“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—”
“He doesn’t?” Nodding thoughtfully, Kelman paused for a second. “Oh, right. Well, how about this, instead?”
He straightened one leg and reached into his back pocket. Emma wasn’t sure what he was reaching for; she waited, her lungs still, her pulse roaring. When he brought his hand around, he held a square of paper.
“How about this?” he said, holding it out to her.
“Will this change your mind?”
She didn’t want to get any closer to him, yet her feet moved forward, bringing her toward the couch where he sat. With trembling fingers, she reached out and took the paper from his hand. It was a photograph.
Of Sarah and Jake.
The buzz in her ears stopped instantly; it had to, because her heart quit beating, the blood in her veins freezing into lines of solid horror. She stared at their innocent faces, then glanced at the date in the corner. It’d been taken two days before.
She raised her terrified eyes. “Where did you get this?” she asked hoarsely.
“It’s a good picture, isn’t it?” He nodded.
“He’s clever with a camera, but he’s a very talented fellow. He can shoot with a lot of different things.”
Emma sat down, her legs giving out entirely. It was only luck that there was a chair behind her. It rocked slightly as it took her weight, then settled back into the carpet. But her world continued to move. An emotional earthquake, she thought stupidly. Half the landscape was gone, and the rest would fall in the aftershocks to come.
“I can call my man and tell him to shoot some more if you need the time.”
His choice of words was no mistake. All the panic, all the fear, all the disbelief she’d experienced in the past few hours crystallized instantly. Into something much different. She waited a beat, then raised her eyes to his. “You go near these kids and I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.”
He smiled. “Does this mean we have a deal?”
WHEN THE DOOR closed behind Kelman, Emma went woodenly into the living room. She straightened the cushions on the couch and picked up the crystal shards, restoring some kind of order to the room but not to her brain. Then she went upstairs. Scrubbing her skin until it burned, she showered and shampooed her hair, dressing, when she was finished, in a terry-cloth warm-up. It was well over ninety degrees outside, but she couldn’t stop shivering. With her hair wet and hanging down her back, she went downstairs.
Once in the kitchen, though, she stared blankly at the mess the men had left, her mind as void of thought as it’d ever been. She had no idea what to do next, where to even begin, but the first thing that came into her mind was Raul.
Then she remembered Kelman’s threat. If she turned to Raul, Kelman would kill him. Recalling Raul’s warning about the kind of man Kelman was, something told her Kelman didn’t need the excuse her betrayal would give him.
He wanted Raul dead.
Raul had told her as much in Samaipata. She’d been too wrapped up in what had happened between them to think clearly, though. She’d been a fool not to see it before. Now she understood. She could never go to Raul.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, he’d begun to mean more to her than he should. She couldn’t say she loved him; she wouldn’t allow herself that luxury, but he’d slipped into her life and turned it upside down. The dark eyes, the slow hands, the mouth that fit her own so well…She’d recognized a kindred spirit in him the minute their eyes had met. He’d suffered, just as she had, and she couldn’t be the one to bring him even more pain. Not when he’d given her such pleasure. And if he did find out, something told her he’d go about righting the wrong, and Kelman would win. He would kill Raul for sure, and she’d have his death on her hands—and in her heart—forever.
She shuffled to the breakfast table and sat down heavily, a stream of other possibilities fighting their way into her consciousness.
She could go to the police. But that would be a mistake. As she’d told Raul only a few days before, there was so much corruption in Bolivia that most foreign companies couldn’t even operate in the country. Executives were routinely warned by their companies about the problem. She’d get no help from the Bolivian police. Kelman was no fool, and she was sure he’d already paid them to ignore her if she called.
Chris? She immediately shook her head. No. Her boss would take one look at the briefcases in that vault, then start to scream. And he’d have every right. She should have told him the minute Kelman had approached her, but she’d been too concerned that he would believe she couldn’t do her job.
Reina’s face shot into Emma’s brain. Was there anything she could do? Emma turned the idea over, helplessly realizing her friend had no idea of the extent of Kelman’s manipulations. She’d be devastated with guilt, for she was the one who’d brought him to Emma. If Reina knew the kind of hell he’d visited on her, she was so impulsive she was just as likely to do something dangerous as she was to help.
So who was left?
After a moment, Emma answered herself, her words ringing emptily in the silence. “No one,” she said. “No one can help me.”
The monkey next door called out, and Emma raised her gaze, blurry and unfocused, to the mess in front of her. Details finally began to register. Her Earl Grey tea bags, emptied from their box. The silverware she’d bought at the local department store scattered across the floor. The cabinet doors of the pantry, gaping open.
Her attention was caught by something inside the small cabinet. She found herself staring at it, then, rising slowly, she made her way closer.
It was a bottle of vodka.
Reaching out, she close
d her fingers around the bottle’s neck, bringing it out into the light. She had no idea how the liquor had gotten into her pantry, but as she studied its clarity in the sunshine, she ventured a guess. Kelman. He’d probably brought it in, along with the drugs.
Go ahead, a small voice inside her said. You deserve it. It’ll help.
She slowly twisted off the top and brought the bottle to her nose. There was no odor, but closing her eyes, she took a deep whiff, anyway, and something did reach her nose.
It was the smell of temptation.
A montage of faces and feelings rushed over her. Raul and their lovemaking, his words tender and sweet, his eyes black and hot. Her children and their innocence. Todd. And finally…Kelman. The faces shimmered and merged together beneath her eyelids. She wanted to forget them all. It was too painful, the choices too hard. The liquor could take off the edge and blur the agony. She opened her eyes.
Emma stared at the vodka, then jerked the bottle to her mouth and let her tongue flick over the edge. The sharp, familiar bite registered with a jolt, a reaction that went way past the simple taste. She closed down her brain and tilted the bottle higher.
Then the doorbell rang.
RAUL PRESSED THE BELL again. He could hear it echoing inside the house, and he shook his head. He had no idea what he was doing there; he’d gone home, cleaned up, then gotten in the truck and driven back to Emma’s side of town. During the entire trip over, he’d told himself he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind. If he’d been someone else, he might have thought she was calling to him, using some kind of ESP. He didn’t believe in that kind of nonsense, though.
He started to ring the bell again, then stopped when he heard the sound of a door closing inside the house. She was obviously at home. Why didn’t she come to the front? He waited another few seconds, a concern he couldn’t ignore growing inside him. Something was wrong.
He couldn’t justify the feeling, but he didn’t really care. Moving toward the window that faced her living room, he decided to break in. To hell with logic. But just as he raised a hand to test the glass, Emma appeared at the window beside the door.
At least, he thought it was her. The hollow-eyed, shell-shocked woman bore little resemblance to the woman whose bed he’d left almost six hours before, her skin warm from his touch, her eyes languid and full. She wore a heavy warm-up suit, and her face above the turned-up collar was pale and frightened, scrubbed of all makeup, her only color, as always, her full, red lips. Her wet hair hung in silken strands, framing her apprehensive expression. The transformation would have been unbelievable if the results weren’t standing before him.
Blinking hard, she opened the door a scant two inches.
“My God, Emma!” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“I…I think I must have caught what Reina had. Y-you shouldn’t come in.” Her eyes were streaked with red, their hazel depths cloudy.
“It doesn’t matter. Let me in. I can help you—”
“No!” She spoke quickly, the word coming out too strongly for someone ill. “I…I don’t need anything, thanks, anyway. I…like to be alone when I’m not feeling well.” She smiled wanly. “I’m not a good patient.”
He looked into her eyes and could tell she was lying. She met his gaze, then looked away. She knew he knew. He felt the air leave his lungs, his heart squeezing into a ball of fear.
Kelman.
He’d sprung his trap and Emma had been caught. She wore the sick, helpless look of a wounded animal with no way out. The same look Raul had worn when Kelman had ambushed him.
“Emma?” He said her name softly. “What’s going on? Tell me.”
She started to shut the door, but she was too slow, her reflexes dulled by whatever had happened. His hand shot out, and he grabbed the mahogany, his fingers wrapping around the hard wooden edge.
She tried to push the door closed, but Raul forced his way inside, into the entry. She cried out, then stepped back, obviously choosing to give up as he slammed the door behind him. “Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded. “It’s Kelman, isn’t it? He’s done something.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was harsh and painful. “And I don’t appreciate the way you just barged in here, either. Please leave, Raul. Right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he answered. “Not until you tell me the truth.”
“I…I don’t have anything to tell you.” Blinking rapidly, she compressed her lips and brought her hands to her throat to pull the edges of her collar closer.
That’s when he saw her wrists. They were scraped and raw, scarlet with scratches.
His stomach turned over, and he reached out and grabbed her forearms, raising them to eye level. She flinched, but he didn’t release her. “Nothing happened? Then how do you explain this?”
She stared at him, a stubborn determination coming into her eyes, alongside the pain. She wasn’t going to give away her secrets; she’d die before she did. That was when he understood what it would take to get her to talk. It was the last thing he wanted to do; it meant not just the sacrifice of everything between them but of his one and only goal, as well. But it was the only thing that would work.
He’d have to tell her the truth.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAUL DROPPED her arms so abruptly Emma almost lost her balance. He turned and walked into the living room before she could stop him.
“Don’t do this. I don’t want you here.” Following him into the room, she spoke, the lie sticking in her throat. She didn’t know how, but she managed to say it without choking. She had to; Raul’s very existence depended on it.
“I know that’s what you want.” Halting in the center of the room, he radiated pent-up energy.
“But it’s not going to happen until I say what I have to. I’m going to tell you why I’m here, what I’m doing, and how ruthless this man is. When I’m finished, you’re going to hate me, but at least you’ll understand. And maybe, just maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll survive this.”
She stared at him, her heart thumping. “What makes you so sure William Kelman’s my problem? I could have a situation at work, or my kids could be in trouble, or…” She threw her hands up in the air. “Anything could be going on with me. Why do you think—”
“I don’t have to think. I know. I know because he ruined my life.” His pronouncement was flat, totally without emotion. “I spent five years in a federal prison because of William Kelman.”
The words fell like stones at her feet. She felt faint, and for a moment she thought she’d throw up. “Wh—what are you saying?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”
“He destroyed my life over a woman. And I didn’t even love her. Not like I love—” He broke off abruptly and shook his head, a gesture filled with regret and something else, something that darkened his eyes to a shade she’d never seen before.
“Her name was Denise Murphy, and she came up to me in a D.C. bar. I’d just ended a relationship with someone else, and I wasn’t at my best. Denise said she’d seen me around town and wondered who I was.” He shrugged. “She was gorgeous—a tall brunette with a perfect body—and I took her home with me that night. It was the biggest mistake I ever made.”
Emma’s nausea grew. It took up all the space inside her and forced its way up into her throat.
“Denise Murphy was living with William Kelman at the time, but she was looking for a way out. I provided her with the excuse. She left him and we had a brief affair. I didn’t know all this until she visited me in prison to explain.”
“To explain? Explain what?”
“Kelman ruled the local DEA office like he was some kind of king. He was making a fortune by working with the dealers, tipping off the agents on the minor ones and taking payoffs from the big ones when the raids went down. His bosses had no idea what he was doing. Denise only knew because she lived with him.
“She said he hadn’t always been that way, but his wi
fe had left him a few years before, and it seemed to push him over the edge.” Raul paused for a second, then continued, “When Denise did the same thing—left him—he saw himself as a two-time loser. He couldn’t believe it’d happened again, so he took care of it.”
“Took care of it?”
Raul nodded. “He planted drugs and a gun in my car while I was out of town. I was stopped, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
She had a vague understanding of how Kelman had arranged things here, but how could he do the same thing in the States? It didn’t seem possible. “But how did he get the officer to stop you?”
“He was told to by a DEA agent. Kelman had something on the agent, and offered to let the guy off the hook if he took me down. All the cop had to do was catch me in a traffic violation—I turned right without signaling. That gave him cause to pull me over, and he held me till the DEA agents got there—they were in it, as well. They asked if they could search the car, and I had no reason to refuse. One of them opened up the trunk and pulled out a plastic bag of coke I’d never seen before. And a nickel-plated .45.”
“Kelman planted them,” she said faintly.
He nodded. “I’d left my car at the airport and flown to the Bahamas for a weekend. He did it while I was gone.”
“But five years. My God, why so long? Did he own the judge, too?”
“He didn’t have to. There are guideline sentences for drug violations in the federal system. Whatever number of years you’re sentenced, you serve eighty-five percent of it, regardless. I was a first-time offender, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The evidence couldn’t be disputed, and I was tried and convicted in very short order. I was sent to Cumberland, Maryland.” In a hard tone he spoke again. “I lost my home, my savings and my license to practice law. Everything.”
His voice held no emotion, but Emma could see his pain, smell it, even taste it. She hadn’t moved since he’d begun to speak, and now she walked away from him. She had to put some space between them, had to escape the agony she knew he felt. Crossing the room, she stood in front of the window that looked out on her garden. The walled area was serene and quiet in the morning sun, a total contrast to the chaos raging inside her.
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