San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
The Black Tosca accepted the plastic bag. She untied it but recoiled immediately, taken aback by the pungent smell emanating from the bag. She closed it without looking inside.
“Whose head is this?” she asked, holding the bag in one hand.
“Pierce Hunt’s.”
“Is it really?” she asked, wondering why he hadn’t simply texted a picture to her. But she was glad to see him. It had been quite a while since their last “encounter.”
“How’s Katherine these days?” she asked, even though she couldn’t care less.
For a fleeting moment, she saw something dark flare in his eyes, but it was gone the next instant. Had he fallen for Katherine? A surprisingly strong jolt of jealousy rushed through her. How dare he?
She felt as if she was being robbed. She, and she alone, was allowed to do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted to do it with. Her expression hardened. She was about to shout something but remembered she needed “Mr. Granger” in Florida for the foreseeable future. So she bit her lip, almost drawing blood, and promised herself she’d find a way to hurt him in a way that wouldn’t compromise the work he did for her.
Nicolás appeared silently behind Egan, a baseball bat in his trembling hands. His teeth were clenched, giving his usually soft and beautiful face a hard, set facade, and his eyes were wild with anger. She didn’t know what this was about, but Nicolás had never failed her, in life or in bed. This must be important.
Then Egan lunged at her.
Egan sensed someone approaching behind him. The Black Tosca betrayed and confirmed the person’s presence by moving her eyes above Egan’s head. Egan planted his feet on the ground and propelled himself forward. The baseball bat that smashed across his back slammed Egan onto the swanky carpet of the library. The bat struck again, this time landing directly at the back of his neck. Lights exploded behind his eyes. He tried to turn to his side and use his forearm to protect his head against the next blow, but he failed. He blacked out when the next blow connected behind his left ear.
“Stop! Stop!” the Black Tosca yelled.
Like an obedient child, Nicolás stopped midstrike. Cole Egan was convulsing on the floor, his legs kicking and thrashing. Brain damage. No longer useful. These were the first two thoughts that popped into the Black Tosca’s head. Then she looked at Nicolás and asked, “What have you done, you fool?”
“Hector’s dead, and so are the men who went along to óliver Sáez’s with him. He might not be alone.”
Nicolás picked up the black garbage bag and emptied its contents onto the floor. Two dead mice fell from the bag, followed by Hector’s head, which rolled past the carpet and onto the hardwood floor. The Black Tosca’s knees buckled at the sight, and she had to grab onto Nicolás’s arm to remain standing. She began to feel violently ill, and a moment later, she threw up in short, violent spasms. When she was done, she wiped her mouth with her forearm. She looked around her but was too stunned to move. Then a weird feeling engulfed her, and, oblivious to her surroundings, she made her way to the bar area of the library and poured herself a large quantity of single malt. She drank half the glass. Nicolás was next to her, and she saw that his lips were moving, but she couldn’t understand anything he said. It all sounded like gibberish to her. Nicolás moved to her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Valentina! Valentina! We must go!”
She pushed his hands aside and screamed, emptying her lungs in a guttural cry of pure agony.
“Valentina, we have to go,” Nicolás repeated.
To her horror, her eyes filled with tears, but they never fell. It was as if her body was telling her she had no right to be sad, that she didn’t deserve the relief they promised.
Nicolás grabbed her by the arm, but she broke free. “No,” she told him. “We finish this.”
She looked over at Egan. He had stopped twitching. He lay motionless on her carpet between the two armchairs. “Carry him downstairs, Nicolás. We’ll add his name to tonight’s main event. With luck, his Katherine will be watching.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
Egan came to with a splitting headache. His temples throbbed with each beat of his heart. He was naked and covered in sweat. At his feet, Nicolás was in the process of tying his ankles to a straight wooden chair. His hands were already behind his back, secured together. Two large industrial centrifugal fans attached to the ceiling hummed loudly.