Saints Astray (Santa Olivia #2)

Saints Astray (Santa Olivia #2) Page 39

“These guys are really popular. What does happen if it gets out there? More than it already is, enough that people other than Kate’s fans start asking questions? I mean, the U.S. government still wants Loup back. What happens if they figure out that Lupe Herrera is Loup Garron?”

“Ah.” He steepled his fingers. “A very good question. As it happens, I asked Sabine to look into the matter some time ago. Loup may recall, we spoke about the matter during our first meeting.”

“You’re safe,” Sabine said briefly to Loup. “As long as you stay out of America.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Although there is a considerable amount of uncertainty regarding the existence of GMOs, the American policy is known and loathed throughout the world on sheer principle. You could claim asylum anywhere. There is no country in this hemisphere that would honor an extradition request.” Sabine gave a tight smile. “And for that reason, the U.S. government would not make such a request.”

“Bet it could make things… interesting… though,” Loup said thoughtfully. “If the story got out there.”

Magnus shrugged. “That’s always been a possibility.”

Loup glanced at Pilar. “What do you think?”

“It’s the kind of job we came here to do, baby.” She smiled. “As long as you’re safe, I’m for it. And maybe interesting will turn out to be a good thing.”

“I want you to be on good behavior tomorrow,” Magnus interjected. “Professional behavior. This deal is not yet concluded. The band wants you, yes. Their manager, Geordie Davies, is less sanguine about the merit of this affair.” He gave them a stern look. “Do not give him a reason to turn us down.”

Loup saluted. “Aye, sir.”

“Dear God.” He dabbed his lips with a napkin, hiding a reluctant smile. “Please do not do that, either.”

“No, sir!”

“Insufferable,” Sabine murmured to herself, more mildly than usual.

They reconvened in the afternoon of the following day. At the band’s hotel, Magnus called up to the suite and spoke to the manager. When they reached the suite, a skinny, bleary-eyed young man in a ratty T-shirt answered Magnus’ crisp knock on the door. His gaze roamed over them, settling on Loup and brightening.

“Oh, hey. Hey!” He turned. “It’s Mystery Girl!”

“No shit,” a slightly-less-bleary young man replied. “They just called, you gormless idiot.”

“I was in the loo.” He wiped his hands on faded jeans. “Come on in.”

“Mr. Lindberg!” An older man in the background busily cleared the coffee table of empty beer cans, of which there were dozens. “Please, do come in. I apologize for the mess.” He plucked a pair of panties from the couch. “Lads, is there someone around to claim these?”

“In Charlie’s bedroom,” the less bleary one said.

“Legal age?”

He shrugged. “Hope so.”

Sabine looked at Magnus, a muscle twitching under her right eye.

“Ah, Mr. Davies, I assume?” he said to the older man. “Shall we return at a later time?”

“No, no.” Davies looked sour. “There’s no guarantee matters will improve. Randall, will you please wake Charlie and oust his guest?”

He nodded and shambled away.

“Lead singer,” Pilar whispered to Loup. “Randall Wilkes.”

“I’m Donny,” the one who’d answered the door said helpfully. “Donny Fairbrook.”

“The drummer, right?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “That was awesome, what you did onstage. Can’t wait to see you do it again.”

In fairly short order, a scantily clad young woman was evicted and a third skinny young man joined them, tousle-haired and yawning.

“Sorry,” he apologized, scratching his belly. “Late night.” He smiled sleepily at Loup and Pilar. “Hey, Mystery Girl and Mystery Girl’s friend!”

“Right.” Magnus dusted some dubious-looking crumbs off a chair and sat, crossing his legs with debonair aplomb. “Shall we get down to business, gentlemen? Mr. Davies, I understand you have some concerns. Did you read the testimonials I sent you?”

“We have testimonials?” Pilar asked.

“You do indeed,” he said. “Hugh Danielson provided a particularly glowing one, despite his disappointment over your declining his generous offer.”

“I read ’em,” Geordie Davies said. “They’re still a couple of teenaged girls.” He gestured at the members of the band. “Can you not see why this is potentially a very bad idea?”

Magnus folded his hands. “I assure you, the young women are very professional.”

Sabine coughed.

“Aw, c’mon, Geordie.” Randall Wilkes pushed his long, floppy bangs out of his eyes. “It’s all just for show anyway. And the fans want it.” He pointed at Loup. “She’s shifting our demographic, eh? We’re starting to pull in more thrill seekers along with the teenyboppers. An older, harder-edge crowd. That’s what we want, eh? An audience we can grow?”

He eyed Loup. “She’s a genuine GMO?”

“An optimally engineered human being,” Magnus agreed. “The only one of her particular kind.”

“If you’re so perfect, why didn’t they make more of you?” Donny asked Loup, his face puzzled.

“It’s just a term.” She cocked her head and gambled. “I wasn’t made in a laboratory. My father was. I’m a half-breed genetic mutant.”

“Fucking hell!” he breathed. “You serious?”

“Yes.”

“We gotta have her.” Donny gave Geordie a pleading look. “C’mon, man! That’s just too fucking cool.”

“Are you one, too?” Charlie asked Pilar.

“No. But Loup and I work together.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re a good team,” she said. “And it’s in our contract.”

“Okay.” He gave her a sweet, sleepy smile. “No matter, eh? The more the merrier.”

“I’m still not convinced the entire thing wasn’t a trick in the first place,” Geordie Davies said dubiously. “Thought the Yanks had ’em all under lock and key, if they even exist at all. Can we not have a demonstration?”

Magnus raised his brows at Loup.

She sighed. “What would you like me to do, Mr. Davies?”

“I don’t know. Convince me.”

Loup stood and eyed the manager. He was sitting in a high-backed chair. She moved behind him, stooped, and grabbed the back legs of the chair and levered it into the air. He let out an undignified squeak and clutched the chair arms.

The band roared with laughter.

“Convinced?” she asked the back of the chair.

“Yes! Yes, please!”

She lowered him carefully. “Okay, then.”

“Geordie, man,” Randall said. “C’mon. We’ve gotta do this. Nobody else has anything like it. It’s free PR everywhere we go.”

He chewed his thumbnail. “It’s not free, lad. But I suppose it might be worth the risk.” He sighed. “All right. Against my better judgment, we’ll try it. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

The drummer whooped.

Magnus smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be very pleased.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

The band was playing a couple of small gigs in London, honing their chops for the tour. They wanted Loup and Pilar to start right away. In the end, Magnus negotiated an additional fee of fifty thousand for the extra ten days.

“Five thousand quid a day.” The lead singer, Randall, smiled through his floppy bangs at Pilar. “What kind of special benefits does that get us?”

“Not that kind, sorry.”

He gave her the yearning look that made his fans swoon. “We’ll see.”

Loup rolled her eyes.

“Right.” Magnus placed the signed contracts in his briefcase and handed it to Sabine. “We’ll be on our way, shall we? We’ve a lot of work to do yet at headquarters.”

“You’re leaving us here?” Pilar asked in mild alarm.

He looked amused. “You’re on their payroll now, Ms. Mendez. And I imagine you’ve got a lot of details to arrange, starting with transferring hotels and coordinating with Mr. Jones on the itinerary. That’s your end of this bargain, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No need to get a room,” the bass player said helpfully. “Plenty of space here in the suite.”

Pilar glanced at Geordie Davies. “Do you have a block of rooms reserved for security?”

“We do.” He picked up a phone. “I’ll call down to the front desk and authorize you.”

Two hours later, they’d said their farewells to Magnus and Sabine, checked out of their old hotel and into the band’s hotel, which was hipper and trendier.

“Weird lighting.” Pilar flipped on a light switch and glanced around at the subterranean glow. “Their place was so trashed, I didn’t even notice. And what’s with all the pillows?”

“I don’t know.” Loup reclined against several of the dozen geometrically shaped pillows adorning the bed, folding her arms behind her head. “So are you happy we got the job?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Not sure?”

“No, I am.” Pilar flopped down beside her. “They’re just sort of younger and hornier than I expected. And smellier.”

Loup laughed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Are you happy?”

“Sure.” She ran a few strands of Pilar’s hair through her fingers. “I’m happy if you’re happy.”

Pilar leaned over to kiss her. “I could make you happier.”