Chapter Thirty-Two
Ibiza, Spain
Mia sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, reading the message she’d received from Operations.
Your plan is approved. Proceed to Valencia.
She had expected to hear back from Operations sooner. She’d submitted her idea almost twenty-four hours ago. Now, to make it in time for her concert in Budapest, she’d have to hurry. But that was fine. She had an idea how to expedite the mission. She’d put Verena to good use.
The small studio apartment she’d rented for two nights through a house-exchange app was located above a ceramic shop in Santa Eulària, a small town on the southeastern coast of Ibiza.
There was no air-conditioning in the unit, only a ceiling fan that was stuck on the lowest setting.
A table and two chairs were by the kitchenette, and a drying rack leaned against the wall by the balcony door.
For the last two nights, Mia had slept in the folding cot that was wedged in one corner of the room.
The cot had barely been wide enough for a child, but Mia didn’t care. She had slept like a baby.
Verena stirred under the thin linen sheet.
Mia studied her. She thought the other woman looked younger in her sleep, almost innocent.
It was hard to believe she’d killed a cop and helped Mia sabotage a multimillion-euro yacht.
Mia had seen Verena as deadweight when she’d first boarded the Veloce.
But, contrary to that useless skipper Justin Burton, Verena had fought back.
Mia had seen the shift in her. Verena hadn’t just accepted the danger, she’d embraced it.
Maybe she’d understood the stakes, or maybe she had simply nothing left to lose. Either way, Mia could work with that.
She stood from the bed and padded across the tile floor, opening drawers in the dresser by the small bathroom.
They had spent the previous day shopping around town, and while Mia’s primary objective had been to acquire a pistol, they’d also bought several pieces of high-end designer clothes that would fit today’s mission.
Mia tossed a few pieces onto the bed. She headed for the kitchenette, started the coffee machine, and rummaged through the cabinets.
She found a tin of oatmeal that was still sealed.
They had eaten out the day before, but today’s tight schedule wouldn’t allow them to repeat the experience.
The oatmeal would have to be good enough.
She boiled water and poured it over the oats in two bowls.
As steam rose from them, she crossed the room.
“Time to get up,” Mia said, placing a hand on Verena’s shoulder.
Verena flinched awake, blinking at her. There was a second—just one, though—where Mia saw Verena’s fear and confusion. Then Verena relaxed, her gaze steadying on Mia’s face. Wordlessly, she pushed herself upright.
Five minutes later, they sat at the dining table, their knees almost touching. Mia took a spoonful of oatmeal and said, “Eat fast. We’re going to Valencia.”
They ate in silence for a minute. Then Verena set her spoon down.
“How will we get to Valencia?” she asked.
“By helicopter,” Mia replied, checking the time on her watch. “And we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
“Really?”
“Is that a problem? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying?”
“I’m not.”
“Good. Then get ready,” Mia said, getting up. “Expensive yachts like the Veloce just don’t vanish off the face of the earth. So, sometime today, or tomorrow at the latest, someone will start panicking. And I want to deal with the broker before anyone figures out what happened to the yacht.”