Chapter Text
“Is everything alright, Raquel?”
“Uh-huh,” she moos absentmindedly, staring at her phone.
If Angel aims to ruin her evening, he might want to come up with something better than this. This is ridiculous. Angel is ridiculous. Asshole. He just doesn’t know when to stop, does he.
“Raquel, is everything alright?”
She understands how she must look to Salva right now, but she can’t do anything about it. Her mind is stuck with the damn text. Raquel reads it again; blinks, as if that will make it make sense.
“Hey…” the voice comes again, closer this time, almost next to her ear. A mix of worry and sweet tenderness, the sound is so soft she wants to forget all about Angel and his stupid text and just lean back into Salva’s embrace. As if he reads her thoughts, his arms rest on her bare shoulders, thumbs under the straps of her top.
Raquel shivers. These hands made her feel so good just minutes ago, but now… Now Angel’s text has thrown her off, and she balances between wanting to put her hands on top of Salva’s and wanting to move away from him. Deep down she’s scared she might be wrong about him. She can’t believe Angel, as much of a jerk as he’s been lately, would throw accusations like these over simple jealousy.
(But then he did, he threw them just like that when he claimed Salva’s place to be some spooky dirty warehouse which it obviously isn’t).
“Sorry, I’m… I just…” she stutters, quickly putting the phone away.
Salva shouldn’t see the screen.
“Your face changed the moment you checked your phone. Is your daughter alright?” he whispers.
Is this alright? Raquel remembers him ask no more than an hour ago as he was pulling at her hair slightly, his fingers inside her. Same voice, same intonations.
Same Salva.
Is this alright? His palm on her bra, his beard on her chin, fingernails making their way up her thigh as he holds her on top of him. Her body arched above his - his lips on her nipple, his eyes locked on her face expecting an answer.
She looks at him briefly, then turns away, hiding an all too obvious mixture of confusion and embarrassment (and also regret and fear, and disbelief) on her face.
If Angel is right, she can’t show any change to Salva. She shouldn’t scare him off. (And if he’s wrong, she’ll want to kill him for this extremely cold emotional shower he’s just given her).
She swallows, putting a smile onto her face. Corners of her mouth tremble.
“Yes. Yes, she’s alright, thank you…”
She doesn’t sound too reassuring. His hand slides down, following her arm, and pulls it up to his face. He kisses her palm. Raquel squeezes her phone even tighter with her other hand, Angel’s text on replay in her head.
Salva is our guy. His fingerprints in the police car.
It is so damn short and so condemning. Has she been dumb and blind? Has she missed the signs? Were there any? She looks at Salva again. He seems genuinely delighted. Whether it’s because they’ve just spent a really good time together or because he thinks he's got her – Raquel doesn’t know. This is frustrating.
And just as she’s about to dismiss this whole thing and claim it on Angel’s attempt to clear his own name, Raquel stops herself. What if her partner is right? She’s been wrong about men before and she paid a high price for that with her ex-husband. After all, Angel isn’t wrong: Salva did appear out of nowhere on the very day the robbery began. Has he planted a bug on her somehow? Is that why the robbers are always a step ahead of the police?
Her hand itches to grab the purse and empty its contents onto the desk. If there’s a microphone, she’ll know for sure. But so will Salva. And if he is who Angels claims him to be, he’ll run. She’ll lose him.
She smiles at Salva. He’s watching her silently, waiting for some sort of explanation. His hands massage her shoulders to help her ease the tension. He is too good to be true, though, isn’t he?
She almost reaches out for her purse. There’s a gun there, she can pull it out before Salva understands what is happening. She can arrest him now and figure things out later.
She stops her hand half way, looks down at her bare legs and her underwear that screams how its owner was not planning to get undressed in front of someone tonight.
Led by Angel’s accusations, she’s already pulled a gun on Salva and made a fool of herself. One time is enough for an evening. She has no proof. Arresting a man she’s just slept with, while having nothing but underwear on her, is going to be even more embarrassing. Especially if Angel is just being a dick and has made this whole thing up (but there are over a dozen voicemails from him, and that really worries Raquel – problem is, she can’t listen to them until she is safely out of Salva’s… whatever this place is).
“I should go,” she states quickly, swaying out of his embrace.
“Y-yes, of course,” he nods, raises hands and fixes glasses – gesture so cute she stops and just looks at him for a moment before proceeding.
“Thank you for… For everything. It was nice…”
Shit. Is this the best she can do? Raquel winces as soon as she turns away from him. She instinctively fixes the waistband on her panties, then tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then wipes her nose even though it’s dry.
When was the last time she felt so awkward having no clothes on in someone’s presence? Raquel can’t remember. It certainly wasn’t an issue a few minutes ago.
Damn you, Angel.
Damn you, Alberto.
Yes, Alberto, her mind clings onto the name of her ex-husband, blaming him for her prolonged celibate. Had their divorce (or better yet, their marriage) not been so painful, she’d probably not fall for a guy she had met in a bar after a tiresome work night. She’d have gotten someone awhile before Salva came along.
Except, she genuinely likes Salva. He’s sweet. Perhaps, a bit too shy for her taste, but that is such a refreshing contrast to what she’s had for several years straight. He’s so different from her shit of an ex-husband. He isn’t charming in a traditional way, and that is exactly what makes her feel good around him. He makes her feel unthreatened. He makes her feel safe. How can he be the Professor, an arrogant guy who pushes her buttons and tries to provoke her every step of the way?
Raquel searches for her clothes, rushes to pick up her skirt, puts it on backwards. Damn. Her fingers don’t obey her.
A deep breath helps, but not nearly enough. She doesn’t let the phone out of her hand, dials Angel’s number. He better (not?) be making this shit up just to get back at her. Knowing him as long as she does, this is a possibility.
Not that she thinks he would actually stoop that low.
But he can be mistaken. This better be it.
Salva follows her hectic movements with his eyes, keeps saying something reassuring, but Raquel feels even more uncomfortable picking up her jacket several meters from the sofa they’ve just made love on.
Sex. They had sex, her mind points out, ready to protect her from getting hurt. Problem is, it’s too late.
“Did I do something?” he asks with a hint of confusion.
Of course he does. Raquel stops, one shoe in her hand, and rolls her eyes.
Angel isn’t picking up. Bastard. He can’t just drop an accusation like this and then turn off his phone and sleep. How dares he.
Raquel clears her throat and smiles, this time more genuinely.
“No,” she stops him before he can speak again. “Something came up, I need to go, really…”
Salva nods, but still comes closer.
“I wasn’t planning this.”
Raquel lifts her eye brow, amused.
“Do you plan everything?”
“Yes,” he laughs with a hint of tension in his voice, nodding towards a clothes rack in the corner. “Even my outfit for the next day,” he adds shyly.
This guy cannot possibly be the Professor. She’ll kill Angel as soon as she gets hold of him.
Except… A cold shiver runs down Raquel’s spine. He’s so meticulous – exactly the kind of person it would take to plan a Royal Mint heist. She growls quietly. Her own paranoia is taking hold of her.
If Salva really is the Professor, why would he risk bringing her where he lives?
(It wasn’t his idea to bring her here; it was hers, Raquel’s mind answers while she picks up the second shoe).
He’s used her, hasn’t he? She frowns. No, he hasn’t. She hasn’t given him any information about the robbery beyond the things that are common knowledge.
(He just hasn’t had a chance to take advantage of their freshly made up relationship yet).
She’s the one who initiated this whole thing. He couldn’t have known she’d invite him for a drink. He couldn’t have known she’d even notice him or that her mother would be so persistent telling her to get laid.
(If he really is the Professor, he’s turned her into the most hated person in Spain when he released the recording of their negotiation about Allison Parker; he’s pushed her to a brink and then planted himself in her life when she’d be happy to have any support, any kindness she could get).
“I’ll call you!” she throws with an awkward smile, retreating to the exit as fast as she can. He makes no effort to stop her. Just nods, confusion growing stronger on his face. She must really look like one of those women right now. Women who regret screwing a guy the moment the heat of their orgasm wears off.
She isn’t that woman.
She dials Angel’s number once again as soon as she is out, fresh night air cooling down her burning cheeks. Still no answer. Fuck you, Angel. It’s a long way home, and she heads to Hanoi - leaving Salva’s place in a hurry, she didn’t even use a bathroom there.
Once inside, she locks the door and squats down, throwing the contents of her purse onto the floor. Inspects every item, turns it inside out, opens and closes all compartments. Nothing. There’s no mike that she can find. She feels a mixture of relief and growing rage.
Calling Angel’s phone doesn’t add anything to the equation, and she listens to the first voicemail. Deep down she knows – from the amount of them – she’s not going to like what she hears. She isn’t wrong.
Angel’s drunk.
Angel’s driving.
Angel’s calling her names.
She walks out of the bathroom, phone pressed to her ear, and her eyes immediately catch the TV screen on the wall.
Angel’s car has crashed.
She stands there, unable to move, for a long moment just staring at the news piece about the accident, and then runs out of the bar.