Page 52 of Under His Sheets
I almost thought to myself, how bad could it…
We pulled up to the Ferrers’ house at 6:55 p.m. in a nondescript black sedan—I didn’t even know what make or model the car was—after Ruiz showed me where the rendezvous point was around the corner. In case of emergency, I was to go to a van there, where Costa and another officer would be monitoring what the listening devices we were wearing picked up.
“If anything goes wrong, we will call in la policía as backup. Don’t worry. You will be safe.”
It seemed simple enough, the entire scenario.
Tell that to my integumentary system.
I was sweating profusely down my back. I prayed the undershirt, dress shirt, and vest would be enough material to absorb it and I wouldn’t have sweat stains showing by the time we were meant to play.
Costa touched my back as we were walking in, and when I flinched, he whispered, “You can’t do that around other people if we’re going to pull this off.”
“I’m sorry, I know. I’m just…I’m fucking nervous. I’m sweating like a pig, all down my back.” I adjusted my grip on the guitar case, which was slipping around in my sweaty palm.Jesus.
He smiled down at me—he was at least six inches taller than me and was fit like Alonso, but bulkier. “You will be safe. As long as you don’t ramble nervously, you will be fine. Just pretend like you don’t know anything—which you don’t—and let them bury themselves. These wealthy assholes think nothing can touch them. They’d send us all back to the stone age for their pride.”
“This is personal for you?” I asked.
“Sí. Jo sóc catalá. Yo soy de España. Es lo mismo. ¿Me entiendes? They are one and the same. Catalunya is part of the whole of España and stronger because of that.”
I nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate you telling me that.”
As we approached the door, he leaned down and kissed my cheek. This time I didn’t flinch. He didn’t smell good like Alonso, nor did I feel attracted to him at all, but he was doing his job, and that meant he would protect me. I had to trust him and Costa.
“We are being watched,” he whispered in my ear.
I smiled up at him, though I was sure it didn’t reach my eyes.
The door opened and I stood straighter.
“Bona nit. You must be senyor Sutter. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I held out my hand to shake. “Senyora Ferrer,” I said, recognizing Pere’s stepmother. “Yes, I’m Randall Sutter, and this is my date, Alonso.” I hoped I hadn’t made a face when I gave Alonso’s name. Carlos Ruiz certainly was notmyAlonso.
My Alonso. God, I missed him. I hated not knowing if he was okay. But I had to push the worry out of my mind or I’d blow this whole thing.
“Call me Doriana,” she said, seeming less like the stepmonster I’d imagined her to be. Perhaps she was an excellent host and actress, but not necessarily the best parent. That could definitely be the case.
Ruiz took her hand, spoke to her in Catalan and kissed her cheeks.
“Molt de gust,” she said and gestured for us to enter. “Randall, Paolo would like to see you for a few minutes in his study. Jaume will escort you.” She reached for the arm of a large suited gentleman, who I recognized as Ferrer’s driver. “Alonso, how about you come with me to the bar?”
And so we were already to be separated. Ruiz glanced at me, his smile only slightly slipping, and he nodded to me, taking Doriana’s arm. The two of them chatted in Catalan and he definitely played the part of the gay love interest, turning back to smile at me.
What hewasn’tplaying was the protective undercover soldier, and that had me on edge.
“This way,” the big man said, pointing to the left of the foyer. The place was a mansion. The foyer had a huge domed roof with skylights and there was a mural on the ceiling of clouds and angels, similar to but not exactly like any I’d seen before. I wondered how old the place was. Had Ferrer’s family lived here long, or had he purchased the place with earnings from his illustrious career?
Try as I might to appreciate the aesthetic, I had to focus my energy on not vomiting.
I heard male laughter as Jaume pushed open the door and announced us.
“Ah, welcome, Randall. Gentlemen, we have a real American rock star with us tonight.”
Here we go.I kicked my chin out and pretended like these men were just like the tech bros we’d played for in private gigs after we’d won our Grammy. They had to posture to make themselves feel better. Some of that, “Oh I played in a band in college,” or “I used to play but I had bigger things to do with my life” blah blah. It wasn’t worth it to get competitive or take any of their jabs personally.
“Yes, sir. Here and ready to play.”
