Free City of Spies by Nina Berry Page A

way.” Mercedes pointed toward a tall white, elongated, pyramid-type monument with a small Statue of Liberty on top. “We could eat soon, but I might not get a chance to come back here...”
    â€œYou can come back while I’m on set. Time to eat.” Pagan turned decisively and walked toward the pyramid thing.
    Education and history were important and all, but...you know what? No. To hell with them. To hell with books and museums and, most of all, to hell with Devin Black. What was she doing here, ruining her career in a terrible film, putting up with handsy jackass costars and rendered immobile in ugly outfits for a guy who didn’t bother to show up?
    Through the heat of the day, a tantalizing mirage of a glass filled with ice, rum and lime swam into her view. She was more of a vodka-martini girl normally, but when the weather was warm, her thoughts turned to rum.
    Mercedes caught up to her silently, a line between her brows, and they moved in silence through the plaza, keeping to the shade of the leafy green trees. The strain between them tightened like a guitar string being tuned too high.
    The huge, open square narrowed to a broad, busy avenue lined with tall, European-style buildings and bustling with sharply dressed pedestrians. The warm summer air was filled with dust, and the scent of grilled meat wafted out of the restaurants and cafés as they passed.
    Pagan’s stomach growled. She really was hungry. And cranky.
    A cranky, hungry alcoholic. That pretty much made her the worst person in the world.
    â€œGod, I want a drink,” she said. “I just... Holy hell, M. I’m ready to jump that street vendor for a beer.”
    Mercedes’s face cleared. “Yeah,” she said. “Sorry.”
    â€œNo, I’m sorry,” Pagan said. “I do think food will help, though. Just don’t let me order a rum and Coke.”
    â€œWe’ll eat soon,” Mercedes said. “It’s not far. And don’t feel guilty. About Tony.”
    Dang, M was savvy, changing the subject from drinking to the crap underlying her need to drink. Pagan’s shrink had told her that while she was out of town and unable to go to an AA meeting or contact her sponsor, she should to talk to her friend. She’d almost forgotten that advice.
    â€œTony thinks I’ll put out because that’s what everybody thinks about a girl who isn’t pure,” Pagan said, head down staring at the sidewalk moving slowly under her feet. “No one’s ever going to want to date me properly if they know my history. I’m ruined.”
    â€œPure?” Mercedes looked her over from her brown oxfords to her pink flowered sundress to the ribbon holding her ponytail. “It’s strange that I hadn’t noticed you were ‘ruined.’”
    â€œMama would be ashamed of me if she knew,” Pagan said, her voice small.
    â€œYour mother—the Nazi sympathizer?”
    Pagan swiveled her head to stare at her.
    Mercedes shook her head, not backing down. “Your mother had plenty to be ashamed of herself. You remember the Nazis—people who thought those with blood that didn’t fit their definition of pure should be wiped out.”
    Mercedes had an irritating way of making sense that clashed with Pagan’s self-pity.
    â€œOkay, so much for pure ,” Pagan said. “And maybe Mama’s opinion would be questionable. But everyone thinks girls who don’t wait for marriage are dirty.”
    â€œWell, everyone can get bent,” Mercedes said.
    She talked tough, but she had to know as well as Pagan that the mixed messages were everywhere. Society loved it when you were sexy, like Marilyn Monroe, but they thought you were morally bankrupt if you fooled around, like Marilyn Monroe. So you had to keep the fooling around very quiet.
    They walked in silence for a few moments. “Do you think Devin knows?” Pagan asked. “About me and