“You’re smart. Find something else you can-”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

“You don’t understand,” he said tightly. “It wasn’t just the years and it wasn’t just being disbarred.”

“I do understand. I knew you before you went in, Raul. And I see you now.” She leaned across the seat, closer to him. “You’re a changed man. You don’t care what happens as long as you get him, and that’s not the Raul I used to know.”

He stared out the windshield. On the street by the consulate parking lot was a tiny kiosk selling cold drinks and cigarettes. He watched the proprietor go to the side of the minuscule metal building, open a three-foot-high door and climb inside. He appeared a second later inside the opening, ready for business, as he sat down on a stool and looked patiently down the street.

Turning to Wendy, Raul spoke. “You’re right. And that’s why I can’t let this guy keep doing what he does, Wendy. He uses people, then he throws them away. One way or the other, I’m going to destroy him. If I do get hurt in the process, that’s not good, but that won’t stop me.”

“So you’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done?” She stared at him and shook her head.

“Tell me how that’s different from what he does.”

“I can’t,” he answered. “But he set the play in motion. All I’m going to do is finish it.”

EMMA GAVE HERSELF plenty of time to get to Michelangelo’s, but two streets away from her house and four miles from the Italian bar, an impromptu parade broke out, and her taxi got caught in the middle of it. With a mariachi band playing in front of them and a decorated pickup truck behind them, she and the hapless cabdriver could only inch forward with the rest of the revelers.

She was accustomed to these spontaneous displays of exuberance. Bolivians loved parades and they occurred frequently, some more thought out than others. A wedding, a birthday, any kind of holiday, and the streets filled with vehicles sporting crepe-paper flowers and hand-lettered signs. Music-as loud as possible-was de rigueur for each of these processions, and costumes were always welcomed, too. The brighter and more colorful, the better. As the marchers spilled over the sidewalks and swept up people in the cafés, everyone was encouraged to join. Emma looked at the window with dismay, but there was no way out. They were stuck.

She leaned against the cab’s dusty upholstery and tried not to panic. She’d been trying all day not to panic, and so far, she was failing.

Every time she thought of William Kelman’s leather briefcases sitting in the now-darkened vault of the bank, she wanted to throw up. Had she read him correctly or not?

She wished once more she could ask Christopher, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew she couldn’t. Already upset about Raul’s money, he’d think she couldn’t do her job. A fact she herself was starting to wonder about. She’d checked again just before leaving the office, and the funds still weren’t there. She was on her own with this one. That was nothing new, but another roil of nausea hit her as she considered the impact. Just once, she thought, just once…couldn’t it be easy?

The taxi lurched ten more feet, and by the time they reached the bar, an hour late, she was almost beside herself.

Pushing her way in, she was sure Raul must have left. She edged into the crowd, anyway, searching the low-lit room anxiously. Like all the bars in Santa Cruz at 10 p.m., this one was packed, a smog of smoke hanging over the heads of the drinkers, a deafening flood of noise pouring from several speakers hanging from the ceiling. Instead of the beautiful local music, played on flutes and drums, it was American rock. Her anxiety ratcheted up another notch.

She had just made her way to the center of the bar when she felt someone grab her elbow. Swinging around in surprise, she found Raul. He wore black slacks and a dark shirt, his skin a burnished copper as he leaned close and spoke in her ear. “Let’s get out of here. We can’t possibly talk with all this going on.”

His words were warm against her skin, and something equally heated curled in her stomach. Telling herself she was crazy, she nodded, and he took her hand as they fought their way through the crowd. Leading them to the front door, he pushed it open and they tumbled outside, the humid night air immediately surrounding them. He didn’t release her fingers as she began to apologize.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, but the taxi got caught in a parade. I didn’t think we’d ever get here.”

The street was shadowy and quiet, and after the noise of the club, the silence felt as thick as the darkness. She could see his eyes, though. They were wary. Through the point of contact at their hands, she felt a kind of humming energy, an almost electric tingle.

“It’s not important.” Under his voice’s usual smoothness, she heard the same tension she saw in his gaze. Tilting his head, he indicated the street.

“Let’s walk. You can tell me what’s going on.”

She hesitated. He was making her nervous, more nervous than she was already, and suddenly she wasn’t sure that going anywhere with him was such a good idea. She turned and studied his profile, then in a flash of intuition, she realized what was going on. He already knew what she was about to say.

He knew there was no money in the account.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EMMA SEEMED perfectly at ease, her voice steady, her words well chosen as she began to explain the problem. If he hadn’t been touching her, Raul would never have known how nervous she was. Through the fabric of her jacket, though, he could feel a distinct tautness, a dead giveaway to her true level of discomposure. Anxious and agitated, she was wound up as tightly as the watch on his wrist.

As tightly as he was.

With his visit to her office today, Kelman must have somehow brought the net closer; Raul read the signs when he looked at Emma. Dark circles of worry underneath her eyes. The frown etched into her forehead. The tension in every line of her face.

“I know it’s a simple mix-up with the account, and I hate to even bring it to your attention.” Speaking calmly, almost apologetically, she continued, “We have to figure out what’s going on, though. I’m sure we can rectify the problem with a phone call.” Obviously feeling his gaze, she said, “Do you have any idea what the problem might be?”

“No, I don’t,” he lied. “But I agree completely with you. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. In fact, I’d be willing to bet it’s been cleared up and we don’t even know it. Let’s stop by your office and find out.”

She looked nonplussed by his suggestion. “The branch in El Paso is closed now. It’s too late to talk to anyone there.”

“Are you telling me everything shuts down at night?” He laughed easily. “Come on, Emma. I know how the system works.”

Her gaze turned cautious. “Funds are posted after hours,” she conceded, “but I verified the account just before I left the office. The block was still there. It wouldn’t have changed since then because-”

“It has,” he interrupted confidently. “Believe me, it has.”

She stopped on the sidewalk and slowly disentangled her hand from his. They were standing in front of a store, and the light from the window display was all the illumination he had. But he needed nothing else. She didn’t believe him, and that much was very clear.

“I don’t think you understand the depth of this problem,” she said slowly. “Your bank in El Paso is refusing to pay on your check. They’re saying there are no funds in that account. I think-”

“I know exactly what you think.” He paused.

“But you’re wrong.”

They stared at each other in the darkness. In the silence.

He took a step closer to her. In her expression he saw the need to increase the space between them, but she held herself still. He moved even nearer.