She slowed to a walk as soon as she hit the main road in San José del Cabo and checked her shirt. It looked clean enough. She wiped her hand slowly and calmly over her face, in case there was anything on it—dirt, spit, or blood. She pulled a compact out of her bag and checked herself as she moved, using the mirror to look over her shoulder.
There was no one behind her.
She put on matte pink lipstick, snapped her compact shut, and slowed her pace even more.
She couldn’t look like she was running from anything.
The air was warm, and music thumped from inside the bars. Tourists milled around in front of many of them—white, black, and Mexican, all drunk and loud. Cheap vacation crowds. Jule tossed Donovan’s keys and phone in a trash can. She looked for a cab or a supercabos bus but didn’t see either.
Okay, then.
She needed to hide and change, in case Donovan came after her. He would pursue her if he was working for Noa. Or if he wanted revenge.
Picture yourself, now, on film. Shadows flit across your smooth skin as you walk. There are bruises forming underneath your clothes, but your hair looks excellent. You’re armed with gadgets, thin shards of metal that perform outrageous feats of technology and assault. You carry poisons and antidotes.
You are the center of the story. You and no one else. You’ve got that interesting origin tale, that unusual education. Now you’re ruthless, you’re brilliant, you’re practically fearless. There’s a body count behind you, because you do whatever’s required to stay alive—but it’s a day’s work, that’s all.
You look superb in the light from the Mexican bar windows. After a fight, your cheeks are flushed. And oh, your clothes are so very flattering.
Yes, it’s true that you are criminally violent. Brutal, even. But that’s your job and you’re uniquely qualified, so it’s sexy.
Jule watched a shit-ton of movies. She knew that women were rarely the centers of such stories. Instead, they were eye candy, arm candy, victims, or love interests. Mostly, they existed to help the great white hetero hero on his fucking epic journey. When therewasa heroine, she weighed very little, wore very little, and had had her teeth fixed.
Jule knew she didn’t look like those women. She would never look like those women. But she was everything those heroes were, and in some ways, she was more.
She knew that, too.
She reached the third Cabo bar and ducked inside. It was furnished with picnic tables and had taxidermied fish on the walls. The customers were mainly Americans, getting sloshed after a day of sport fishing. Jule pushed quickly to the back, glanced over her shoulder, and went into the men’s room.
It was empty. She ducked into a stall. Donovan would never look for her here.
The toilet seat was wet and coated yellow. Jule dug in her suitcase until she found a black wig—a sleek bob with bangs. She put it on, wiped off her lipstick, applied a dark gloss, and powdered her nose. She buttoned a black cotton cardigan over her white T-shirt.
A guy came in and used the urinal. Jule stood still, glad she was wearing jeans and heavy black boots. Only her feet and the bottom of her suitcase would be visible at the low edge of the stall.
A second guy came in and used the stall next to hers. She looked at his shoes.
It was Donovan.
Those were his dirty white Crocs. Those were his nurselike Playa Grande trousers. Jule’s blood pounded in her ears.
She quietly picked her suitcase up off the floor and held it so he couldn’t see it. She stayed motionless.
Donovan flushed and Jule heard him shuffle to the sink. He ran the water.
Another guy came in. “Could I borrow your phone?” Donovan asked in English. “Just a quick call.”
“Someone beat you up, man?” The other guy had an American accent, Californian. “You look like you been through it.”
“I’m fine,” said Donovan. “I just need a phone.”
“I don’t have calls here, just texting,” the guy said. “I have to get back to my buddies.”
“I’m not going to steal it,” said Donovan. “I just need to—”
“I said no, okay? But I wish you well, dude.” The other guy left without using the facilities.
Did Donovan want the phone because he had no car keys and needed a ride? Or because he wanted to call Noa?
