He heard an answer from inside the building, a deep male voice. Majors couldn’t catch all of it, something about trusting Señor Emillio to take care. A moment later, Majors tensed in surprise.

A young Mexican boy, giggling, dressed in only swimming trunks, came running toward the pool. The dark one smiled and opened his arms. The boy jumped into the pool. Majors watched, and for the first time since he had been observing him, the dark one’s face lit with pleasure, transforming him. Majors realized that he was more excited by the young man than the boy.

This was a first for him, slightly upsetting, and yet he found himself unable to stop watching the boy and man together.

The man said something in a low voice, and the boy replied, laughing. Majors caught enough of this to understand that the boy was amused by his Spanish. “No, no, señor, no burro-caballo.” To a soft-spoken question came the answer, “Sí, el poney.” As he moved to shallower water and set the boy gently on his feet, the boy spoke rapidly and enthusiastically to him, telling him of some adventure he had on his new pony, a gift it seemed, from the señor.

The blond watched, smiling, and came closer to them. He glanced up at the balcony and beckoned again to Majors. “Come and meet our friend Justino. He is telling us what a fine horseman he is.”

Majors smiled back, made a decision, and hurried into his room.

After brushing his teeth and quickly washing his armpits, he sped downstairs-but by then, the blond was taking the boy, wrapped in a towel, inside. “Sorry,” he called from the doorway, “he’s scraped his toe and no one but his papa will do for him now. But I forget my manners-I’m Emil.” He nodded toward the pool. “There is my friend, Conrad.”

“Gerald Majors,” he said.

“I’ll take Justino to his father. May I bring you something to drink?”

“Sure-Scotch on the rocks.”

“Conrad, bitte,” he said, “be entertaining, won’t you?”

Conrad smiled at Majors, and in much more awkward English, said, “How do you do? You would like to swim with me, please?”

Majors smiled back and got into the water. He swam toward Conrad, but Conrad, smiling coyly now, evaded him, and for a time they played a little game of chase. The young man easily swam past him again and again, but occasionally brushed against him.

Emil returned with the drink, and refills for Conrad and himself. Majors was quite out of breath by then, and nervous as well-a little afraid of what he was feeling. He drank deeply, felt better, and then belatedly toasted the young men.

“Your first time to the Castillo?” Emil asked politely.

“Yes. Yours?”

“Oh no, we are friends of the family who own it. We adore it. We come here from Frankfurt every chance we get.”

“Frankfurt? I was just there.”

“No! You do business in Germany?”

“All over the world.”

“But how wonderful! Do you speak German?”

“No, I’m afraid not. But so many Europeans speak English so well these days-you and Conrad, for example.”

Conrad smiled and shyly said, “Emil, yes. Mine is…not so good.”

Majors moved a little closer to him, patted him on the shoulder. “Your English is fine.”

Conrad smiled and stepped a little away, but Majors read invitation in his dark eyes.

Majors made short work of the Scotch. It was excellent, smoother than most. He began to feel a slight buzz-he hadn’t eaten much at midday, the heat having taken the edge off his appetite. The young men kept smiling at him, and he found Emil’s conversation more and more charming. Perhaps both of them, together? Why not?

He turned to set his glass on the pool deck and found that he couldn’t quite coordinate the action. Suddenly light-headed, he wondered who it was who said, in perfect English as the sky began to spin, “Oh, at last. I’ll up the next dose. Now, catch him, Cameron-drowning is really too quick and painless.”

The grip on his hair, just before he passed out, was definitely not painless.

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Tuesday, May 20, 4:32 P.M.

“Decision time,” Frederick Whitfield IV muttered to himself, as he stared as if fascinated by a souvenir spoon rest that said “Sandia Peak Tramway” on it.

He had climbed the stairs from the parking lot to the tramway entrance, making sure he stayed out of sight of Meghan. He saw her the moment he came into the building. She had been standing with her lover at the ticket counter, their backs to him. They had just missed a tram, the woman at the counter said, and would have about a twenty-minute wait. Meghan, pointing out a sign that said diners with reservations at the Peak Experience Restaurant received discounted round-trip fares, asked about the one-way fare for a person with dinner. Frederick wanted to shout that the rich slut shouldn’t quibble over a lousy four bucks. But the old dude with her had heard him walking by and started to turn around, so Frederick quickly ducked into the gift shop.

Eventually the lovebirds had walked outside. Frederick used the opportunity to pay fourteen dollars for a round-trip ticket-full fare, without a murmur of protest. He stayed inside, keeping a wary eye on them until they began to come back inside. Once again he ducked into the gift shop. The tram would be here before much longer, and he would be forced to decide whether to give them as much as a thirty-minute lead or get on a nearly empty tram and risk Meghan recognizing him. Hence his dilemma near the spoon rests.

As if in answer, though, a group of hikers came into the building, about twenty or so people who had made plans to take a moonlight hike along one of the trails at the top. A woman with the group wandered into the gift shop and began flirting mildly with him. She wasn’t bad-looking-and he definitely liked her bod. She was in good shape, one of those healthy, outdoorsy types, but with delicate facial features. She had thick, wavy hair of a color that was a mixture of peaches and honey, large green eyes, and long fingers. She wore silver earrings shaped with the zodiac symbol for Gemini. Seeing an opportunity that might pay off in several ways, he gave her a dazzling smile and asked why her group was going hiking on a weeknight.

“Blame it on the moon,” she said. “We have to choose the night when it will be at its best for the hike, and when we can get the permit for it.” She then went on and on, telling him much more about it than he wanted to know, including that the full moon was not best for night hiking, and what animals might be seen, and blah, blah, blah.

Christ, he thought, no wonder she has to go man hunting outside the group.

But he kept smiling and took off his sunglasses, to give her the full effect of his baby blues, which obviously dazzled her. Even though he was now noticing that her outdoor wear was not made by the best companies, he pretended that he had never met a more fascinating individual in all his days. He managed to actually laugh a little at the moments when he was fairly sure she thought she had been funny.

“Do you cook or is it for your girlfriend?” she asked now. At his look of incomprehension, she said, “The spoon rest?”

“Oh-for my grandmother,” he said. “She collects them. I bring her one from everywhere I go. In Russia, they have really adorable ones that rest one within the other. They call them boyakinas.” He smiled, seeing that his bogus (as far as he knew, anyway) Russian word was not detected as such. And then, remembering his conversation with his mother, he suddenly let his face fall and added, “I don’t like to think much about Russia, though. My parents were killed there-shot as spies-when I was just a baby. No hard feelings, an honest mistake on the part of the Russian government, really. And maybe it all worked out for the best, because I was raised by my grandmother.”