Ana led Cora through the villa, pointing out important landmarks along the way. The library, the sauna, the gym. An old-fashioned music room with a grand piano standing on a dais. The second floor of the villa housed the rooms. Near the center of each of the four corridors were the smaller guest bedrooms and, in the wings, the master bedrooms; all en-suite. Ana led her into one of them, twirling around before perching on the edge of the bed. This room was twice the size of her old one, and it came with a balcony.

Cora went over to it and stood with her hands pressed to the glass as she peered outside. A haze hung over the land, but what she could see was vast…and empty. Not another structure in sight. Just a few low hills, patches of trees. And rocks.

No wonder her uncle felt safe out here. There was no one around for miles.

“You’re size eight?” Ana asked.

Cora jerked—she hadn’t heard the woman coming up behind her. She turned, and froze when she saw Ana’s hand outstretched to take her Taurus from the small of her back.

Ana turned her hand, palm up. “Can I see?”

Cora hesitated, and then slowly drew the pistol from behind her belt. She laid it in Ana’s hand, who turned it every which way with a slow smile of admiration growing on her painted lips. “So beautiful.” She ran a manicured fingertip over the inscription. “A gift?”

“From my father.”

Ana’s hand tightened over the pistol. When Cora looked up at the woman, there were tears in Ana’s eyes. “It must be terrible, losing your father.”

“He’s still alive,” Cora snapped, snatching her Taurus back.

Ana’s eyes widened. “I meant no offense, Eleo—”

“And my name’s Cora.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Ana couldn’t have been older than thirty, but the woman had such a bubbly personality that crushing it, as she just had, felt like dealing a physical blow.

Cora sighed and waved at Ana, her shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. A long week.”

“I understand,” Ana said. The woman stretched out her hand, jiggling it until Cora took it up hesitantly. “Come, let’s find you some clean clothes. You can have a shower, wash your—” Ana cut off with a grimace, giving Cora’s mop of raven hair a puzzled look. “You get a haircut. Let’s do that first. Then you shower.”

“A haircut?” Cora lifted a hand, tugging on the ends of her hair where they hung just below her earlobes. “It just needs a brush.”

“Whoever cut it did a terrible job. Terrible.” Ana wrinkled her nose and then slipped her arm through Cora’s, leading her from the room. “Come. We have salon here. Javier likes us to look pretty for him.”

A coldness washed over Cora. “Us?”

But Ana just giggled, waving away the question with a slim hand. “You drink?”

“A little.”

“A lot,” Ana said, tugging her close and nestling her face into Cora’s shoulder. “It gets so boring here.” She poked Cora’s shoulder. “I teach you to drink. Just enough for fun, not enough for hang over.”

Cora laughed. The sound arrived unexpectedly, and she immediately tamped it down, but Ana returned a sweet little giggle. “See? You always have fun with Ana.” Then the woman paused, made a serious face, and mimicked Javier’s deep voice. “You will always have fun with Ana.”

They both burst out laughing, Cora leaning into the girl as they made their way through the villa, back the way they’d come.

Dinner. It couldn’t be that far away—the sun had already slunk low into the horizon and seemed resigned to spending the night hidden from view behind the distant, jagged mountains. Finn could smell himself; sweat and dirty clothes. His room had a queen-sized bed, a small dressing room area with a closet full of generic, if well made, clothes of various sizes, shapes, and colors. And a fully-equipped en-suite bathroom.

There were, in fact, no golden faucets in this one. But Finn had no doubt Javier’s own suite—perhaps even Cora’s—would have them. It had a marble hand basin. A marble tub with jets. And a shower spanning most of the opposite wall. The bathroom was tiled in jade and floored in gold-veined marble. It was so dark inside, he had to switch on the lights to see himself properly in the mirror.

Then he wished he hadn’t, because he looked like shit.

There was a razor in the cupboard. Shaving cream. Cologne. Nothing he’d ever used, but he could recognize the names. Paul Gaultier. Giorgio Armani. He hesitated, and then took one out. Sniffed.

It probably cost what he made in a month. He tried to sneer, but he felt strangely resigned to the fact that this man had more money than he could wrap his head around.

Crime paid. This palace was living proof. Javier’s polished teeth and gaudy rings, all proof.

One of the Paco Rabannes didn’t smell too bad. Leathery and spicy. He set it on the basin and went back into the room to investigate the closet. There were several pairs of jeans inside, immaculately pressed, and a few button up shirts. Various sizes, and all but one pair of jeans too small for him. There were t-shirts, and one black in XL, which was a bit tight around his biceps but at least didn’t strain too much around his chest. He could wear his jacket over it, so it would work fine.

There were even cotton boxers and briefs, still sealed in packaging. Socks, handkerchiefs, belts.

You could arrive here a poor man and leave feeling like a king. Was that Javier’s intention? How many of the guests by the pool had rooms like these and how many lived in some squalid staff quarter hidden in the back of this palace?

The shower felt better than anything—except perhaps his night with Cora—had for a long time. He wondered briefly if he was using up all the hot water, realized the man probably had on-demand heaters everywhere and solar to run it all, and stayed a few minutes longer.

There was nothing he could do with his hair, but he shaved his face and splashed cologne on himself.

Better. At least, when he said goodbye, Cora would remember this version of himself and not the grubby, sweaty version she’d been stuck with the past week.

God, a week? It felt like a month. A fucking lifetime. And he had only a few hours left. Could he get her alone? Tell her some of those things he’d told her dead-cold body after he’d dragged her from the Rio Grande? What if he did, what would it matter? He would still have to leave. It would just make leaving her that much harder.

No…came a low growl inside his head. We break the toy so no one else can play with it.

He grabbed both sides of the sink and leaned over the basin, eyes closed and chest heaving until it felt it would burst.

She’s ours. If we can’t have her—

Finn searched hurriedly through his jacket, found his packet of mints, and slid two of them into his mouth. He severed them, sucking hard so the strong taste coated his mouth.

The voice faded, but its sinister intentions clung to his mind like a slick of rancid oil.

He had to leave. Not tomorrow. Not after dinner. Now.

When he looked up into his reflection, his eyes glittered like one of Javier’s sapphire rings. Cold and brittle with resolve.