Page 29 of Lethal Legacy

“Hey.” Dimitry snaps his fingers in my direction. “I said, answer your phone. Pavel’s trying to get hold of you. Something about a background check?”

I answer the eternally vibrating phone without meeting Dimitry’s curious eyes. “You got what I asked for?” I snap.

“Well—yes and no.” Even down the phone line, I can tell the tech head is quaking in his ridiculous trainers.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I drum my fingers on the leather seat impatiently. “You can hack the damn Pentagon. Surely a simple background check is within your capabilities?”

“It is if I have enough to go on.” Pavel’s indignation is palpable. “You gave me a name. Nothing else. No birth date, no address, no passport number. Do you have any idea how many Lucia Lopezs there are in Spain?”

“I gave you her workplace.”

“Which is notorious for hiring illegal immigrants and paying them in cash. Despite that, I did manage to narrow the options down based on approximate age and location.”

“Then stop fucking around and give me what you’ve found.”

“Sending it through now, sir.” Pavel’s injured tone makes it very clear that he doesn’t appreciate his skills being used for such mundane tasks as running background checks. I don’t give a fuck. I pay him to do whatever is needed. And Pavel is the only person I trust to sift through Lucia’s past.

“Background check, huh?” Dimitry has a shit-eating grin that tells me he knows exactly who I’m looking into.

“I need an au pair.” I open the file Pavel has sent through.

“And you think the delectable Miss Lopez possesses the appropriate... erm...skills, for that particular role?”

I give him a look that’s left hundreds shaking in their boots, but seems to have no discernible effect at all on Dimitry, the prick.

“She speaks several languages. She’s clearly a hard worker. And she needs a job.” Despite my harsh rejoinder, he’s still grinning in a way that thoroughly pisses me off.

I flick through the pages Pavel has sent. He’s right; there’s fuck all here, and what there is comes from the application she made for a medical card, and its subsequent use.

Lucia is listed as Argentinian. She may or may not have come from Morocco by boat. It seems she’s currently living in cheap motels, shifting every other day. The medical card has been used far more than I would have expected, and the current motel manager, Pavel reports, is very annoyed about the wheelchair used by the “old man” who is her companion.

I put my phone down and frown out the window.

Old man?

If he’s in a wheelchair, it’s unlikely to be a boyfriend.

Which is good, considering that even the thought of Lucia Lopez having a boyfriend is enough to make me want to punch something again.

But if it’s an ailing relative, then that can only work in my favor. It means Miss Lopez has responsibilities. Someone she has to care for.

A reason to say yes to my contract.

I stare at my phone.

There’s fifteen minutes to go.

10

LUCIA

The buzzing of my phone alarm jolts me out of siesta at four forty in the afternoon.

The contract stares at me from the table by my bed. I fell asleep reading it over again.

Twenty minutes to go before time is up.

I scramble off the bed and into the shower. I normally wake up long before the alarm goes off, setting it just as a precaution.

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