Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
A speculative glint appears in her eyes, and she says, “Wait here.”
“Is this the place?” Regan whispers after the leggy brunette disappears into the back room.
“Hope so.” I force myself not to follow the brunette into the back. Shifting our heavy bags over one shoulder, I try to relax. The artwork on the wall is stunning, but clearly directed toward tourist tastes with iconic shots of Sugarloaf Mountain and the Christ the Redeemer statue. In the middle of the room on a pedestal is a crystal sculpture that looks like a futuristic piece of kryptonite, only it’s not green, just clear glass. After a moment, the attendant waves us in the back.
Luiz is a small man, barely coming up to my chest. Or maybe he was once taller, but he’s spent so much time bent over a table, his natural height reduced about four inches by the forward roll of his shoulders.
“What do you need?”
“Credit cards, passport.”
“For who?”
“Two blondes.”
“This one?” He points to Regan.
“Yeah, and one more.”
“Do you have a picture?”
I do. “It’s twenty months old, though,” I caution. Pulling out my wallet, I lift out the picture I’ve kept in a vellum envelope in an interior pocket. I’ve had this picture with me for a long time, just for this purpose. When I first started out in mercenary work, I hadn’t realized how important false identities were—being able to change your name and move throughout countries with ease is something of a necessity in my line of work. I have dozens of identities but none for Regan. I have a couple of stolen identities I carry around for my sister, but I might as well have something made up for her while I’m at it.
Luiz nods and takes the photo with tweezers. I can tell by his meticulousness that our papers will be flawless.
“It will be two weeks.”
Regan, silent the whole exchange, finally speaks up. “Two weeks?”
“Tomorrow,” I say implacably and pull out a wad of cash to sweeten my demand.
Luiz shakes his head. “Detailed work takes time.”
Regan makes a distressed sound, and I shove the cash at Luiz. “Tomorrow.” At his hesitation, I draw a gun and everyone ducks, but I aim it toward the crystal sculpture of Sugar Loaf Mountain sitting in the middle of the showroom. “Tomorrow,” I repeat.
Luiz looks at me, the heavy bags at my back, and then the cash. “Tomorrow then.” He gestures for Regan to stand against one empty space of white wall and takes her picture.
I holster my gun and shove the cash in his hand. Gesturing toward the door with my head, I urge Regan out.
“Why not now?” She looks like she doesn’t want to leave without the papers, but I don’t want to piss off Luiz any more. I drag her out of the forger’s office and into the street. She looks unhappy, and I miss her sunshine-like smile from earlier this morning.
“Let’s go get our stuff and then check into a better hotel. I feel like I need another shower after lying in those sheets.”
“Who’s the girl?” she says.
“The girl?” I’m not sure I follow her. What girl? She’s the only girl I’m with.
“The other girl. The one with her picture in your wallet? Who is it?”
“My sister.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
REGAN
His sister.
A few things click into place, my brain suddenly making sense of things. He’s got a sister—a young, pretty blonde who was sold into slavery, like me. That’s why he’s hunting blondes. That’s why he’s in and out of brothels in the slums and knows people like Luiz and Pereya.
That’s why he was so giddy when we got the information from the snitch.
I want to laugh with relief. I’ve been trying not to think about the other mysterious blonde he’s so excited at the thought of finding. I’ve been having flares of jealousy, quickly tamped down again. What right do I have to be jealous of anyone or anything Daniel does? He’s not mine. He’s my rescuer that I’m forcing to stick with me.
But . . . I’m still glad it’s his sister and not a rival for his attention.
We leave Luiz’s art gallery and head onto the streets of Ipanema, mingling with the crowd. I look over at Daniel and he’s full of barely leashed energy. If an assassin could be giddy, that would be Daniel. I wonder if it’s because he’s close to getting his sister . . . or close to getting rid of me? Or both?
I’m not sure how that makes me feel. The conversation at breakfast has left me a bit at odds with myself. I don’t know how I’m going to slide back into my old life and pretend like nothing has happened. I’m a scholarship student, and the company I’m slated to go work for has paid for a large chunk of my schooling. It’s one of the reasons I went into accounting as a major: a guaranteed job at the end of college and someone was willing to pay for most of the classes, provided I keep my GPA up. Of course, it’s midsemester right now, and I’ve missed two months, which means I’ve now flunked out of all my courses unless I drop them. Either way, I’m screwed.