“Señora, they are both the best,” the tobacconist pleaded. “It is a matter of taste.”
She looked at the two boxes. “Please.”
“You won’t go wrong with either of those,” she heard the voice behind her say. “But for my money, Cohiba is the best.”
Andie sucked in a shooting breath, almost afraid to turn and face him. Finally, she did. She saw a man in a dark black leather topcoat and a tweed cap. Cavello looked a little older than she remembered, his face more haggard. But it was still the same man she hated.
“It is like a choice between a Brunello and a great Burgundy. I go with the Brunello, in this case the Cohiba. But Frederico’s right, it’s a matter of taste.”
The tobacco clerk nodded. “Sí, Señor Celletini.”
Celletini, Andie noted. She handed the clerk the Cohibas. “I’ll go with these.” She turned back to Cavello. “Thanks for rescuing me.”
“No rescue. Even a connoisseur would find it a difficult choice.” He moved closer to her. “Business or studies?”
“Sorry?” Andie said.
“It’s unusual to find an American accent down here this time of year. Most of the tourists have gone home.”
Andie smiled. “Business, I guess. I’m taking a job on an expedition to Antarctica next month.”
“An explorer.” Cavello made a show of seeming impressed.
“Not quite. A chef, actually. Maybe more of an escapist than anything else.”
“No shame in that.” Cavello smiled. “Down here, most everybody is.”
Andie slowly lifted her sunglasses. She let him see her face. “So what are you escaping?” she asked, wetting her lips.
“At this moment, sheep. I have a ranch, twenty minutes out of town.”
“Sheep, huh?” She cocked her head coyly. “That’s all?”
“All right, you caught me.” Cavello raised his hands as if surrendering. “I’m actually in the Witness Protection Program. I made a wrong turn at Phoenix and headed south. This is where I ended up.”
“A man with a very bad sense of direction.” Andie laughed, and hoped it seemed genuine. “But don’t worry, Mr. Celletini, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Frank,” Cavello said. Now his look bore in a little closer. The crafty killer, the psycho. The Electrician.
“Alicia.” Andie lied as well. “Alicia Bennett.”
“Nice to meet you, Alicia Bennett.” Cavello put out his hand. “Explorer.”
They shook hands. His touch was rough and scaly to her. Andie tried not to flinch. She fished in her wallet for money.
“And what about you?” Cavello smiled, keeping up the banter. “What are you escaping?”
“Me, I’m a desperate housewife.” Andie chuckled.
“You must be very desperate, if you’re here. But you don’t look it.”
“I saw this ad.” Andie shrugged. “It promised the end of the world. I figured it meant here in Ushuaia, but if I’m buying Cuban cigars and talking to an American about TV, I guess I haven’t found it yet. So I’m heading farther south.”
“Your husband must be quite a confident man to let you come down here by yourself, Alicia. Or maybe it’s him you are escaping?”
Andie sighed, a little embarrassed. “Actually, I lied. I’m not married. I was trying to pretend not to be some dumb woman for the store clerk here. The cigars are for the ship.”
“Buying them so early?” Cavello looked at her. “You certainly are a prepared little girl.”
Shit. Andie flinched. The first mistake.
The proprietor handed her the package. Andie took her change.
“You’ve made a wise choice to go with the Cohibas, Alicia. And as far as the end of the world, I think that’s something I could show you. And you may not have to go as far as you think.”
“Is that so? What do you mean?”
“My ranch. That’s what it’s called. This must be fate, Alicia.”
“I don’t believe in fate,” Andie said, smiling once again. She put her package under her arm and slipped past him as he held the door. “But I believe in lunch.”
Andie’s heart started to quicken. Stay cool, she said to herself. Just a few seconds more. You have him—don’t lose him.
Cavello followed her out to the sidewalk. Down the street, Andie noticed two bodyguards milling around, not paying too much attention. Sloppy, just as Nick said.
“I have lunch Saturdays at the Bar Ideal,” Cavello said. “It’s down by the port. If you care to join me.”
“It all depends,” Andie called, backing down the street. She could see the gleam in his eye. She had him hooked.
“On what?” Cavello followed her a few steps.
“On what you did to get yourself in the Witness Protection Program, Mr. Celletini. I only go out with a certain kind of man.”
“Oh, that.” Cavello grinned, taking one more step after her. “Mafia boss. Does that qualify?”
Chapter 117
SATURDAY CAME.
Andie was already sitting in the café when Cavello arrived. The two black Range Rovers pulled up down the square, and the door to the lead one opened. Cavello got out looking full of himself as always.
This was no game, no role, she knew. This man would gladly kill her given the chance. But she had to do this, she told herself. She had to stay calm. She had to act!
Cavello looked pleased and maybe even a little surprised as he stepped up to her table. He was wearing the same black leather topcoat and dark sunglasses, the tweed cap. “I’m very happy to see you, Alicia. I see my past occupation didn’t scare you off.”
“Gee, and I thought we were only playing with each other.” Andie looked at him over her own sunglasses. “Should I be scared?”
She had let down her hair this time, and was wearing an orange T-shirt that read BALL BUSTER in small type under her waist-length denim jacket. Cavello read the lettering on her shirt. “Maybe it’s me who ought to be scared, Alicia. May I sit down?”
“Sure. Unless you like to eat standing up.”
He sat down and took off his hat. Cavello’s hair was slightly grayer. His face had barely changed from the one she had stared at with hatred in the courtroom, the day of the new trial.
“You don’t seem too sinister to me,” she said. “Anyway, how could anyone who farms sheep be so bad?”
Cavello laughed, and she knew that he could be charming when he wanted to. “You know, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell the Justice Department for years.”
Andie laughed. They both did.
A waiter came up. He seemed to recognize Cavello.
“The empanadas are like rocks here. But the margaritas are the best north of Antarctica,” said Cavello.
“Margarita,” Andie said, not even opening the menu. Cavello asked for an Absolut on the rocks.
“So why are you here?” She tilted her chair. “They have sheep all over, don’t they? You don’t seem like much of a farmer, Frank.”
“The weather.” Cavello smiled, then went on. “Let’s just say it suits me here. Desolate. Lonely. Isolated. And those are the good points.”
“You know, I’m actually starting to believe that Witness Protection thing.” She eyed him with a coy smile.
The waiter brought their drinks. Andie lifted her margarita. Cavello, his vodka.
“To the end of the world,” he said, “and whatever hopes and expectations go along with it.”
Andie met his eyes. They clinked glasses. “Sounds like a plan.”
She took a sip and looked past him into the square. Somewhere out there Nick was watching. That gave her strength, and God she needed it right now.
“So, what sort of hopes and expectations do you have, Frank?” she asked, peering over her sunglasses.
“Actually, I was thinking of you.”
“Me?” Andie, nervous again, put down her glass. “What do you know about me?”
“I know people don’t come this far because they’re hap
py. I know you’re very attractive, and apparently open to new things. I know you’re here.”
“You’re quite the psychologist.”
“I guess I just like people. How their minds work.”
He asked about her, and Andie went through the story that she and Nick had fabricated. About how her first marriage had crashed, and how some Boston restaurant where she was a sous-chef had failed, how it was time for a change in her life—new adventures. So here she was.
A couple of times she touched his arm. Cavello responded by leaning closer. She knew how the game was played. Andie just prayed he hadn’t already seen through her act.
Finally Cavello locked his hands in front of his face. “You know, Alicia, I’m not the kind of person who beats around the bush.”
“No, Frank.” She took a sip of her drink.
“No, Frank?” He paused, disappointed.
Andie smiled at him. “No, Frank, I never got the impression that you were.”
Cavello grinned, too. Under the table she shifted her leg so that it brushed against his.
Cavello sat there staring at her. This was so pathetic—and nauseating.
“You might like to see my ranch. It’s not too far away. The vistas are some of the best anywhere.”
“That would be nice. I’d love it. When were you thinking?”
“Why not this afternoon? After we eat.”
“We could do that.” Andie shrugged. “I have another idea, though. My hotel is just a few blocks away. Frank, I’m pretty sure I can give you an equally stunning view.”
Chapter 118
I WAS WATCHING the two of them from the cover of the Land Cruiser parked across the square. As Andie and Cavello rose from the table and started toward the hotel, I felt my heart begin to pound. She had done her job. They were heading to her hotel room.
Cavello nodded toward someone in the lead Range Rover, which I was praying meant, Take the rest of the afternoon off.
It didn’t.
Two men stepped out immediately. One was squat with a shaved head and a mustache, the other tall with long black hair, wearing an Adidas warm-up top. The bodyguards fell in twenty yards behind. This wasn’t good.
For the first time since Andie and I planned this, reality smashed me in the face. I knew that just the feel of Cavello’s hand must be agony for her. His putting his hands all over her would be sickening, and maybe too much for her to take. And now there was the issue of the bodyguards. They were obviously accompanying Cavello to the hotel.
I touched the grip of my Glock, loaded and ready in my jacket. Then I stepped out of the Land Cruiser.
The question exploding in my brain—did I try to take them out now?
Chapter 119
ANDIE WAS JUMPY as she turned the key to the hotel room door. Cavello barely gave her time to catch a breath. “Let me,” he whispered, close to her ear.
He took the keys out of her hand and, a second later, pushed her up against the wall inside, pressing his body hard against hers. He put his tongue into her mouth.
Andie almost gagged.
Then Cavello had his hand underneath her T-shirt, pawing at her breasts.
Oh, God. This was Dominic Cavello. He was Jarrod’s killer.
Andie closed her eyes, then felt his hand slowly slide down her stomach, slipping underneath her panties.
“You’re all hot.” Cavello pulled away, grinning luridly.
“Yeah. Let’s not rush this, though, Frank. We have all the time in the world.”
He pulled her denim jacket off, tossed it on the floor. “You know the second I saw you I wanted this to happen. I wanted to take you right in that store.”
“Does that mean the trip to the ranch is off?” Andie said, trying to be cute.
Cavello laughed again, pulling her in to him, cupping his hands over her breasts again. She wanted to kill him right now.
“I need a couple of seconds.” Andie gasped.
“Not right now.” He pulled her T-shirt up, started licking her breasts and shoulders. He began to grind against her thigh. Then he ripped her bra off in a violent tug and started fondling her bare breasts.
“Please, I need a second,” she said. “The bathroom.”
Cavello looked into her eyes. “You don’t want to back out now?”
“Who’s backing out?” Andie tried to laugh, but Cavello grabbed her by the wrist and flung her onto the bed. He seemed out of control. She tried to calm herself, but she was thinking of the knife. She slid herself up to the pillow, where it was hidden. She’d cut through that melon. She could cut Cavello.
Cavello thrust himself between her legs. He was trying to get her jeans off.
“Slower,” Andie said, pretending to help him, shuffling back until the pillow was under her head. She reached behind, feeling for the blade. She stretched out, pretending to enjoy Cavello undressing her. She prayed that Nick would come through the door. Where was he?
She felt the handle of the knife under the pillow. She had to get him a little closer. She fixed her eyes on Cavello’s neck—the spot where Nick taught her to plunge the blade.
“What’s the name of your ship?” Cavello said, startling her.
“What? E-excuse me?” she stammered.
“The name of your ship, Alicia.” He had her wrists pinned. She couldn’t move. “The one to Antarctica.”
Andie froze. She stared back into his eyes. Her heart thumped as she struggled for an answer.
“Nothing goes out this time of year. They leave in the spring, not winter,” Cavello said. “You’re a fox, Alicia.” He dug one hand into her throat. “But now I think it’s time you tell me who the hell you are.”
Chapter 120
THEY’D BEEN UP THERE for seven minutes. I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. It didn’t matter that the bodyguard in the Adidas warm-up was smoking a cigarette in front of the hotel entrance. Or that the other one, with the shaved head and mustache, had followed Cavello and Andie inside.
I had to go in.
Los Pelicanos wasn’t exactly a five-star. It was sleepy and quiet, with a tiny lobby and a single clerk behind the desk. A cramped three-person elevator served its five floors.
I went around back to a small alleyway. I couldn’t chance going into the lobby. Above me, there was an old fire escape, the kind with the lowest platform hanging from the second floor. I jumped, latched onto a grate, and yanked myself up. The window facing me opened to what looked like a hallway. But the window was locked.
I cocked my elbow back and hit the pane. Shards of glass shattered all over the floor. I squeezed my hands through the splintered pane and lifted the frame. The window rose. Then I ducked inside the hallway, the Glock in my hand.
In front of me was the elevator landing and a narrow staircase leading to the upper floors. That’s where Andie was, on three. I made my way up the stairs.
I stopped on the third-floor landing. I saw Shaved Head leaning against the wall. He had his back turned to me and was gazing out a hallway window.
I rushed him—and he must have heard me coming. In a frantic motion, he fumbled for his gun.
I flattened the muzzle of my weapon against his jacket and jerked the trigger, twice. The retort convulsed him, the sound muffled against his body. He slumped against the wall, his hand still grasping for his gun. He slowly slid down as his eyes rolled back. A crimson stain spread out on his shirt.
I raced down the hallway to 304. I held back at the door for a second; then I heard a gasp—Andie.
Chapter 121
“YOU KILLED MY SON!”
Cavello’s eyes bulged as he tried to make sense of what she said. Then recognition spread across his face. He reached for the dog tag Andie always kept around her neck. It had Jarrod’s birthday on it.
“You’re from the trial! You’re the one whose kid was on the bus!”
“You pig!” Andie tried to twist out of his grasp, but Cavello held her tight.
“You’ll like this,” he said. �
��I wanted to do you all through the trial. Right in the jury box.”
Suddenly the hotel room door crashed open. Cavello spun around.
“Get off her!” Nick yelled as he stepped into the room, his gun leveled at Cavello.
The strangest look came over the gangster’s face. He was shocked at first, staring at the gun muzzle. But then he couldn’t hold back an incredulous grin. “Nicky Smiles.”
“You told me to come and find you. So I did.”
“You’ve been wasting your talents, Nicky. All these years, working for the FBI.” He looked at Andie. “And you. You lost out on a really good time.”
Without a word, Andie punched his face as hard as she could. “A good time? I had to keep from throwing up. You killed my little boy!”
“Well, that really stings, Alicia, or whatever your name is. Tell me, Nick, is this little rendezvous official? How’d you find me?”
Cavello rose from the bed, rubbing his jaw and moving it around.
“El Fin del Mundo. This is it. Remlikov sold you out.”
“Remlikov?” Cavello squinted. “Who’s that?”
“Nordeshenko,” Nick said. “You got a lot to pay for, Dom.”
“Yeah, well I figure I got time. The extradition treaties don’t move so fast down here. Not to imply I’m not totally humbled—you guys coming all the way down here to take me back.”
Nick stared at him coldly. “What makes you think anyone came down here to take you back?”
The color in Cavello’s face began to drain. “You’re a federal agent, Pellisante.”
“Actually, not anymore. What do you think of that?”
Cavello sniffed. “Well, waddaya know. I’m impressed, Nicky Smiles.”
In a swift motion, Cavello took the small writing desk by the window and hurled it.
Nick fired. The bullet tore into Cavello’s shoulder.
Nick jumped back as the desk crashed against the wall. Cavello made a leap for the window, hitting it with his clenched fists. He crashed through the glass.
Both Nick and Andie ran to the broken window. They saw Cavello writhing on the ground, three stories below. Then he started to rise. He struggled to his feet, clutching his shoulder. And he began to stagger away.
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