“Who are you with? The Sonoras? The Zetas?” Eduardo turned the blade back and forth, the firelight running along the steel in bright and shifting patterns. It was a Bowie knife, six inches long, and he held it up in a ready stance. “Los Caballeros Templarios?”
She gaped at him, her brain on fire. He thought she was an assassin? Someone from a rival cartel? That was insane. Certifiably, beyond a doubt insane. But he was deadly serious. A tight, panicked feeling was starting to close in on Veronica’s chest, pressing down on her lungs, on her heart.
“I’m not with anyone,” she whispered. She mentally took the measurements of the room around her. Rico and Eduardo flanked her, each a few feet away. Behind her were the bookshelves; in front of her, a low chaise longue she might be able to launch herself across. But how fast is he with that knife? He held it like he’d used it before. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to make it to the door.
“That’s what they all say,” Rico said. He grinned, and she thought she saw a mischievous gleam in his eye. He doesn’t think I’m in a cartel, she realized. He’s just egging Eduardo on—because he thinks it’s funny. The thought didn’t make her feel any better.
“We know your people’ve been in town for a while now.” Eduardo’s pupils were so wide she could see the room reflected in their depths. He wiped his nose quickly with the back of his left hand. “Watching, waiting for an opportunity. Looking for your chance to send a message to El Oso.”
Veronica wondered distantly if this was what had happened to Hayley. To Aurora. If, instead of discovering something, they’d simply been on the receiving end of Eduardo’s paranoia and Rico’s thirst for blood. She took a step sideways and bumped into a heavy pedestal with a musty dictionary perched on top. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stop. Lying.” Eduardo’s voice rose, a ragged cry of rage. She saw his legs tense in the split second before he sprang at her, and she took her one desperate chance, throwing her body at the chaise longue in the hopes she could scramble over it. But a fist closed in her hair. She was jerked backward against someone’s hard, heaving chest. The knife flashed against her throat.
“Tell me who sent you.” Eduardo’s breath was hot against her cheek.
“No one!” Her scalp burned. She writhed in his grip, struggling to twist out of his grasp, but he had her pinned.
She felt the edge of the blade pressing into her flesh. A thin ribbon of blood trickled down her throat. “Tell me!”
She didn’t answer. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain.
Then an explosion of noise blasted through the room.
The French doors burst. A group of girls poured through, laughing and jostling. At the head of the crowd was Willie Murphy, looking like he was leading a marching band as he gestured for the crowd to follow him. Absurdly, bringing up the rear was Dick Casablancas, plastic cup in hand. The sound of music drifted down the hallway and filled the room.
“This way, ladies—there’s more Cristal in here!” Willie opened a bottle of champagne with a loud pop. Behind him the group cheered. He gestured at a buxom black-haired girl in a bright pink bikini. “Rico, man, look who I found. Selena here is totes down with our Taco Bell plan, brah!”
Eduardo’s grip on her loosened, the knife flashing away out of sight of the crowd. The moment she was free, Veronica staggered toward Dick. “Dick, baby, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
He tried to take an instinctive step backward as she advanced, but she was already flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him toward her. She showered him with kisses, and as she leaned up to plant one firmly on his lips, she caught a glimpse of his sea-blue eyes, frozen wide in a kind of mesmerized horror.
But Eduardo wasn’t even looking at her and Dick. He had eyes for no one but Willie.
For just a moment, she caught sight of Willie’s face. His complexion was like curdled milk, his eyes wide and darting. His hands trembled so bad he could barely pour the champagne.
He looked almost as scared as Veronica felt.
A few of the bodyguards burst in, looking abashed, trying—and failing—to herd everyone back down the hall to the main floor. Girls climbed up on the antique chairs, gyrating their hips to the music pouring in from the other room. An inflatable beach ball had manifested from somewhere and floated through the room from fist to fist. Rico was already chatting up a little cluster of girls, easily distracted from bloodshed to booty.
Then another kind of noise filled the hallway.
“Attention. Attention. Evacuate the premises immediately. This is an order. I repeat: this is an order.”
Bullhorns. Mechanical, blaring voices.
Cops.
All hell broke loose. At once the spring breakers flew into motion, some running straight for the door, some rooted to the spot in confusion and fear. Dick released Veronica, looking baffled. She saw Eduardo stepping back with his hands up and a resigned expression on his face. Rico scowled, annoyed, as the little group of girls scattered.
Willie Murphy, though, reacted with the knee-jerk panic of a man who’d been hunted half his life. He ran toward the door in blind terror. He sidestepped a brutish-looking deputy in khaki only to be headed off by another, this one with a baton swinging in his fist. Then he scrambled backward, eyes rolling like a cornered animal. Veronica saw the familiar white flash of a Taser, and Willie hit the ground hard.
Suddenly Lamb was there, bullhorn in hand. His voice screeched painfully through the room, echoing off the glossy furniture. Several of the remaining spring breakers covered their ears, cringing.
“Clear this room. Clear it out, people, this is your last warning or we’ll bring in the tear gas. Out to the front lawn where our friendly officers will meet and process you. Go on.”
A few feet away, one of the officers was getting Murphy’s wrists in cuffs.
“Willie Murphy, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
Lamb took the bullhorn away from his lips, leaning in to talk to Eduardo, who nodded slowly at whatever he said. A surge of anger propelled Veronica forward, her eyes blazing. Lamb’s eyes narrowed when he saw her.
“Mars. Going in guns blazing as usual, I see. You should have let us handle this.”
She jabbed an index finger toward Eduardo. “This asshole had a knife to my throat, Lamb. I want to press charges.”
Lamb glanced at Eduardo, then put a firm hand on her back to propel her out the door. “Come on, Mars, this has been a crazy night for you. Let’s not say anything we’ll regret later.”
She shook him off. “Are you kidding me? He assaulted me. He drew blood. Do your fucking job for once and arrest him!”
Eduardo quickly stepped forward, giving Lamb an abashed look. “Sheriff, I did do as this girl said. Mars, you said her name was? I overreacted. I found her in my private rooms and thought she was an intruder. I did not know she was a friend of yours.”
Veronica’s mouth fell open. But Lamb just smirked.
“I told you not to go sneaking around peoples’ houses, buttercup. Hell, I could actually take you in for trespassing right now, you know that?”
“There’s no need for that,” said Eduardo benevolently. “It was an honest mistake.” He gave a little bow toward Veronica, a mocking smile playing at the edges of his lips.
She stared at the two of them, standing close together now, talking in low voices about Willie Murphy. Willie Murphy, the low-hanging fruit that would be enough to get the press off Lamb’s back without requiring any real police work—and without requiring him to piss off the cartel.
Then she swallowed it. The rage, the fear—it went down hard. It made a knot in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t speak but let an officer lead her out the door and down the stairs, toward the clean, cool air outside.