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He drifted along behind them, aware not only of Mr. Cabrera but of the people around Mr. Cabrera—mostly rich old aristocrats and their sparkling wives. Nobody suspicious.
He found a new place, this time up against a wall next to an ugly abstract painting. People swirled past him, and he scowled at them each in turn to discourage anyone from trying to strike up a conversation. Not that it was necessary. Despite the tuxedo Mr. Cabrera had lent him, it was clear Diego did not belong in a place like this. Neither did Mr. Cabrera, when you got down to it, but there were some Independent-minded city politicians Mr. Cabrera needed in his pocket, just in case this whole agriculture dome thing ever happened.
“You can sit around worrying about this shit,” Mr. Cabrera had said a few hours earlier, as they’d ridden in his sleek dark car toward the hotel, Diego forcing himself to focus on his assignment and not Eliana, “or you can take some precautions. So that’s what we’re doing. Taking precautions.”
Diego had only nodded in response. He knew all about Mr. Cabrera’s ideas on precautions. He had been helping with those precautions for the last five years, ever since Mr. Cabrera had taken him out of the pool of errand-ru
Diego didn’t want to think about that possible future, though. The woman they’d thrown to the ice, this was the sort of place she should be. Standing up on the dais telling all the dancers just how welcome their contributions were.
The thought made Diego feel hollow.
Mr. Cabrera left the dance floor, the silver woman at his side. Diego took another sip of his whiskey and followed them across the party, keeping a respectful distance—close enough to see but not close enough to hear. Mr. Cabrera went over to the bar, bought his girl a drink, and then herded her toward the balcony.
Diego went along for it all. This kind of work wasn’t so bad, although watching Mr. Cabrera flirt with the girl reminded him of the good times he’d had with Eliana. Which he didn’t need right now.
The balcony doors were closed, and when Mr. Cabrera pushed one open, the artificial wind gusted in, cold and smelling faintly of the docks. The woman laughed as her skirt fluttered up around her knees, and she put one hand on her hair as if to hold it in place. They stepped out. Diego hesitated, not sure if he should follow—but then Mr. Cabrera glanced at him over his shoulder and nodded once, his expression hard and serious.
Diego stepped outside.
It was freezing. Mr. Cabrera had led his girl up to the railing, and their voices rose and fell with the wind, pieces of laughter and stupid flirtations. Diego fumbled around in his pocket for a cigarette and had a hell of a time lighting it in the wind. When the ember flared, the woman looked over at him, then turned back to Mr. Cabrera and said something Diego couldn’t catch.
“. . . protection,” Mr. Cabrera said, which was all Diego could hear. The woman gazed up at Mr. Cabrera like she was impressed. It occurred to Diego that she might not know who Mr. Cabrera was. She might not know what she was getting into.
If he’d had a way, he’d have warned her. But he didn’t have a way.
Diego smoked his cigarette and kept his eye on the door, since he doubted anybody would be coming at Mr. Cabrera from the open air. He was almost to the filter when the girl suddenly whooshed past his line of vision and back into the building, her dress trailing out behind her like a smear of light.
Diego looked over at Mr. Cabrera, who was leaning against the railing and staring at him.
“You got another one of those?” Mr. Cabrera asked.
Diego nodded and pulled out the pack. He walked across the balcony and handed it to Mr. Cabrera, who lit one and let out a long, exhausted sigh.
“So what’d you say to make her run off?” Diego asked, joking.
Mr. Cabrera didn’t smile. “I didn’t run her off. I asked her to get me another drink.” He winked. “Needed to get us alone. It seems we have a problem.”
“A problem.” Didn’t sound like much of a problem so far. Mr. Cabrera would dance a few more rounds and then take the girl up to his room and slip that silver dress off her shoulders while Diego stood out in the hallway, chain smoking and missing Eliana. Boring. Sad, even. But not a fucking problem.
“I saw someone while I was dancing with my lovely new friend.” Mr. Cabrera leaned against the railing. The wind shoved his hair back away from his forehead, and in the glinting city lights he looked like some gargoyle on the side of a cathedral, not like a man at all. “Someone who’s supposed to be dead.”
“What?” Diego stepped forward. “Who?”
Mr. Cabrera didn’t look at him. “One of our hostesses,” he said. “I watched you kill her last month. But she isn’t dead.”
The woman. Luna. Lady Luna. It was the first time Diego had thought her name. He felt a sudden surge of relief. She wasn’t dead. Not that he could let Mr. Cabrera know about that wayward emotion. He was supposed to be hard. Brutal. That was the reason Mr. Cabrera had taken him in, all those years ago.
“She’s alive? How’s that even possible?”
Mr. Cabrera dragged hard on his cigarette. “I asked around. Something about her maintenance drones dragging her back in.” Mr. Cabrera tossed his cigarette out into the night. “A far-fetched story, don’t you think?”
“It does seem unlikely.”
“The rumors are ignoring the other possibility, of course, and rather conveniently so. It’s just as far-fetched, but it would explain Pablo Sala’s obsession with her. I’m sure you remember Pablo.”
“Yes, sir,” Diego said, heat singeing his cheeks.
“Mr. Sala claimed he had a way of removing her. He implied it would make it u
Silence. Mr. Cabrera watched him, waiting. This was a test, Diego realized.
And with that, all the tumblers fell into place.
“She’s a cyborg,” Diego said.
“You were always the smart one. Glad I brought you along instead of Sebastian.” Mr. Cabrera sighed. “Sala was right. Letting that out would remove her from the city. But I don’t want to remove her. I want to kill her.” He looked at Diego. “You think you can do that for me?”
Diego’s body went cold. “Here?”
“Not in the middle of the dance floor, no. But yes, I’d like it done tonight.”
Christ, this was supposed to be a bodyguarding job. Follow him around, help him get laid. Diego wasn’t prepared for killing tonight. He especially didn’t want to kill this woman, didn’t want to let go of that initial swell of relief, didn’t want to prove to himself that Eliana really was better off leaving the city.
“She’s a cyborg.”
“Not paying attention to the conversation?” Mr. Cabrera turned toward the door.
“No, I mean—how am I supposed to do it? The ice didn’t kill her—”
“She’s not a robot,” Mr. Cabrera said. “Shoot her in the brain, then shoot her in the heart. Keep shooting until she doesn’t move anymore.”
Diego didn’t say anything. His heart was racing, but he couldn’t feel the blood in his veins. He was aware of the gun in his coat pocket, a cold weight against the side of his waist.
“Just get her alone while you do it,” Mr. Cabrera said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to fetch the enchanting Esperanza and ensure that I’m seen by as many people as possible in the next few hours.” And with that, he turned and breezed back through the balcony doors, leaving Diego alone.
Christ. Marianella Luna was a cyborg. Why didn’t Mr. Cabrera just take the information public? It’d accomplish the same purpose, ultimately.