“I’m not sure exactly what I’ll be doing with these funds,” he said slowly. “I may not want to trade them right away.”

“That’s fine.” She spoke confidently, but inside a million questions assaulted her. William Kelman unsure of what he wanted to do? Men like him were never unsure, especially when it came to money. She didn’t know where the conversation was going, but calmly knitting her fingers together on the top of her desk, she said, “We can put it in an holding account where it can be available to trade-”

“I don’t want to deposit all of it that way.” His blue eyes glowed in the late-morning sun streaming through her windows. “At least not at first.”

His implication wasn’t entirely clear, but she moved to reassure him, assuming the worst. “Mr. Kelman, our accounts are very secure. Impenetrable, in fact. No one can-”

“Security’s not my concern.” He shook his head. “I have something else in mind.”

She sensed the trap a second too late and spoke without thinking. “And that would be?”

“It’s my understanding the government committee meets very soon-the committee that reviews the rate for the boliviano against the dollar. On the day the rate is announced, I want to be holding the appropriate currency-dollars or bolivianos.” He stopped, his words suspended between them.

Emma looked across the desk at him, holding her breath, and remembered their earlier conversation, the one at Candelabra where she’d explained currency trading. If the Bolivian government devalued its currency, everything was suddenly worth less. Except dollars. You would want to own them and plenty of them. But if the government raised the value of the boliviano, the reverse would happen; the boliviano would be more valuable than the dollar. Either way, if you knew the direction in advance, you could make money. A lot of it.

But you had to know which way to trade.

Was he proposing she tell him in advance? His voice held no clue, no hint, of his intentions. It was calm and level, even friendly. It matched his expression, and she wondered if she was being paranoid.

“I don’t believe I understand,” she answered slowly. “The rate isn’t published in advance. No one knows what it will be.”

“Yes, that’s correct, but not technically accurate, now is it?” He smiled.

Her heart thumped wildly as she mentally completed what she thought he was saying: The bank knows the rate in advance. And you work for the bank.

“There’s a lot of profit there, waiting to be realized.” He was speaking in such a convivial manner now that the tightness inside her eased. Surely she was imagining things. Then he spoke again.

“And you know how it works…If I make money, you make money…”

Their eyes met again, and without warning, the week after her divorce flashed into Emma’s mind. She had stood in the middle of her rented apartment, a drink in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. At that very moment, she’d wanted nothing as much as she’d wanted to end the pain. It wouldn’t have been the right thing to do-she knew that now-but the feeling bombarding her at this very minute held the same kind of temptation.

All her problems could be solved in an instant. She’d have enough money to buy and sell Todd Toussaint to hell and back. Her kids could be hers once more. She could almost feel her arms around their bodies.

“What do you say?” Kelman patted the briefcases, sensing her hesitation. “Can we work a deal that would benefit us both?”

She wasn’t sure of her answer until she opened her mouth and spoke. “I don’t believe I can help you with something like that.”

He didn’t look surprised. He merely regarded her with his hooded blue gaze. After several seconds, he spoke. “I intend on doing a lot of trading with this money. I would think your bank-and your boss-might appreciate that fact. Perhaps you haven’t given this opportunity as much thought as it deserves.”

Did he emphasize the word opportunity, or was she the one giving it more significance? She couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“I’m sure you are,” he answered. She watched his expression turn thoughtful. “I’ll tell you what, though. Why don’t you put the cases in the vault for me? Keep them for a while and think about my offer.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a business card and dropped it on her desk. “Here’s all the information from me that you need. You think about it a bit…then call me.”

There was nothing else she could do but give him a receipt and watch him walk out the door. Stunned and confused, Emma dropped into her office chair, her thoughts swirling in her head with the force of a tornado. Should she talk to Chris? If she was wrong and she accused Kelman of something he wasn’t doing, she could kiss his account-and probably her job-goodbye.

Before she could decide, Felicity stuck her head in the open office door and delivered her message in a breathless voice. “Mr. Santos will meet you tonight at nine. At Michelangelo’s.”

The secretary closed the door as Emma nodded blankly, her eyes going automatically to the two briefcases. She stared at them for a moment, then she reached for the middle drawer of her desk. Pulling it open, she gazed down at the photograph she kept hidden there.

Jake and Sarah looked back.

RAUL DIDN’T BOTHER to ask the young secretary what the problem was. When she reached him on his cell phone as he sat outside the bank, he simply agreed to see Emma later that evening. Then, putting the SUV into gear, he headed downtown to the American Consulate. Whatever was wrong, Wendy could fix it.

She met him in the parking lot and climbed into the Range Rover, pulling at the skirt of her business suit. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you? And where’s your truck? Why are you driving this?”

“It’s a long story and I don’t have time to explain. But I need your help.”

She answered dryly. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He ignored her tone. “I think there’s a problem with the money. Emma had her secretary call me and set up an appointment. I have a feeling the account in El Paso is screwed up. I could call and fix it, but you can do it faster.”

“There’s no problem with that money.” Her words were matter-of-fact and assured. “It’s a slush fund and illegal as hell. There’s always cash in it, more than anyone can keep track of. Our agents draw from it night and day, whenever they need it.” She paused for a second. “I could get fired just for telling you about it, much less allowing you to actually use the money. Not to mention everything else I’ve done…”

“Well, you have told me, and it’s too late to stop things now. I want you to call and find out what’s wrong, so I’ll know before I see Emma tonight.”

“I’m not getting any more involved in this, Raul. I was crazy to think it’d work.”

“You weren’t crazy. You were trying to help me. Now I need more help. If it makes you feel better, this’ll be the last thing I’ll ask you to do.”

Without another word, he passed the mobile phone to her. She held it for a moment, then with a sigh, punched in a series of numbers. Expecting her to speak, he was surprised when she tapped in a few more numbers, listened, then handed the phone back to him.

“The account is fine,” she said tightly. “An agent down on the border drained it unexpectedly, so your check didn’t clear. The replacement money was slow getting there, but it’ll be available for transfer later tonight. Twice what you need. Maybe three times. Your secret is safe. But I can’t guarantee for how long.”

“It won’t take forever. Kelman knows who I am and he’s already made his first move. He’ll start to put his plan into action soon.”

She shook her head. “You’re making a big mistake, Raul. The guy screwed you, yeah, but this…this is gonna get you hurt.”

“He didn’t just screw me.” The words were cold and clipped. “He stole five years of my life, and then he took away my livelihood.”