who’d been here longer than Heriberto? That was news to her. “What mission is that?”
“You think she would tell me? A male?” He laughed, a short bark. “I learned long ago there are times it’s better to stay still under the water. Act like everything’s normal, stay hidden, and perhaps the storm will pass without all of us getting killed.”
Oriana had a sinking feeling in her stomach. The woman who’d handed her and Isabel over to the Open Hand had a greater mission, one so important that Isabel Amaral’s death was acceptable. Putting Oriana Paredes in danger of exposure was also acceptable. Oriana couldn’t think of too many missions important enough to warrant that much leeway, but assassination might be one of them. Perhaps Silva had been right about an assassination after all, although not about the assassin. It was hard to believe her people’s government would condone such a thing. “Why were you looking for me, then?”
“She ordered me to,” Heriberto said. “She claims someone’s trying to kill you. If they succeed, it would spoil her plans, whatever those are. She said she wanted to warn you.”
Oh, that much is true. “So you threaten my father, just to warn me?”
Heriberto crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “Girl, I don’t like you. You think you’re better than me. You think you don’t have to do the things the rest of us stoop to because you’re superior to us, because you’ve got old family ties in the ministry.” He gestured at her mitt-covered fingers. “I notice you’re not at the doctor’s appointment I made for you to get your hands cut.”
Was that today? Oriana had a vague recollection of him ordering her to do that the last time they’d spoken, but she’d had other concerns since. “I forgot.”
“Of course.” Heriberto set one fingertip under his eye, the sign for doubt. “The truth is that I don’t like my people getting killed. Even you. If your getting killed by these other people would ruin her plan, then the easiest way to ensure that doesn’t happen . . . is to kill you herself.”
Oriana felt a chill run down her spine. Why had she not figured that out? She folded her silk-covered hands together to hide their shaking.
She’d come here to tear into Heriberto’s fins, but instead he’d given her information he shouldn’t have. If Maria Melo was his superior, he shouldn’t have divulged the woman’s intentions, not even obliquely. Yet he’d done it to warn her. It was possible he’d been guarding her all along, although she doubted that was the case. Instead, she suspected he didn’t like this superior of his. “Thanks for the warning.”
He waved away her words. “I haven’t seen you. I haven’t spoken to you. Just get out of my sight.”
He didn’t wait for her to say any more, but climbed back down into the hold of his boat. Oriana turned and carefully walked back up to the quay. Her mind was spinning. She pulled the mantilla out of her bag and settled it over her hair again, taking a moment to put the comb in firmly.
She’d been concerned about the mysterious Open Hand coming after her, but not truly afraid. The prospect of being hunted by Maria Melo worried her far more.
CHAPTER 25
Duilio walked along the quay, mulling over the death of Donato Mata. His gift lay quiet now, not a hint of concern for his safe journey back to the house, although it would be foolish to rely overmuch on that.
When he reached the road that wound behind the Customs House, he noticed a woman walking briskly some distance ahead of him. Miss Paredes. It wasn’t her plain black dress that identified her, or even the mantilla that covered her head, an unusual choice for a Friday afternoon. He’d recognized her walk, the faint swing to her hips that he’d always considered enticing.
And then he spotted Gustavo lounging in one of the shop doorways, head down as Miss Paredes passed. Tomas must be somewhere nearby as well. He’d asked the two footmen to keep an eye on Miss Paredes. When he reached the spot where Gustavo waited, he nodded to the young footman and Gustavo headed back home. Duilio jogged to catch up with Miss Paredes’ quick steps.
“Miss,” he called when he got close enough.
She stopped and slowly turned, one hand clutching at the other wrist, preparing to draw her knife. She relaxed when she saw it was him. That damnable mantilla kept him from seeing her expression, but he was sure she was unnerved.
“What are you doing here?” she asked when he reached her.
“I could ask the same. Are you courting trouble?”
She frowned at him; this close, he could see that through the mantilla’s lace. He must have had a snap in his tone. Without answering, she turned and walked on toward the Street of Flowers.
Duilio caught up to her in a few strides; ladies’ shoes weren’t made for walking fast on cobbles. “I apologize. I’ve had a trying day and was concerned.”
“I thought a man was following me,” she said. “I didn’t realize it was you.”
She’d slowed, so he walked alongside her. She even laid her hand on his arm when he offered it. “It probably was Gustavo, actually. Or Tomas. I asked them to keep an eye on you if you left the house. They weren’t to interfere with you, only inform us if someone tried to grab you.” She didn’t protest that safeguard as he’d half expected she would, so he continued. “When I got off the tram near the Customs House, I saw you walking down the street. Sheer luck.”