Chapter 7

Nora

Panama required no uniform—at least not a military one. Bizarrely, Nora had been instructed to bring formal wear. Once their group arrived and was settled in what was dubiously considered Panama City’s safest hotel, she was a little astonished to learn what exactly her dress would be used for.

“You want me to…deliver a letter?”

“Yes.” Super soldiers didn’t frighten Camille, and her small frown showed how displeased she was that Nora would actually ask a question. “He’s staying with a local gangster down here—Chris Martinez. Martinez owns all sorts of clubs and housing, and it’s impossible to know where exactly Perez is in that mess. Martinez should be easy enough to find. He’s a flashy man who’s always throwing parties. All you have to do is make yourself pretty, show up, be discreet, and give this to him.” She handed Nora an envelope with Aiden Perez handwritten across the outside. “Shouldn’t be too difficult for you and your imposing skill set.”

Nora put on a look as polite as any she would give Gan, though inside, she was boiling. All you have to do is make yourself pretty. The sneer on Camille's lips and contempt in her voice suggested she didn’t like Nordics, but it was probably even more basic than that. She was just someone threatened by a younger woman, period—regardless of whether that person was one of the most feared soldiers in the RUSA.

And there was also the small fact that Nora would go where no one else in their entourage would. Both Camille and Francis made it perfectly clear they had no intention of setting one foot outside their hotel until they were headed back to the airport. For all their airs, the areas terrified the two, which Nora took a little grim amusement out of.

But she kept all of those thoughts to herself, remembering that she was a soldier. She accepted Camille's condescension without complaint, only stopping to ask, “Do you want me to wait around and bring Dr. Perez back myself?”

“No. There’s no telling when Martinez will get around to finding him, and there are instructions on where we’re staying in the envelope. When Perez reads it, he’ll come, believe me.” Camille's sneer returned. “And no need to escort him. If he’s managed this long on the streets of Panama, he can survive a little longer on his own.”

And so, Nora found herself in her own room later that evening, in makeup and a mauve cocktail dress, arranging her hair into a Gibson tuck. Old-fashioned styles like that were trendy in the classes now, and no matter how far she’d strayed from her upbringing, it was hard not to fall back on old habits. Make yourself pretty. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so contemptuous of Camille's attitude, because Nora suddenly had a weird flashback to her sixteen-year-old self, primped and polished to the same level of glamour, ready to be set out on display.

I am not that girl, Nora reminded herself, with one last look in the mirror. I am a soldier of the Republic.

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