"Plenty of time," Kimmer told him, already mentally composing a note to Owen—and reminding herself to check her phone for the texted information about Owen's Basque connection.
The man might be more useful than Owen expected, at that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER 8
Some of Kimmer's jitters had worn off; the sparring had done her good, even if she'd taken a few of her own falls and still needed to pick grass blades out of her elbow.
Good. Maybe she was settling in. She and Rio could get their stride back and make short work of this assignment.
With the security equipment on order and the Monaco crew on the way, they had today to establish themselves as tourists, to connect with Owen's man in Bilbao, and possibly to deal with what she would optimistically think of as witness statements.
Lunch would be a good start.
A considerable expanse of lawn separated the impromptu sparring area and the villa; she and Jurdan crossed it in thoughtful silence.
No doubt their approach could be seen. No doubt it was easy for Jurdan's counterpart in security to meet them on the much smaller lawn encompassing the front entrance.
Something in his body language turned Kimmer wary—fast enough to make her annoyed with herself. Just like with the cop. She couldn't do her job if she overreacted to every little thing.
But Jurdan, too, seemed surprised. "Atze. All is well?"
Atze made a dismissive noise. He was older than Jurdan, barrel-chested and muscled and pushing the seams of his lightly striped button-down shirt. Kimmer saw none of the self-aware humor that made Jurdan a pleasant companion, but in his eyes lurked...something.
She'd have it in another moment, if he kept talking. And he did. "You been enjoying your hands-on time?" he asked. "Because I'm thinking it's my turn."
"Excuse me?" Resentful, greedy...entitled. That's what it was. She turned to Jurdan. "This is your partner? We haven't been introduced." The other man working security who knows our cover?
Jurdan's voice took on a more formal tone. "This is Atze Ezkibel, who has been working with me to protect the antiquity." He didn't name it, not so close to the house. "Atze, this is Señorita Kimberly Haight."
"Our guest," said Atze, and there was resentment there, too.
Jurdan glanced at Kimmer. "Will you excuse us?"
"Sure." Kimmer walked over to the extensive covered entryway to the villa, leaned against a stone pillar, and ostentatiously looked elsewhere. La la la, see me giving you space.
Just not quite enough space so she couldn't hear their quick Spanish exchange, as Jurdan wasted no time. "Get your head out of your ass. She is not only a guest, she is also now our supervisor."
"Is that what this American has been doing with you?" Atze sneered. "Supervising? While I'm stuck in the house pretending not to watch a cellar door? She supervises her brother, she supervises you...I think I'd like to be supervised, too!"
"Miss Marina made the assignments," Jurdan said, rapid words with rising temper behind them. "This task is an opportunity, you fool—you've been wasting it from the start! You have only a few more days to make your impression. Why are you out here causing trouble?"
"I can't make a good impression if I'm stuck in a dark corner," Atze responded, just as quickly, just as hot-tempered. "What do you know of making a woman happy—your relations come only in wet dreams!"
Jurdan flushed; Kimmer thought he came close to tackling Atze then and there. He growled a Basque imprecation. "If you want to make a good impression, do your job—"
But Atze wasn't listening. Atze's mind had been made up before he'd left that house. He shoved Jurdan aside and headed for Kimmer.
She pushed away from the pillar and met him halfway, seeing the exact moment when he realized he shouldn't have reached for her after all, if only in an imperiously commanding way.
Too late. His hand never landed on her—by then she had his thumb, and his surprise turned to pain as she twisted, collapsing his arm up and behind as she pivoted to push his knees out from behind—all of it finesse, no broken bones, no torn muscle.
"You," she said, kneeling beside him, "will go back to your duties. And if you do them well, when this is over maybe no one else will know about this moment."
He made a squeaking noise, strange to hear from a man so robust.
Oops. Too much thumb. Kimmer eased up, waited for his reaction—waited to make sure she'd startled the temper out of him rather than inflaming it.
It was Jurdan who made the next strange noise; Kimmer glanced up to see Rio in the doorway—startled, concerned. In a flash of sudden hurt, she realized that concern wasn't for her...it was about her. About what she might do.
She jerked her chin at him, gesturing him back inside. Once Atze knew there'd been witnesses, his pride would keep this from being the end of it.
Rio got it; he faded back. She released her captive, casually dragging his arm to a position from which he could rise with more dignity than if he'd had to wrestle the aching limb around by himself. She stood aside to give him plenty of room. "The Doña and Marina chose you for this job. Respect their faith in you, and we'll have nothing more to discuss."
Atze scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off. He looked at Jurdan, opened his mouth, looked at Kimmer...closed it again. And then he walked briskly away, heading for the kitchen entrance.
Jurdan spoke with hesitation. "You're not going to have him fired?"
Kimmer snorted. "And have him on the loose, telling tales? I don't think so. Not until we've got the new gear rigged up and that door locked up tight."
Jurdan released his tension in relief. "Thank you." At her questioning expression, he said, "The Doña was right to bring you in. I thought foreigners wouldn't care as much about the antiquity...but I was wrong."
Hey, I've got stakes, too.
For these were testing grounds for her working partnership with Rio. They couldn't afford to fail Hunter...and they couldn't afford to fail each other.
She turned as Rio emerged from the house again. "Everything okay?" he asked. "You okay?"
"Me?" She had to think twice about that.
"Neither of us has really been right since we arrived," he said, and it was the apology in his voice that startled her into understanding.
"You think—" she started, and then didn't know what to say. He thought she should have handled the moment differently. He worried that she'd gone overboard. Even though he had nothing but the most basic Spanish—and no idea what had gone down. He'd just assumed—
"Mr. Richard," Jurdan said in Spanish, and then made an effort to switch to English. "I express my gratitudes to your partner," he said. "We have a problem with that one. With her actions, maybe we now can keep the house secure before more problems."
Oops. It was written all over Rio's face, so genuine that Kimmer could only shake her head, a wry grin twisting her mouth. "I am jittery," she said. "I don't know why. We've both been—" and she cut herself short, glancing at Jurdan.
Jurdan took the hint quickly enough. "Atze is right that I should continue to be involved in cellar security. I'll make sure all is well inside." And he headed off in Atze's wake, not looking back.
Rio looked down at her, brow raised. And Kimmer didn't hesitate. "We've been off-balance," she finished. "I don't think I've ever seen you crash like that. Owen said the meds from the plane were well out of your system. Is your back all right? You didn't need more—?"
His surprise quickly turned rueful. "It's hard, isn't it?" he asked. "You can read everyone in the world but me."
"Not everyone," she muttered. "Not my damned family. Not anyone who's that close." As he'd been right from the start, taking her completely off-guard.
He leaned against the pillar and gave her a one-shouldered shrug. "No. I didn't take more drugs. Though...I guess I understand why you had to ask." All the same, that rueful look lingered.
Kimmer sighed, rotating a tense shoulder. "This should have been a simple
job. Straightforward. Instead, we're off-balance physically, we've got the cops wanting our time, a resentful security guard in a key position, and a controversial politician on the way." That, too surprised him, so she added, "Andoni Gandiaga—Nationalist senator, coming in for Ascension. Jurdan's concerned that the man's presence could inspire someone to make a grand political statement—with the Etxea."
"So is Larraitz," Rio said, something of surprise in his voice. "Or at least, I think she is."
"I'll ask Owen for more information. Why we don't have it in the first place... He left too much to the Doña. And the Doña isn't here, and Marina seems to think we know what we need to know."
"Ask Owen later," Rio said. "The Doña is on the phone, and she wants to talk to you."
Kimmer looked at him, aghast. "She's been waiting all this time?"
Rio grinned. "No fears. She's talking to Marina."
All the same, Kimmer took off for Marina's office at a run, pelting through an old, dignified villa that probably couldn't even remember the sound of running feet echoing in its halls.
~~~
"Kimmer Reed," said the elderly voice, sounding slightly hollow over the phone connection. "Finally, we meet."
Kimmer almost didn't respond—couldn't respond, not with her surprise at the lack of personal connection over the line. True, the phone was never the same as face-to-face, but...here, there was no resonance, no feedback with which her gift could work. Empty air.
She tried to hide her instinctive wariness. "I've been looking forward to it," she said, standing next to Marina's tidy desk as the woman pushed her chair away to give Kimmer a token conversation space. "We're making good progress here, and we should have initial measures in place by the end of day tomorrow."
"So Marina tells me." Slightly accented, that voice, in the most cultured way. "She also tells me that you've had some unexpected difficulties."
Plain-speaking. Kimmer could deal with that. "It's good news, really. The Basajaun bought our cover well enough to make a play for us as your relatives."
"Do you think they've discovered the antiquity? That they thought to trade you for it?"
She hadn't, actually. She'd thought they'd been targeted due to the Doña's position in the community. But damn, this was one little old lady who had her stuff together. She probably brought home all the Bingo winnings every Tuesday, too. "It might be," she said. "Unless we get permission to talk to the men, we aren't likely to find out."
"Would you like to?"
Another surprise. "It could risk our cover."
"Ah." The Doña's voice held understanding. "I'm not ready to take that step."
"Then we'll just assume that the word is out about the antiquity." Kimmer glanced up at Rio as he entered Marina's office, considered bringing him up to speed...decided to wait. "About your lawyer—"
"Don't concern yourself with that situation. Señor Haritz Zabala will be in touch before the end of the day."
Plain-speaking, straightforward. No double-meanings to delve through. But Kimmer felt naked regardless.
Naked, deaf, and blind—unable to automatically grasp the gist of the woman as she did with others. With Marina, sitting over there trying to look casual, but in truth quite tense about the overall situation. With Atze, whom she'd instantly known had nursed his temper to the breaking point.
"We consider it a favor," she finally managed, thinking of the lawyer.
"Nonsense. The incident happened because you came at my request. Even the Hunter Agency allows its strings to be pulled now and then, and pull them I did. Resolving the situation as quickly as possible is to my benefit."
"Yes, ma'am," Kimmer said, because she couldn't think of anything else. She suddenly wondered if the Doña could read her as easily as Rio did—if she could sense how adrift Kimmer was in this conversation. Rio certainly could; he watched her with bemused eyes, trying to glean what he could from the one-sided conversation.
"Is everything else as you need it?" the Doña asked. "Your separate accommodations? I hope they serve my purpose."
"Your—?" Kimmer stopped short, then gave into it. "What?"
"My sources are more than impressed with your teamwork, but ultimately, I believe your relationship to be a liability. There exists too much potential to draw your concerns to each other, instead of to the matter at hand." She paused, a brief but weighty silence. "I want your concerns focused on that matter at hand."
Kimmer ought to feel resentment. Denial. As ifness.
Instead she felt vaguely unsettled.
She glanced over at Rio; even now he looked a little bleary, leaning against the door jamb in that casual, self-comfortable way that had once been the first thing to catch her eye—all lurking strength and formidable determination. He perked up, expecting a question; she gave a barely-there shake of her head and told the Doña, "The accommodations are fine."
"Good," the Doña said briskly, and Kimmer didn't need her knack to realize the conversation was over as abruptly as it began. "You will spend the rest of the day in Bilbao, then—play the tourist. Have you ever seen the Guggenheim? No? Then you shall. Be sure to drop my name, so the world at large knows you are of the Villa de la Padilla." The estate of her father's family.
"That was our intent," Kimmer agreed. "Thank you again for your concern, and if you have any questions—"
"You can be sure I shall ask them. Give the phone over to Marina."
Wordlessly, not a little dazed, Kimmer held the phone out to Marina. The woman accepted it with a curt nod, and Kimmer escaped to the hallway, Rio in tow.
When she turned around, he'd opened his mouth to ask—but she didn't wait for the question. "I couldn't read her."
"Mm," he said, tipping his head as he looked down at her; the bleary expression had fled in the face of barely suppressed amusement. "Did I just see you flee?"
She gave him a faux-stern look. "It's not funny!" But his amusement remained, mixed with the affection, and she gave up, changing the subject. "She wonders if we were targeted at the airport because word has leaked about the Etxea."
Not slow, her Rio. Not today. "Making us hostage for leverage, not just pawns for their political statement."
She nodded, then offered up a squinchy face. "Also, we're supposed to play niece and nephew tourist—she mentioned the Guggenheim."
"She doesn't miss a beat," Rio said. "Pretty savvy for a distant ailing Doña."
"Maybe there's something to this Etxea thing," Kimmer said dryly. "After all, it's been in her family's cellar all these years."
"That was it? The kidnapping attempt, the lawyer..?"
And gratuitous comments about our relationship.
But, no. She kept the Doña's other concerns to herself.
Mostly, she hadn't consider it before. But...is this where they come from? The jitters? Concern for unreadable Rio? Especially given how the travel and the meds seem to have affected him...
But she couldn't be sure.
Rio knew her well enough to wait until she'd finished that thread of thought, knack or no knack. He knew her well enough to look at her with a thoughtfulness that had nothing to do with his next words. "If she's right—if we're a Basajaun target because of the Etxea—they might well try again."
"The thought occurred to me." Hadn't it just. "I'm going to wash up. Let's grab a snack now, and find a restaurant while we're out—the total tourist."
"Works for me." But Rio stayed there in the hallway, catching her gaze on a long hesitation. He looked as though he might suddenly ask—what's wrong, Kimmer?—and Kimmer opened her mouth to forestall it, but ended up without words in her mouth.
I'm not meant for this. It came to her in a sudden panic of doubt. Maybe it wasn't Rio who couldn't do this partner thing. Maybe it was her.
He, after all, was the one who came steeped in family and CIA teamwork. She was the one who'd never had it before. Who suddenly didn't seem to have a clue.
To her relief, he didn't say anything at all. He r
eached out to smooth a stray curl behind her ear, and gave her a smile that might have been the slightest bit sad. "I'll give a knock when I'm ready to go."
And Kimmer only nodded.
Lame, she told herself, following him up the stairs to their separate rooms. Really lame, Kimmer Reed.
~~~
Got your email, Kimmer typed to Karlene, Sandy, and, by default, Carolyne. Dogs need their hair, Karlene. Sandy, being an idiot is how a boy pretends he's not afraid. Be nice to your new foster brother and maybe he'll be less annoying. Maybe not, but it could happen.
Is that what a good mother would say? How could she even know? Her own mother had spent their quiet together-times instilling Kimmer with rules of survival, rules she had lived by for so long they were part of her. “No one takes care of you but you,” she'd tell her young daughter, finger-combing back curly hair that only a mother could love in the first place.
If I can't be a good partner, how the hell can I be a good mother?
Because, said her little voice, you can't leave those girls to the foster care system.
"Aurgh," Kimmer said out loud, shamelessly stealing it from Rio.
She finished the note and wrote a separate email to Caro—her fingers hesitating on words of concern for someone who wanted family in a way Kimmer could never imagine, and then taking the coward's way out to inquire more about their visit, the girls, and especially the idiot foster-brother.
When it came to brothers, Kimmer took nothing for granted.
Then she banged out a quick note to Owen, only peripherally aware of how suddenly hard her fingers hit the keys.
Bad idea, this step-sibling cover. It's drawing attention, all right. Everyone thinks we're wanton and up for grabs. Good going, Owen.
She stopped, thinking of the young woman who had come onto Rio. Yeah, they needed to talk. At least her file was whistle-clean, vetted by both Owen and Rio. Didn't mean she wasn't a pain in the ass.
Making the Rules Page 8
