She watched in amazement as the man who’d arrested her the night before came into the room. With quick, efficient movements, he turned her around, unlocked the handcuffs, then left. Following the cop out into the hallway, Kelman stopped when he saw that Emma wasn’t behind him. She still stood in the center of the room, rubbing her chafed and bloody wrists, dazed by Kelman’s appearance. He had to still be connected with the DEA, Emma thought with disconcertment. There was no other way he could have known about her nightmare-unless he had a darker connection to it. She wondered about this briefly, then she shut down her mind. She had to.

“Ms. Toussaint…are you coming?”

Emma shuffled forward, Kelman putting his hand under her elbow solicitously as he guided her down the corridor. Twenty minutes later, they were on her street, where Kelman parked his Jeep. She glanced at the clock on the dash and was shocked to read its face.

She’d been gone three hours.

She’d been gone a lifetime.

Kelman followed her to the front door and they both entered the foyer. The house felt different to Emma; something had seeped into the walls. Except for a few broken items here and there, the house looked the same as it had before, but it wasn’t the same. Just like her, she thought through the blur of her incredulousness.

Walking slowly, she crossed into the living room. Two lamps gave off light, soft and faint. It painted the room with a deceptive order, washing the destruction of a nearby vase with a gentle touch. She looked around as if she didn’t know quite where she was.

She shook her head and turned to Kelman. “They said I had drugs here. They found something-a bag-in the kitchen, but I have no idea what it was or how it got there. I…I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand.”

Kelman walked over and picked up a pillow from the floor. He placed it on her sofa, then turned and fixed her with his eyes. Something in their blueness looked strange and out of place. Even in her confusion, she saw it and stilled, her pulse trapped inside her chest, fluttering like a wild bird. The feeling that she needed Raul came upon her unexpectedly. Immediately. Her eyes darted to the table where the phone usually sat, but it was gone. Then she remembered. She’d taken it upstairs when she’d tried to call him before. The handset was nestled in a pile of clothing at the bottom of her closet.

“You don’t understand?” He mocked her trembling voice-or was she imagining it? “Then let me explain.” He sat down and waved casually at one of her chairs, as if he lived here instead of her.

“Sit down, Emma, and I’ll clarify it for you.”

She stood stiffly where she was.

“All right,” he said, “don’t sit.” His eyes hardened. “But I do suggest you listen.”

She gripped the back of the chair nearest her, her legs turning weak at his tone. As he spoke again, a vision came to her: two suitcases filled with money and stock certificates, sitting in the vault at the bank. She’d thought she was past the point of being scared, but a trickle of fear managed to find its way into her frozen brain.

“I offered you the opportunity of a lifetime not too long ago. There was money to be made, but you turned it down. Do you remember?” His fingers curled on the arm of the sofa.

“I remember.” Her voice was faint, as indistinct as the morning light.

“You understood what I was suggesting, didn’t you, Emma? You’re a very bright woman. I can’t imagine you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t sure,” she answered.

“All I needed was some information,” he said.

“That’s all. We could have both made more money than either of us will ever need, but you wouldn’t cooperate.”

“I couldn’t.” Trembling, but trying to hide it, she stared at him. “I can’t break the law.”

“You can’t break the law?” He laughed lightly.

“Then I’d say you have a problem. Because hiding a kilo of powdered coca is definitely breaking the law.”

The part of her that was still alive screamed for her to run. But her feet stayed anchored to the floor, the twin forces of comprehension and horror pinning her to the spot.

She spoke quietly. “How did you know it was a kilo?”

“I weighed it.” He smiled. “Right before I came in here and put it in your kitchen cabinet.”


THEY WAITED three hours. The drunk sat in stupefied silence, his bleary eyes staring through the darkness. Every time a man came out of the choperia, he would sit up straighter and look harder. Raul had to give him credit for trying, but his friends weren’t present. Obviously they’d left earlier, or they’d never been there at all. Dawn was breaking when a few stumbling patrons came out and the owner locked up.

Raul didn’t doubt his captive. A.38 pointed at your gut for three hours was a strong incentive for telling the truth.

“All right.” Raul spoke wearily and rubbed his stubbled chin. The rasping sound filled the truck.

“That’s it. We’ll have to do it the hard way and go to his house, instead of catching him on the street. You’re showing me where this guy lives, and we’ll take it from there. One way or another, I’m finding out what’s going on.”

The man shook his head violently, and finally Raul was forced to pull the tape off. “What?”

“I don’t know where he lives,” the man gasped. His tongue snaked out and moistened his tortured lips. “I don’t know, I swear. I just see him here, that’s it.”

The wave of exhaustion Raul had been fighting crashed over him. He couldn’t stay awake forever, and even if he did find the son of a bitch, who knew if Kelman had given him his orders yet? Raul had a bad feeling that time was running out, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.

It was almost five by the time they got back to the barrio. Raul cut the tape from the man’s wrists and said, as he raised the gun, “This is simple.” The weapon felt molded to his hand he’d held it so long. “You tell. You die. Understand?”

“Sí, sí, señor.”

“I know where you live. I can come back. Anytime.” He waited. “You think about that tonight when you go to sleep.” The man nodded, and Raul waved the gun toward the door. “Get out.”

The man scrambled out and ran toward his house. Putting the truck in gear, Raul drove slowly down the potholed street and headed for the First Ring. As he entered the traffic circle, he thought briefly of going to Emma’s, but then reconsidered. She’d be getting ready for work and didn’t need him around. He needed to clean up, too. He was soaked by the fumes that had wafted off the drunk in the close confines of the truck. He changed lanes and headed for home.


“WHY?” EMMA STARED at Kelman, the one word all she could get out.

“That’s what I asked myself, too. Why? If you’d helped me out the first time, then I wouldn’t have had to resort to this. You wouldn’t cooperate, though. So this is Plan B.”

She closed her eyes for a second. “What do you want?” she asked numbly.

“I want the rate,” he answered. “Currency trading is easy money-if you know which way to go. I’m tired of working hard for everything I’ve got.” His eyes heated until they looked like two blue flames. “Who do you think made the most money where I worked? The DEA agents who put their lives on the line or the narcotraficantes?” He gave the word its proper Spanish pronunciation, and she realized at once he spoke Spanish. Perfect Spanish. He shook his head and answered his own question.

“The bad guys win, Ms. Toussaint. Or at least they did until they met me. Then they began to see the error of their ways. When they shared their route, I looked the other way. You didn’t really think I made all that money working for the government, did you?”

“It wasn’t any of my business how you made it.”

“That’s right,” he shot back. “You were too busy thinking about how you could use it yourself, weren’t you?” He smiled. “I saw the look in your eyes. You’re as greedy as the rest of us.”

She couldn’t deny the truth. Emma swallowed, her whole body tight with fear. “But I turned you down.”

“And now I’m giving you a second chance. This will be the last one, though. You don’t get to pass Go a third time.” He leaned forward and stared at her. “The government committee meets next week. You’re going to find out which direction the boliviano is headed. Then you’re going to make sure my money goes with it.”

Her stomach knotted. “But why do you need to do this?” she asked desperately. “You have so much money already-”

“That’s not the point,” he said bluntly. “I need that cash cleaned. I’m in a new business venture with my local friends, and we want it washed. Trading it is the best possible way.”

“It’ll never work.”

His eyes locked on hers. “Yes, it will. You’ll make it work.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?” He shook his head.

“If I were you, I’d think carefully about my answer. Whose blood do you want on your hands? Your own-or someone else’s?”

She felt the color drain from her face. It took the last of her strength with it. “What do you mean?”

“I planted that bag of drugs when you and your lover were stranded in Samaipata. Did you think it was just bad luck your truck broke down? I planted the drugs, and I hired the men who came here to find them. I can arrange for it to happen again, too, but next time, it’ll be for real. The men in the green uniforms who knock on your door will be genuine Bolivian cops-not military trash with bribes in their pockets.”

He waited a minute for her reaction, then continued, almost carelessly, “If you don’t believe me, I can give you another demonstration. We’ll use Mr. Santos and see what happens.”

“Leave him out of this,” she said quickly. “He doesn’t have anything to do with-”