She sniffed, shook his hands away. “Tonight it’s who I am. If you want this to work.”
“Fair enough. What time is it?”
She opened her bag, checked her phone. “Ten to seven. I’d better get going.”
She’d told Delgado she was staying at the Hotel Maria Cristina, which was where his driver was picking her up. She went to the bathroom and checked her hair and make-up one last time.
“I’ll leave now as well,” Danny called through. “Get in position, ready.”
He was waiting outside the bathroom door as she entered the bedroom. “You look great,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.
“Woah, none of that.” She swerved around the side of him to get past.
“Oh right, sure. Game face on.”
“Something like that.”
“Please don’t do anything stupid,” he said. “I know I sound like an old woman, but I mean it. I’ll be thirty seconds away, ready, armed and waiting. You’ve got your phone set to call me if ya need to send the alert?”
“Yes,” she snapped, opening her eyes wide and wiping at some wayward mascara. “Stop worrying. I can handle myself.”
“I know… but…” He trailed off as she shot him an impish smile. “Just be careful, all right?”
She tapped him gently on the shoulder on her way to the door. “You know me well enough by now, Danny boy,” she purred. “I’m always careful.”
Forty-Four
Luis Delgado had sent a limo for her. An actual shiny black stretch limo, with champagne in an ice bucket in the back and a surly driver out front (who looked like he might be more than a driver if and when it was required of him).
“This is a bit fancy,” Acid cooed, still channelling Gabriella Goldstein, as she took a seat at the rear of the spacious car.
The driver grunted in response before pulling the car away. Either he didn’t speak English or didn’t want to speak it. But as they drove along Acid tried engaging him in further small talk, a way for her to better get in character.
“How long have you been driving for Mr Delgado?” was her next tact, but got the same grunted response.
Fine. Have it your way.
Despite his muteness it didn’t stop the driver from peering at her via the rear-view mirror every minute or so, watching her as they drove along the quiet coastal road towards Delgado’s mansion.
Whilst the silence and stares were a little disconcerting, it was nothing she couldn’t handle, and the bats helped – not as dominant as she’d have liked, but screeching their support all the same. She closed her eyes, connecting with the restless feeling of invulnerability and only opening them when the car ascended a steep hill and she could see her destination up ahead. At least, she guessed it was Delgado’s place – a single storey sprawling complex standing in its own grounds away from any other buildings and lit up like a football pitch. The limo slowed to a stop at the main gates and the driver’s window whirred open so he could bark something gruffly into the intercom. He glanced back at Acid and a second later the huge double doors shuddered on their hinges and began to open.
“Whoa, what a place.” She gazed out the window as the limo circled around the front of the property and pulled up before a brightly lit entrance hall. The doorway was at least eight foot high, beautifully ornate and done out in royal blue to complement the white exterior of the rest of the house – but she also noticed it was reinforced with bulletproof panelling.
“Thank you for the ride,” she told the driver, as a tall man approached the limo and opened the door for her.
“Ms Goldstein?” He held out his hand and smiled an incredibly white smile, highlighted all the more by his swarthy complexion and jet black hair.
“That is correct. Thank you.” She took his hand and he helped her out the car.
“My name is Hugo Torres,” he told her, steadying her elbow with his other hand as she wobbled on her heels. “I am Mr Delgado’s assistant.”
“Assistant?” she purred, casting her eye over his muscular frame, bulging at the seams of his beige suit.
Hugo laughed. “Assistant. PA. Right-hand man. I do what is asked of me. It is a good job.” Once she was out of the limo, he shut the door and slapped the roof and it drove away.
She watched it for a moment as it waited for the gates to reopen, telling herself, Stay focused. Telling herself, You’re Acid bloody Vanilla.
She could do this.
Hugo’s deep voice in her ear startled her. “Might I say how beautiful you look this evening, madam?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course. Thank you very much,” she replied, composing herself and hoping she’d passed the moment off as embarrassment. “You are too kind.”
“Not at all.”
“Is Mr Delgado here?” she asked as Hugo, a hand resting gently on her lower back, guided her into the house.
“Of course. But at present he is in an important meeting in the north wing of the property. I hope you can appreciate, he is a busy man, a lot of people have demands on his time.”
“He did tell me he had business to attend to this evening. And I understand. I’m the same, to be honest. No rest for the wicked.”
She laughed. A shrill, neighing laugh that she hoped was ridiculous enough to chill the sudden frosty atmosphere her comment had caused. Hugo’s face remained hard, but a second later he relaxed, beaming another big white one her way.
“Mr Delgado has asked me to settle you in and to tell you he will join you shortly. Oh, one thing,” he said, gesturing to her handbag. “Because of the many rare and priceless artworks we have on display in the house, we ask that visitors surrender all phones and photographic equipment whilst in the property. I do hope you understand. May I?” He held out a large, manicured hand.
Another laugh covered the tension
