Page 43 of The Wanted Prince
“Why did you do it?”
“Why— what? Do what?” He tugged at his hair. “You’ve got to get out of here. I’m expecting a client.”
I laughed. “Don’t you get it? You’re going to jail.”
“Jail?” His eyes widened. “Why would I— Who have you spoken to? Who knows you’re here?” He grabbed my lapels and tried to shove me, but I was bigger than he was and I stood firm.
“Nobody yet,” I said. “But you’re going to come forward.”
“Come forward? What?” He grabbed two big bunches of his stiffly-gelled hair and jerked and twisted them till they stood up in clumps. “How, oh God, how is this happening again? You’ve got to get out of here. I can’t help you, okay?”
“Come on, relax.” I coaxed his hands from his hair. “This’ll go easier if you’re just honest. Return the amulet, and?—”
“I’m an estate lawyer!” He was practically wailing. “I can’t get you… What?” He dropped his hands suddenly, and his jaw hung slack. “What did you say to me? Return the amulet?”
“Return it now, and I’ll explain why you did it. I’ll make sure they go easy. You’ll be out in a year.”
“Out, are you crazy?” He smoothed his hair down. “I don’t have your amulet. I don’t know who does. Now, would you get out of here before someone sees you?”
I stared at Rodrigo. Something had changed. The terror had faded out of his eyes, and what I saw there now was anger. Resentment.
“Get out,” he hissed.
“So, wait, you don’t…” I scratched at my chin. “Why were you so scared of me if you didn’t take it?”
He regarded me with furious disbelief. “What are you, stupid?”
“Explain like I am.”
Rodrigo puffed himself up like a bellows, inhaling so deep his shirt buttons strained. “You cost me a year of my life in Belize, and sure, more fool me for agreeing to go. But you were an old friend. I could see you were struggling. I thought I could help you and instead, instead… Do you have any idea how hard I had studied? What you cost me, with that damn exam? I’ve got a nice life now. I’m building my practice. But if I’m seen with you, that’ll all end. I cannot be part of any more of your nonsense, so I’m begging you, go. And never come back.”
I went as he asked, embarrassed, deflated. He didn’t want to be seen with me. Of course he didn’t. I should’ve seen it right from the start.
What else wasn’t I seeing, that maybe I should?
We worked north from Paris — Amiens, then Lille. It rained the whole week, a steady gray drizzle. In Amiens, we met Armando, whose car I’d once wrecked. In Lille, we met Diego, whom I’d punched in the face. Neither was overly happy to see us, and they hurried us out of their neat, ordered lives. We wound up at a leaky-roofed roadside motel, huddled together on the dry side of the bed.
“The list’s almost done,” I said.
“Mm-hm,” said Laura.
I turned to look at her and saw her eyes were closed. Her nose was scrunched up like she smelled something bad, and now I thought of it, the air was quite stale. I found her hand and folded it into mine.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
I gestured at the room. “This. All of this. This place, this journey. It’s disgusting. You don’t belong in a place like this.”
Laura laughed. “Want to hear something funny?”
I wasn’t sure if I did. But she rose on one elbow, her mouth quirking up.
“In New York City, statistically speaking, you’re never more than three feet from a cockroach. And you’re never more than ten feet from a rat.”
I grimaced. “That’s awful. Why tell me that?”
“Because I don’t see any roaches here, and I don’t see any rats. It’s not that bad, is it?” She elbowed me gently, and I tried to smile. But it wasn’t just the room bugging me, or the rain seeping in. It wasn’t even our lack of success. Laura’s brow furrowed. “Hey. What’s the matter?”