Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(27)
It was only Mila who made no sense. Middle-of-nowhere township, interacting with no one but her fiancé. So to hunt her down, you had to start with her name in the rural community system. Find a chatty postman who could browse through the records. Mr. Pyotr was getting their exact address somehow; other mercenaries were searching their wider areas somehow.
“Should I not have been writing letters?” Yulun asked hesitantly.
“You couldn’t have known,” Juliette replied, already following Roma’s logic. She tapped her chin. “But if this is how you’re being found…”
“Maybe we can use it to our advantage,” Roma finished, “and draw out some answers.”
11
A week passed. As soon as they settled on their plan, Yulun had gone to the nearest postal office that serviced Zhouzhuang and changed his address to Roma and Juliette’s. Or rather, he had added his name under Mai Luomin and Mai Zhuli, because Roma and Juliette were a bit more experienced at the art of concealment and were obviously not using their real names.
After the official change, Juliette had poked her head around to Mrs. Fan’s house, prepared to sweet-talk the old lady into letting Yulun and Mila stay in her spare room. Juliette had barely finished giving her proposal before Mrs. Fan was bustling around excitedly to prepare for her guests. Mrs. Fan loved company, and putting the two right next door meant Juliette wasn’t hovering all the time but, between organizing shipments and calling contacts, she could still poke her head over in the afternoons to keep teaching Mila vital skills—such as flipping a knife in midair.
There probably wasn’t much practical use to such a skill, but Juliette was a big believer in instilling confidence. It was impossible to lack confidence once one mastered a knife flip.
“I must head back,” she said now, gathering up the box of practice batons they had been using. Dusk was drawing close, as were a multitude of dark clouds low on the horizon. She suppressed a shiver, watching the ripples in the canal pick up speed. “Roma is going to burn down the kitchen if I don’t go take over.”
A small giggle slipped out of Mila. She was more reserved than Yulun was, but every so often she would take Juliette by surprise, cracking a dirty joke or kicking especially hard when she was mimicking a defensive maneuver. Yulun was fonder of begging off, choosing to sit nearby with a book and shout encouragements instead, but Mila took every opportunity to learn how to protect herself.
“Juliette,” Mila said quietly, drawing her attention just before she could go. “Do you think more people are going to come soon?”
People sent by the facility, she meant.
“Maybe,” Juliette answered honestly. “But you don’t have to worry. Roma and I will be diligently on guard.”
Mila hesitated. “But,” she said, her voice turning even more quiet. Over by the tree, Yulun hadn’t caught the conversation and still had his nose in his book. “What if they’re too strong? What if I tear my own throat out?”
“You won’t,” Juliette said firmly. Allowing no room for argument, she put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and gave her a hefty shake. Mila’s eyes grew wide, but she didn’t protest the aggressive gesture. “I promise you that you won’t. We are going to figure out how to keep you safe, and then you and Yulun are going to live in peace, do you understand me?”
Mila nodded. Juliette nodded back, fierce and determined. This world had broken too much; she wasn’t going to let it break this. She would take up arms against it herself if it meant another hopeful love saved.
“Go inside now before it gets dark.” She raised her voice, waving at Yulun. “I’m off, Yulun!”
The boy waved back from the tree, hopping to his feet. Juliette circled around Mrs. Fan’s house and crossed the bridge, shivering again as the sun descended properly. When she opened the door, there was the sound of a pot being moved around in the kitchen, though Juliette headed straight for the bedroom, huffing air onto her fingers to warm them.
She opened the closet. Her favorite white scarf was lurking in here somewhere. The last time she had rummaged around, it had been in the back with her shoes and diamonds. The weather was certainly turning chilly enough to bring it back out.
“Roma?” she called. “Dearest husband of mine, I seek thy aid.”
He appeared in the bedroom doorway, wearing an apron. “I am thine to command.”
Juliette flashed a coquettish smile. “Where is my—”
“White scarf is on the rack in the washroom. I cleaned it so that it doesn’t smell like dust when it starts getting cold.”
She mimed a kiss in his direction and hurried into the washroom at the end of the hallway to reunite with her white scarf.
“Stay put,” Roma said when she grabbed it off the rack. Something clattered from the bedroom: he had pulled the medicine box off the shelves. “While you’re there, your bandages need changing.”
That bullet graze on her shoulder had been much worse than expected when they finally cleaned it, crusting angry and red. Roma had been so pale while dabbing at the wound that she thought he might faint entirely. Though Juliette had teased him about forgetting how to dress wounds, at least that meant neither of them had dressed a wound in a while.
Roma came into the washroom. He put the box down and gestured for her to turn around, undoing the buttons at her collar.