“Did you forget that Dekker tried to kill you? That he tried to kill me?” I was getting pissed off now.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t have let the authorities in Mongolia have him after he kidnapped me. I don’t understand why you couldn’t deal with Interpol or any other authorities. Why didn’t you just turn him over to the airport security in London instead of dragging him along with us?”

She had me there. All those points made sense. There really was no way to tell her without explaining that killing Dekker was part of my job. That was something I knew I could never tell Veronica.

“Are you going to kill Arje, Cy?”

I had no answer for her.

Ronnie drew herself up to her full height. She’d made some kind of decision. “I will tell you the truth about Drew. I love him. That’s all you need to know.” She spun on her heel and went inside the house, slamming the door behind her.

It took everything I had to get back into the car and start the ignition. Unfortunately, I looked at the window and watched as Drew draped his arm around Veronica and kissed her forehead.

I made the twenty-minute trip back to Cedar Rapids in eight minutes. During that time, my brain was turned inside out. Why didn’t she tell me about this Drew character? Clearly they had a relationship by the way he touched her. And that looked like a house, not an apartment I dropped her off at.

Oh, my God. She totally played me with that innocent bullshit! And I fell for it for the first time in fifteen years. She even pretended to love my guinea pig! Sartre was made a fool of! Well, I couldn’t stand for that.

The pilot wisely said nothing as I climbed on the jet and told him to take me to Santa Muerta to dispose of Arje Dekker.

I don’t remember much of the flight. I had a major headache, and I don’t get headaches. Ever. Somehow we crossed Central and South America and landed on the Bombay family’s private island before I could string a sentence together.

Mum was standing on the airstrip, waiting for me. Apparently, the pilot had let them know I was coming, and she’d made the trip to meet me there.

I dragged Dekker off the plane and tossed him roughly onto the tarmac. Mum threw her arms around me, but I felt like I was made of stone.

“How was your trip, Squidgy?” she asked.

“It sucked.” I pointed to Arje. “I have to kill this guy.”

My mother looked from me to Dekker. She pulled out her cell and dialed.

“Carlos?” She spoke in perfectly accented Spanish, asking one of the staff members to come and get my vic and take him to the holding area. None of the staff on the island spoke English, and every last one of them was male. They never asked questions and got paid handsomely for their work. Carlos wouldn’t have to kill the vic. That was a Bombay job. But he could take him to a room below the main level that was basically an escape-proof cell.

“Come on, dear,” Mum said, taking my hand. “When was the last time you ate?”

I didn’t really feel like eating. But I allowed her to take me to the dining hall and set before me a plate of my favorite food. In case you are wondering, it was tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. With all my worldly experience, that was what I wanted to come home to.

Mum watched me eat without saying a word. She knew something was up. She also knew that I wouldn’t talk before I was ready. I felt like a stubborn child, but was in no way interested in a conversation about how Veronica Gale played me for an idiot.

So my mother chattered on about my cousins, Dad and the weather. I took in the information but it never registered.

“Why don’t you let us take care of your vic?” Mum’s words caught me up short. “You look like you could use a break.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s my job. I just need to get some sleep. I’ll take care of him tomorrow.”

She nodded, patted my hand and left. I finished up and, after liberating a bottle of twenty-five-year-old scotch from the bar, headed up to my room.

As I mentioned, the Bombay family has their own island. This is where the council stays most of the time and runs the actual family business. My cousin Missi and her sons live here year-round. The island is our home base. We have family reunions here every five years where we get to hang out, have our evaluations and sometimes take a turn on the ropes course.

Santa Muerta is virtually invisible to the rest of the world. The main rule is that everyone goes inside between four p.m. and six p.m. to avoid notice from the various spy satellites overhead at that time. The island resembles a resort, with a main building where every Bombay has his or her own suite of rooms.

My room was just as I’d left it less than one year ago at the last reunion. Bookshelves covered the walls, full of well-worn books. The furniture was overstuffed leather-perfect for curling up and contemplating the mysteries of life.

I took a glass and two ice cubes with the bottle of scotch out onto the terrace. There was a great view of the ocean. The scotch was an Islay single-malt. It went down smooth to mend my frayed nerves. But it did little to ease my mind. How in the name of Immanuel Kant did I get mixed up with Veronica Gale? I thought I had her all figured out. Boy, was I wrong. The irony of this thought was not lost on me, but I was too upset to be rational. Was her whole “poor little orphan girl” thing some kind of con? If so, why me? And who the hell was Drew?

Thinking back to the first day I met her didn’t help. All it did was give me goose bumps. I pictured her and remembered what she said. But there was no clue-nothing that made her seem other than how I’d pegged her.

My thoughts reeled back to Miami and how we met there. But no matter how many times I replayed the scenes, I found nothing that tipped me off. Mongolia swam into view, but the memories were too fresh. I felt nothing but pain and embarrassment when I remembered the month there with her.

My scotch went dry as I contemplated how I could have done things differently. The surf crashed against the rocks, and I sympathized. Those rocks were taking the same beating I did. Veronica had gotten under my skin in a way no woman had since Frannie Smith.

I poured another glass, wincing at the name of the first woman who’d played me for a fool. I guessed that all those years my subconscious controlled my desire for a relationship to protect me. And I blew it by falling for Ronnie.

Damn. Did I really just think that? I turned the idea over in my mind, searching for holes. But no, it was too late. I had fallen in love with her. And she made me look like an idiot. I pictured her even now sitting with the handsome Drew, laughing at how she’d played me. Would she tell him that she slept with me? Probably not. The woman was a liar. And I’d saved her life.

Then again, she’d been in danger in the first place only because of her connection to me. I couldn’t really blame her for that. My thoughts turned to my prisoner three floors below. Chances were the staff had fed him. For a moment, I felt kind of friendly toward him. I had no idea why.

The sun set on my gloomy mood, and I nursed the bottle as the sky changed from turquoise to navy. No matter what I did, I still felt worse than stupid. And as I drank, my mood darkened.

Various thoughts popped into my head over the course of the evening. I thought of looking up Drew and killing him, but he wasn’t the real culprit. Isn’t it strange how your mind plays tricks on you? I imagined him making love to her and ended up hurling my bottle into the sea. That sucked, because I didn’t like littering. Veronica Gale had made me look like an idiot, and she made me litter. I hated her for that.