Was he annoyed? Angry? Was Oberon toying with him? Ángel couldn’t tell. His gut was hot with thwarted fury, but he forced himself to speak rationally. “Sometimes, two people in a conversation have different goals. Right? Your goal is to learn and understand. Like you said, that’s why you’re here. But my goal, in this conversation, was to get you to turn off the camera and the microphone in my room. You said no. So for me, the conversation is over.”

Oberon stared at him with flat eyes. “I refused your request, so you are retaliating by not helping me understand?”

“It’s not retaliation,” snapped Ángel. “You can’t make me like it, and I can’t make you give a shit. So there’s no point in talking about it.”

“Isn’t there?”

Shaking his head, Ángel turned and walked out.

So much for courtesy. That had lasted for a day.

Ángel burned with frustration. He returned the tray to the kitchen, where he found himself pacing. It sounded like Lily was vacuuming upstairs. He didn’t want to see her—or anyone. He needed to get out of the house.

It was raining, a sparse nothing rain, totally different from the warm soaking Florida rain he was used to. He didn’t have any rain gear, so he just took off his shoes and socks and went out barefoot.

He could not believe how cold it was outside. His soles were hard from walking barefoot on beaches and boardwalks, but this grass was brittle and sharp, like needles. The rain blew in his face like tiny pinpricks of ice.

It was the end of August. Why was it so cold?

Gritting his teeth, and under no illusion that he was not being watched by outdoor cameras, he picked his way around the estate, letting the rain bead on his hair and soak into his clothes. It was an empty expanse of lawn, no bushes or trees or gardens. There was a detached garage, four bays, locked up tight. He peered through the dusty windows—there was only one car, a white Land Rover, and the walls were tidily hung with a variety of clean, well-cared-for tools.

Behind the house stretched a big swimming pool, long and narrow. White statues of naked goddesses stood at the four corners of the pool. It was probably really nice on hot days, but right now its surface, pocked with rain, reflected a dark-gray sky.

Ángel dove straight into the pool, and the water that closed over his head was so cold he almost screamed. He’d swum in cold water before, but this was six-minutes-and-you’re-dead cold. Who kept an unheated outdoor pool in Montana?