Armando nodded and led his wife back into the warmth of the house.

uLos ninos, how are they doing?" Armando asked, closing the door behind him.

Lucia forced herself to act like everything was normal, because for Armando it was.

"They are at the top of their classes, even with this awful flu," she said. "Your brother and father will be very pleased." She looked at her husband's pale brown eyes and black hair. Threads of gray were showing in the thick natural waves. The life he'd chosen was a brutal one. It showed in the deep lines of his face. "Are you hungry?"

"For your posole and carne asada, always." The response came easily, in spite of the hangover that made Armando's head feel like the soccer ball in a World Cup match.

His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket, read the incoming caller ID, and shooed his wife into the kitchen. When she couldn't overhear anything, he answered the call.

"Bueno." He listened, started to answer in Spanish, and thought of the kids in the back room. To them, English was still a second, often difficult language. Much safer to use it right now than Spanish. "Listen to me, Chuy," he said in a low voice. "You will cross the border at the usual spot at the usual time. All is in place. Mano is at the drop house in Las Trampas. When he okays the load, the money is wired to Aruba. Your jefe is told when it's done. Savvy?"

Chuy understood.

Armando punched a button to end the call.

Immediately the cell phone rang again.

He looked at the incoming number, swore under his breath, and dodged the call. The cell phone was necessary for his business, but it was worse than a nagging wife. He set the signal to vibrate and shoved the unit into his back pocket. Now that he'd talked to Chuy, he didn't have anything urgent to worry about until tonight, when the load would arrive.

Armando went to see the children, treating his nephews as warmly as his own kids. All of them were pale, tired, and cranky. He took temperatures the old-fashioned way, cheek to cheek. Joking, teasing out smiles, he straightened blankets and let each child discover the sweets he'd hidden in various pockets.

Lucia stood in the doorway, watching, smiling despite her fear each time Armando came home. It had been years since violence last exploded in the Sandoval smuggling trade, but Lucia would never forget the sight of Armando's cousin and best friend bleeding on the floor of Armando's house, dying with sixteen slugs in him. The miracle was that none of the children had been hit by the hail of bullets coming from the front yard.

After that Lucia had moved into a separate house and had taken a job to support herself and their young child. To this day the sound of gunfire turned her stomach. She couldn't make Armando change jobs, she wouldn't divorce him, and she feared that someday he would be murdered in her house in front of the horrified eyes of his own children.

Armando kissed and tickled the smallest child, a girl with her father's eyes and her mother's luminous skin. Then he stood, stretched wearily, and told himself he had to cut back on the homemade pulque and cocaine. The hangovers he'd thrown off with ease twenty years ago now hunted him throughout the day. Right now he should be sleeping at his luxurious condo in Taos, getting ready for the dangerous time when the heroin arrived and had to be repackaged for his distributors.

But first he had to know what Dan Duran had been doing in his wife's home on Monday night.

He followed Lucia into the kitchen, saw the icy beer and hot soup waiting for him, and hoped his stomach was up to the job. He sat and ate a few tentative bites, then more eagerly. Even the beer tasted good.

Maybe it was food rather than youth he needed. When his soup bowl was empty he turned to the carne asada. He ate the way he did everything, with speed and no subtlety.

"More?" Lucia asked.

He shook his head.

She sat down next to him with a cup of coffee for herself and a smile for him.

Armando ignored the cell phone vibrating against his butt. "Tell me who was here last night."

"Dan Duran and Ms. May."

"The old curandera's historian?"

Lucia nodded, not at all surprised that Armando knew who Carly was, much less that she'd been in the house. Armando's business required that strangers were investigated instantly and family watched as a matter of course.

Armando drank the last of his beer and wiped his mouth carelessly on his hand before he remembered where he was. He grabbed the faded cloth napkin next to his bowl and scrubbed his hand and lips. Once he'd been impatient with Lucia's efforts to improve his manners and English. Now he knew she was right; if he ever wanted a better, less violent life for his children, they had to be raised to fit in with a culture that was larger than the ancient hispano way of life.

"What did Duran want?" Armando asked.

"It wasn't him, it was Carly who had all the questions," Lucia said.

Armando's face tightened. "About me?"

"No, no, no!" Lucia said instantly. "About the old times, when the Senator was young and Sylvia still laughed and danced with her husband. About the yearly barbecues and the babies."

Armando wasn't convinced. "And Duran, what did he ask?"

"Nothing. He nearly fell asleep on the couch. He was keeping a pretty lady company, that's all."

Armando grunted. "What did they want to know about the governor?"

"Listen to me." Lucia leaned forward and touched her husband's face, ensuring his attention. She didn't want any trouble for Dan or

Carly, who had only been doing as Miss Winifred asked. "I talked about nothing more recent than Liza." As always, Lucia crossed herself when she mentioned the Senator's tragic daughter.

"What else did Duran say to you? Think hard, mi esposa."

She clenched her hands together and tried not to scream at her husband's bloodsucking career, a way of life that demanded he trust no one, even his wife.

"I think he… yes, he asked where Eduardo's wife is."

"Why?"

"Because I'm raising Eduardo's nephews."

"How did he know that?"

"Everyone in the pueblo knows and his mother teaches there. It's not a secret."

Armando's eyes narrowed. It was true, but it wasn't the only possible truth. "What did you tell him?"

"What you told me to say if anyone asks. She is in Mexico with the girls."

"What did he say to that?"

"Nothing."

"He didn't ask more questions about her?"

"No," Lucia said firmly.

Armando drummed his fingers on the worn wood table. "What else did he ask about?"

"Nothing. I talked with Carly and then they left."

Lucia wasn't about to mention the money Dan had given to her. Armando would be furious that she took money from Miss Winifred when his wife wouldn't accept money from her own husband.

She couldn't. To Lucia, every dollar he made dripped violence. She couldn't change her husband or the nature of his business, but she could refuse to benefit from it.

Armando relaxed. "Bueno."

The phone vibrated against his butt again. He pulled the unit out, checked the window, and knew he had to leave. He turned to his wife.

"Every time Duran is close to you or your car or your home, you call me." Armando grabbed her chin in his hand. "I mean it, Lucia. Every damn time."

She didn't doubt it. "I will call you. But what could he do? He's still recovering from a climbing accident."

Armando's smile reminded Lucia of everything she hated about the drug business.

"A climbing accident?" he asked, then laughed.

He was still laughing when he got in the Expedition and slammed the door behind him.

Lucia stood in the doorway, shivering, knowing that Armando had had something to do with Dan's injury.