You should marry him. He seems nice.
Even in death, Rose is trying to prod me in the right direction. Maybe . . . maybe Rafe’s not good with feelings, like he wasn’t good with sex. Maybe I do need to show him that he needs me.
Not just because the women on this island need someone to talk to, but because he needs me and I need him.
I lift my chin and look over at Fernanda. “You know what? I think I’m going to stay after all.”
“Good,” she says. “Tell ’em we need real tampons. Not that cheap cardboard shit.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
RAFAEL
Virginia is cold. Living on an island in the Bahamas and traipsing through a Peruvian jungle don’t prepare you for the ball-freezing weather of Northern Virginia in October.
“Fucking winter, man,” Norse complains as we watch the tourists take pictures of the remnants of the docked Apollo Command Module. The chrome is polished to a mirror finish, but I don’t see anything in the surface that tips me off to Davidson’s arrival. “I would’ve joined your little band of mercenaries just to get out of this damn cold.”
“Aren’t your bones supposed to be made out of ice?”
“If they were, it’s all been melted away and replaced with sand and margaritas.”
“Sounds uncomfortable.” I check my watch. The exchange is supposed to be happening right now and my government contact is late. “Has Rodrigo checked in yet?” I sent Rodrigo back for what was left of Garcia’s body. If it was safe, he could pick up Rose—for Ava’s sake. After Duval’s death, it looked like Pucallpa emptied out pretty damn quick.
“Not since you asked me five minutes ago,” Norse replies with deceptive laziness. He’s just as keyed up as I am. The death of Garcia has hit us all hard. I’m anxious and Norse is cracking jokes about his balls, but it’s all a disguise for our gut-sick feelings of loss.
A lot of the men that come to the island are there because they want to forget. In the sand and sun, it’s easy to pretend that there aren’t any worries. Make that easier. You can’t ever fully let go of the past. All those gaps in your life are carved out by a rough, dull blade, and they don’t ever heal over properly.
Norse knows that as well as any. His perfect Viking visage and easy smile masks a hell of a past.
But I keep his secrets as I keep the secrets of everyone who is on the island. It’s why Ava doesn’t belong there. Her life is wide open, full of pretty things and pretty smiles. She doesn’t need—or want—to be surrounded by a bunch of hard-ass mercenaries and run-down whores.
“How do you think Davidson is going to take the news?” Norse asks.
“About Garcia?” Davidson’s handler had given us a couple of choices—the National Mall, a coffeehouse near the Pentagon, and an airport hangar. All of those seemed like a perfect place for them to execute us and run off with the goods. I told them the exchange would happen in broad daylight at the Air and Space Museum. We might not have been able to bring in our weapons, but there’s no way that they can kill us here without creating a massive unexplainable incident. “About as well as you think.”
“Right.” He grimaces.
“That’s why he doesn’t get a gun until we are on our way back.”
“Right. You going to tell him about Ava?”
I pin Norse’s ears back with a glare. “Not her fault, man. She is responsible for getting us this information. Without it we wouldn’t have a donkey’s chance in hell of getting Davidson back.”
There is no question in my mind that had we failed, Davidson would’ve gotten a bullet to his brain. Garcia’s death is mine alone to own. He was my man and those blows are mine to take, but we’ll all mourn him.
“Maybe we should stop in Miami? Get him laid, liquored up before we let him loose on the island.”
“Your call.” If Ava was waiting for me, I would’ve said fuck that noise and been on the first plane home. But she’s not waiting. I’ve given Bennito instructions to charter her out of there at her first request—whenever she feels ready. I’m not sure whether I want her to be gone when I get back.
“Don’t want to get back home?” Norse eyes me appraisingly.
“Nothing there for me,” I manage to lie with a straight face. Truth is, if Ava’s gone, I might have to head to New York City. Even if she doesn’t want me there, it’d be enough just to be near her. To see her on the street. To watch her from afar and know that she’s safe.
She’s it for me, even if I’m not it for her.
Norse’s raised eyebrow indicates that he doesn’t believe me for a second, but the time for more questions is over. “Incoming,” I murmur.
Norse straightens and his hand goes into his jacket. We share a grimace when he comes up empty. Not being armed is hard on us.