The artist-her benefactor-snorted and made a jerking motion with his head, aiming it over his shoulder in the general direction of his display. You want to thank me, you can pay me for that picture I brought him down with.
That was when Ellie first noticed that the boys bare feet and shins bore smears of the same blue paint that decorated the artists hands. Her mouth dropped open and she smothered a gasp of dismay with her hand. Oh. Oh, Im so sorry. Well, I-of course Ill And she was rummaging through her purse, fumbling for her wallet. How much do I-
He waved her off, like someone swatting at a fly. Forget it. Water over the bridge. Bestowing a look of annoyance upon his captives dusty bowed head, he growled, What do you want to do with him?
Me! Do with him? She clapped a hand to her forehead and looked around at the gathering of tourists, perhaps in hopes of some sort of advice. Though officially a member of law enforcement, shed had no experience in dealing with juvenile delinquents, or juveniles of any kind, for that matter.
Plus, beneath her crusty exterior there lurked a guilty secret: a heart like a half-melted marshmallow. This was a little boy, for Gods sake! One who didnt appear to have been eating regularly lately, if not for most of his life so far. And at that, panic of a new sort seized her. She knew herself very well. She had her wallet in her hand; in another moment she was afraid she was going to give the kid every dime she had with her.
Do with him? she repeated in a hissed undertone, sidling closer to the boys captor. What am I supposed to do with him? Hes just a little boy.
A little thief, someone in the crowd muttered. There were rumblings of agreement. Someone else added something that included the word police.
A little thief, someone in the crowd muttered. There were rumblings of agreement. Someone else added something that included the word police.
Look, Ive got my purse back, Ellie said to placate the gathering at large, and then, to the keeper of the captive, trying to keep a pleading note out of her voice, Theres no harm done, cant you just let him go?
The artist shrugged.
Just then the purse-snatcher, seizing the moment-and taking no chances on anyone changing his mind or being outvoted-squirmed out from under his captors hand and vanished into the crowd.
There were a few cries of mild protest and dismay. Someone-a man-said loudly, Whatd you let him go for? Kids nothin but a thief. Shoulda handed him over to the police before he hits on somebody else.
Not my problem, the artist mumbled around the revolting stump of his cigarette. With that he turned and shambled back toward his stall, sandals slapping on the baked adobe bricks.
For a moment or two Ellie just stood and watched him go, frowning and chewing on her lip while around her the crowd slowly dispersed, talking in breathless, gossipy undertones to one another as people do when theyve been privileged to witness some untoward, possibly violent event. Presently, she drew a quick, decisive breath. No way around it-at the very least she owed the man a thank-you.
She couldnt have said why she should feel such inner resistance to doing something simple good upbringing demanded. Such a peculiar tightening in her belly. A quickening of her pulse. It made no sense to her. Certainly it wasnt his surly manner that put her off. Rose Ellen Lanagan didnt know the meaning of the word intimidation.
Besides, shed seen the twinkle in those cool blue eyes of his. Heard the warm, contagious peal of his laughter. That crustiness was ninety percent show, she was sure of it, though what purpose he thought it served she couldnt imagine.
The artist had retrieved the painting hed sacrificed in the interests of justice and was regarding it stoically, held at arms length in front of him. He must have sailed it, Ellie now surmised, into the path of the fleeing purse-snatcher, rather like an oversized Frisbee.
That was quick thinking, she said, coming up behind him.
The artist grunted without looking away from his masterpiece, which, smeared and smudged almost beyond recognition, in Ellies opinion now had actually attained a certain surrealistic charm. Personally, she considered it a vast improvement over the original.
With thank you hovering on the tip of her tongue, she hesitated; once again, the words seemed meager, hopelessly inadequate, not to mention alien to her nature. They came out sounding more prissy than anything.
I really would like to pay you-for the painting, she briskly added as the artist shot her a sharp, almost hostile look. His eyes werent cool at all, she realized, but a clear, almost transparent blue, like midsummer skies, with whites as soft and clean as cotton clouds. All at once her voice seemed to stick in her throat, and when she forced it through anyway it emerged sounding even more raggedy than usual. Its the least I can do.
The moment stretched while he stared at her with that keen and piercing glare. While she noticed for the first time that his lips, without that awful cigarette clamped between them, seemed finely chiseled, almost sensitive-unusual for a mans lips. For some reason her own suddenly felt swollen and hot, giving her a wholly alien urge to cool them with her tongue. And then
Keep it, he said, thrusting the canvas at her so abruptly that she actually gasped. Maybe itll remind you to be more careful next time.
He turned away from her and was almost immediately swallowed up by a crowd of lady tourists, all cooing and chirping their appreciation for his heroism and his compassion, and eager to take home a souvenir of the Purse Snatching Incident.
Feeling somehow dismissed, Ellie left him posing for photographs with a group of middle-aged belles from Atlanta. And as she made her way back to the pier she was wondering, with a cynicism that was also foreign to her nature, if he might have paid that boy to snatch her purse, just to drum up business.
Ellie dropped the painting of three drunken-looking parrots onto one of the two single beds in the stateroom she shared-platonically-with her partner and fellow agent with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.
Dont ask, she said, plucking a Hersheys Kiss from the bag on her bedside table, even though the muffled groan that was her supposed husbands only response made it clear hed no interest in doing anything of the kind. Concern and guilt quickly banished the grumpy mood shed come in with. Still feeling lousy?
The question was wholly unnecessary; Ken Burnside looked, to quote one of her moms favorite clichés, like something the cat dragged in-and given the sorts of things the cats were prone to dragging into her moms barn back in Iowa, that was saying something.
I think Ive got a fever, Ken said in a hushed and pitiful voice.
He looked it, too, but Ellie squelched an instinctive urge to step closer and lay a ministering hand on his brow. Shed had to fight off the mans attentions often enough in the early days of their working relationship so that, even though the ground rules between them had been firmly established long ago, she still didnt quite trust him. Not even now, when he was laid out in his bed with his eyes closed, skin sweaty and roughly the color of old library paste.
Maybe you should see a doctor, she offered by way of compensation, peeling the last of the foil off the chocolate and popping it into her mouth.
Its just the stomach flu. Rousing himself enough to open both eyes, he inquired blearily, Howd it go in town?
Umm. Great. Feeling calmer, she helped herself to a couple more Kisses and settled herself cross-legged on her own bed, carefully avoiding the still-gooey canvas. I think Ive pretty well established myself as your typical dopey tourist, she said as she pulled off her sun visor. Got my purse snatched. Burnside made a strangled sound that may have been a snort. Dont worry, she assured him, I got it back-intact. She didnt think it was necessary to tell him how close shed come to losing the vital meeting information. She was the rookie on this operation, and suspected her partner was already nervous about how she was going to handle herself when things got tricky.
No further contact from the smugglers, though, and I gave them plenty of opportunity. She gave the lump of misery in the next bed a dubious glance. You going to be able to go with me tonight?
Dontthink so, Ken said in an airless whisper that alarmed her.
We have to make that meeting. Ellies heart rate was beginning to speed up. She hurriedly unwrapped another chocolate. The instructions were clear on that. They wont contact us to set up a meeting until theyre sure its not a trap. We have to be out there where they can look us over-make sure were not being followed.
There was some deep, carefully controlled breathing. Then, in a voice tight with pain, Maybe we should contact General Reyes-let him know whats going on.
Let him know what? Theres nothing to report, and wont be until after that meeting. If theres a meeting; we dont even know for sure theyll go for it. Its for sure they wont if we dont show up at-where is it?-Josés Cantina. She paused, then said flatly, If you cant make it, Ill just have to go by myself.
This time there was no doubt about the snort. Lanagan, Burnside said in a faint but firm voice, I know these people. Theyre old May-hee-co-back-country Mexico. They wont do business with a woman-especially one that looks like you. Theyll chew you up and spit you out He closed his eyes and licked his lips, clearly exhausted by that effort.
Ellie watched him for a long moment, a knot of cold fear taking shape in her stomach in spite of the insulating coating of chocolate. Finally she said in a low voice, Ken, we cant screw this up-not now.
Her partner gave a deep, guttural sigh, then mumbled, Ill be okay. We still have a few hours. Dont worry, Ill make it to Josés with youyoull see.
It was an important part of McCalls credo that any day could be made better by a shot of tequila washed down with several bottles of pulque. Not that today had been all that bad; it had turned out to be a pretty good day, actually, in spite of the loss of The Three Caballeros to the feet of a street thief and a turista with golden eyes and hair and freckles the exact color of cinnamon.