Hydromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 4)
Cesar rolled his eyes and said under his breath, “I’m glad I’m not Tim.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” He huffed. “Are you going up, or am I carrying you?”
With a scoff, she made her way up the ladder. Only when the door shut behind her did she hear him take off.
She leaned against the door. What was that all about? Was Tim referring to his criminal side, meaning she had to know what she was getting herself mixed up with? She’d hoped for his interest, but she hadn’t bargained on all this serious talk. It was crazy, for one, and secondly, it could complicate her mission. Tim hadn’t joked when he’d said that he’d kill any man who touched what was his. She was streetwise enough to recognize that look when she saw it and the truth in it. She got to know it all too well amongst the gangs of Cape Town. No matter how many lies she told Tim in the name of this operation, telling him she’d be his would be a huge mistake. It was the kind of vow a man like Tim wouldn’t let a woman break, no matter what, no matter under what conditions it was made. She wasn’t going to tie herself to him with a false promise, not even for her job. She’d make this work, complete this mission, on her terms. A part of her knew that Cesar was right. Tim wasn’t a man she wanted to cross, and it wasn’t because she was scared of him. It was for reasons she didn’t care to explore.
She opened the fridge and shut it again with an exasperated sigh. Today’s visit to Tim’s condo was a golden opportunity she had nothing to show for. She thought about what to do, and made up her mind. She changed into torn jeans and a figure-hugging, red T-shirt. Then she headed for Mango.
From the outside, the place actually looked better. Inside was worse than what she’d expected. She stood in the door and scanned the room with a sweep of her eyes. It was only sunset, but already the men at the bar acted the kind of rowdy that came from being intoxicated. They were laughing and slamming their hands on the counter, beer spilling everywhere. Another group played cards at a table in a dark corner. The girl she’d spotted with Tim was nowhere to be seen. An older woman behind the bar watched Maya with mistrust.
Catching her eye, Maya approached her. “Hey, I’m Maya.”
“I know who you are.”
“Small town.”
In one sense, this wasn’t good. Too difficult to go unnoticed. On the other hand, if everyone knew everyone’s business, she had a bigger chance of uncovering the truth.
“What do you want?” the woman asked.
“I’ll have a beer, and whatever’s on the menu for today.”
“What do you really want?”
“Just looking for customers.”
The woman laughed. “You won’t find any here.”
“All right.” Maya shrugged. She couldn’t ask about Tim’s girl without raising suspicion. “So, what’s the special?”
“Grilled chicken and potato skins.”
“Sounds good. What’s your name?”
The woman didn’t answer. She disappeared into the back and exited a short while later with a plate of food, which she dumped in front of Maya.
The food wasn’t half bad. The potatoes were crispy and the chicken tender. Maya took her time eating and finishing her beer, but still there was no sign of Tim’s pretty bed partner. It was dark when she paid and left.
On her way home, she walked past the house at the end of the street, but the windows were dark. She hung around the jetty for a while, and when it started to get late, she headed home.
She’d just undressed when her mobile phone beeped. She picked it up and read the text. It was from Tim.
Dinner, my place, Friday evening. I’m cooking. 8pm?
She threw the phone on the bed and logged onto the secure line on her tablet for her weekly report to Joss and Cain. She gave a quick update and logged off.
Only then did she pick up her phone again, typed, What’s on the menu? and pressed the send button.
Diving classes with Elvin and Jake continued. Tim had sent a text message to tell Maya he was back at his office in San José and to remind her that she hadn’t confirmed for Friday, as if he was worried she wouldn’t come. She replied with a polite thank you. It was a strange message, one a husband would send his wife, and Tim owed her no explanations. Not that she was complaining. It made it easier to know his exact whereabouts. If anything, it was a habit she’d make a point of cultivating.
Maya went for long jogs and swims in the mornings and evenings. She spent her nights in the pubs and bars, keeping her ear on the ground, but if anyone in Puerto Viejo knew anything about arms smuggling, they kept a tight lid on it. She even visited Mango a couple of times and hung out by the jetty with a fishing rod, but never saw the pretty girl.