Her blond hair shone, though, and when Raul was finally ready, a little after midnight, he didn’t have any trouble spotting her on the other side of the pool. Moving away from the stool, he threaded his way through the crowd and headed toward the edge of the open air bar. Facing a bank of windows covered in reflective film, he walked parallel to her, his eyes trained on the windows, which were as good as mirrors.
And that was when Raul saw him.
William Kelman.
He was working the crowd, greeting people with a gracious smile and ambling slowly so he could talk to everyone. He blended into the group as though he was born to it. He was heading inexorably toward Emma, and Raul paused to watch the drama unfold. He’d hoped all along that this encounter would happen—had counted on it happening tonight—but now that the vignette was unfolding, the image turned his stomach. Seeing Kelman approach her was like watching a snake stalk a mouse.
Raul grabbed another bottle of beer from a passing waiter and told himself it didn’t matter. He had a job to do and nothing else was important. Emma Toussaint was William Kelman’s mouse, and that was the very reason he, Raul, was there.
He and Kelman were one of a kind. Users. Predators. Men who took what they wanted and never looked back. In his other life, Raul had been a peaceable person, a law-abiding citizen, even a gentleman some might have said, but all that had changed because of William Kelman. Now both of them were the same. Both of them sensed the weak and deceived them for their own advantage.
The realization should have made Raul unhappy.
In his other life, it would have.
“HE’S COMING this way. No! Don’t look. Stand still, I’ll tell you what he’s doing. Smile. Act casual.”
Emma tried to follow Reina Alvarado’s advice, but it wasn’t possible; she had to look. Turning her head, Emma glanced over her shoulder, then faced her best friend once more. “That’s him? The older one in the tuxedo?”
Reina nodded. “William Kelman. He’s a nice-looking man, isn’t he?” She raised a hand to her dark hair and fluffed it up around the crown of her head. “Maybe I can snag him. I’m tired of Miguel and all his problems. Did I tell you what he did last week?”
“No, you didn’t. But right now the only man I want to hear about is Mr. Kelman, please.”
Reina looked peeved, but only for a second. Nothing ever upset her for long, and that was one of the reasons Emma loved her friend so much. She needed the balance in her life that Reina gave her—the laughter, the jokes, the South American acceptance that life was what you were handed, not what you made it. They had met, literally, the day Emma had gotten off the plane. The bank had arranged for Reina, a local real-estate agent, to pick up Emma from the airport so they could begin to look at apartments. In the mass confusion of Viru-Viru, Reina had taken one look at the exhausted and obviously drained Emma, and they’d gone straight to the Yotau Hotel. Reina had checked Emma in, led her to her suite, then ordered room service for them both. They’d been friends ever since, and it’d paid off for Emma in more ways than one. Reina was a pipeline of information and gossip.
“What do you need to know?” Reina said now, her perfect eyebrows arching above snapping black eyes. “He’s rich, he’s an American, and he needs a banker.” She poked Emma discreetly in the ribs.
“That’s you.”
Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “Haven’t you already relieved him of that money? Last time we talked, you said you were taking him to Las Palmas to look at houses.”
“I did,” Reina said smugly. “And he bought the biggest one out there. You know, the pink one on the huge lot with the pool and the garden.” She leaned closer. “It cost a fortune and he didn’t blink an eye.”
Emma’s interest quickened, and she risked another look. William Kelman had stopped to talk to someone, the local consul general, she realized with a start. The woman was smiling and laughing with Kelman as if the two knew each other well. Standing beside them was one of the directors of the embassy. Emma noticed he didn’t look quite as happy, but she gave him a passing glance only. She was interested in Kelman.
He wasn’t tall, but his military bearing added stature and power to his appearance. He was nearer to sixty than fifty, she estimated, with close-cropped hair almost completely gray. As she watched, he tilted his head toward the consul, and for the first time, Emma realized he had someone with him. A very young, very beautiful woman. Dressed in a gold sheath that revealed a stunning figure, she was standing to one side of Kelman, looking bored, her dark eyes searching the room for something more exciting, her body moving, unconsciously, it seemed, to the music of the band.
“You’re staring,” Reina hissed. “Turn around. I’ll tell you when he’s coming this way.”
Emma shifted to look at her friend once more, but as she did, she suddenly felt every one of her thirty-five years. The simple black dress she’d selected seemed dowdy. She hadn’t taken the time to apply more makeup or fix her hair. Touching the ends of it, she knew there was nothing she could do about it now.
Reina read her mind. “You look perfect,” she said. “Just like a banker.”
“I know,” Emma answered. “I just…” She shook her head. “That girl he’s with. She’s so young, so gorgeous…” She let her voice die out.
“They’re all young and gorgeous, chica, but we’ve got experience. That’s more important!”
A moment later William Kelman was at their side, the girl trailing behind him. “Reina!” He leaned over and kissed her. “How’s my favorite real-estate agent?”
Reina beamed. “Muy bien, señor. And how’s your Spanish?”
“It’s not improving,” he said. “Not one damned bit.”
Before he could say anything else, Reina reached out and put her hand on Emma’s arm. “This is my friend, Emma Toussaint.”
Emma extended her hand and William Kelman took it. He squeezed so hard she felt her ring cut into the flesh of her fingers, but on reflex, she squeezed back, just as forcefully. His eyes narrowed momentarily, then he released his grip.
“So you’re the banker, eh? I’ve heard a lot about you. Your name gets dropped in all the right places.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Emma met his eyes and smiled.
“You’re at Banco, right?”
“That’s correct. I work for Banco Nacional. I’m in charge of their foreign-currency exchanges and expatriate accounts.”
“Convince me it’s a good idea to put all my money with you and your bank.”
She smiled politely. There was a shop downtown that sold Brazilian blue topaz the exact shade of William Kelman’s eyes. She’d never liked the stone—its color was cold and impersonal.
“I don’t have to convince you,” she said. “Talk to my other clients and you’ll convince yourself.”
His expression didn’t change, but she’d dealt with so many men like him back in New Orleans she could tell what they were going to say before they opened their mouths. Like her ex-husband and his family, they had money and they thought it made them special.
“I’ve already heard everyone’s opinions,” he said. “But I make up my mind for myself.”
“Don’t you find that hard to do without the facts?”
He smiled. It was a chilly expression that matched his eyes. “Not really. I find most ‘facts’ highly overrated.”
She made a motion with her head, a quick tilt as if to agree with his witticism. She needed the man’s business—there was no reason to make him angry. “We’re not the biggest bank in town, Mr. Kelman, but we handle all the important accounts. I’m sure you’d be very happy with us.”
“I’ll come see you sometime next week.” He stuck out his hand. “I assume that’s convenient?”
She accepted his grip. This time it was looser, as if she’d passed some kind of test. “I’d be delighted to see you anytime.”
He nodded and moved away after kissing Reina on the cheek. Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly,
her shoulders slumping before she could stop herself, relief flooding her now that the moment had passed. She’d come to the party for this one reason—to let William Kelman check her out and obtain a meeting with him. She hoped it was worth it.
Reina grabbed her arm and grinned. “Let’s go get another drink,” she whispered. “I have a feeling you’re going to have something to celebrate soon.”
RAUL WATCHED the two women head toward the bar, their business with Kelman obviously concluded. Emma Toussaint appeared more relaxed. Looking down at her friend, she tossed her head and smiled, her blond hair swinging against her neck. Even her step was easier, he noticed, less stiff and anxious. Clearly she was pleased with how the introductions had gone. Raul allowed himself a corresponding flicker of satisfaction, then he searched the room with his eyes and found Kelman to judge his reaction.
The man was in a group of people, laughing and talking. The young woman he’d brought with him was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to be participating in the conversation, but as Raul watched, he realized Kelman’s attention was actually focused somewhere else. Raul followed the other man’s gaze until he understood. Kelman was studying Emma Toussaint, looking at her with a measuring wariness.
In the past, Raul had always addressed his problems directly. As a well-trained attorney, he’d assess the situation, evaluate his priorities, then put his plan into action, a plan that was usually complicated and involved, yet never beyond the limits of what was legal. He believed in doing things the right way; justice and fairness were always behind him.
But the rules were different now. Kelman had changed them when he’d ruined Raul’s life. Honesty and ethics were out the window, replaced by lies and subterfuge.
But Raul could handle them as deceit as deftly as he’d been able to handle truth.
Finishing his beer, he gave the matter no more thought. He put the bottle down and headed across the room. Toward Emma Toussaint.
CHAPTER TWO
RAUL WAS FIVE STEPS from Emma’s side when a throng of party goers surged between them. Momentarily thwarted, he had to pause, and when he did, he felt the old familiar prickling sensation along the back of his neck. The one that had saved his life more than once. The one that told him someone had noticed him. Stuck within the center of the throng, he turned. William Kelman was staring directly at him.
All Raul could do was stare back. Sooner or later he’d expected Kelman to know he was in Santa Cruz, so it didn’t really matter. But Raul felt his muscles tense as their gazes locked. He’d wondered how he’d react the first time he looked into the other man’s eyes. Now he knew. He felt only an empty kind of satisfaction for what he knew was coming. It seemed strange, but that was it. Kelman narrowed his eyes, his expression puzzled.
A second passed, maybe two, and the moment was broken by a waiter coming between them. In that instant, Raul realized Kelman didn’t recognize him. For five years Raul had thought of nothing but seeking revenge on this man, and apparently he didn’t even remember Raul. Under different circumstances, the situation might have been amusing. For now, all Raul wondered was what this meant to his plans. He decided quickly that if Kelman couldn’t place him, all the better.
With the crowd still pressing around him, Raul gave up and let himself be carried down the sidewalk. The entire group spilled outside and began to pile into the taxis lining the street in front of the bar. They were moving on to another location, and even though they were strangers, they began to insist that Raul come with them. Laughing and playing along, he turned them down, then he saw the opportunity. He could connect with Emma Toussaint another time; now it seemed more important to avoid Kelman. A moment later, he was in a cab, driving away with a man and two women, heading for a party he knew nothing about. As they hit the nearby traffic circle, Raul sent a casual glance over his shoulder, back toward the bar. He wasn’t surprised at what he saw. William Kelman was standing under the overhang of the bar’s entrance, a cigar in one hand, a drink in the other. His eyes were on the departing taxis, and in the dim illumination from a nearby street lamp, his expression was still puzzled.
It wouldn’t take him long to figure it out.
EMMA WAS SITTING at her desk on Monday morning when the phone rang. She wasn’t reading the currency reports piled in front of her or writing the memo she had due in a few hours; she was just sitting. The party on Saturday night had left her drained, and Sunday had been as awful as it usually was. She lived all week for the moment she could call the States and hear her children’s voices, but the minute the telephone conversation was finished, she would feel the force of their absence and break down. The rest of the day was always a painful blur, just hours she had to endure until the next time she could talk to them.
The phone at her elbow sounded again and she reached for it without thinking. The voice at the other end was not one she’d expected, at least not this soon.
“Ms. Toussaint, this is William Kelman. I assume I’m not interrupting anything…”
She sat up straight in her chair. “Mr. Kelman, of course you’re not interrupting. I’m glad you called.”
“I’d like to discuss my banking situation with you as soon as possible.”
“I can see you today.” As she spoke, Emma pulled her calendar closer, but she didn’t really need to look at it. If Kelman had as much money as Reina said he did, Emma’s day was his. “When would you like to come by?”
“That’s just it.” The hint of reluctance she heard in his voice sounded studied, but Emma told herself she was imagining things. “I can’t come in today. Too much going on. I’d like to invite you to dinner, though. Could you meet me at Candelabra, say, around nine?”
Something about the man bothered her and she hesitated, then she chastised herself. There was no good reason she couldn’t meet William Kelman for dinner, none whatsoever. She didn’t have plans and dinner at Candelabra—the best restaurant in town—was always a pleasure. But more importantly, if she turned down this kind of opportunity and Christopher Evans, her boss, found out, he’d kill her. She’d already told him about meeting Kelman, and Chris was practically frantic to get the man’s business.
“Candelabra would be fine,” she answered.
“I’d be happy to meet you there.” She scribbled the notation in her calendar, then pushed it back to the corner of her desk.
“Excellent. Give me your address and I’ll send a car.”
“That’s not necessary,” she protested. “I can catch a cab.”
“I insist. It’s the least I can do for making you work so late.”
He wouldn’t take no for an answer. By the time she hung up, Emma had given him directions to her home and a promise she’d see him at nine. She felt vaguely uncomfortable, but what did it matter? The man had the potential for becoming a very big client. If she signed him up, they’d be seeing each other a lot. Her customers were the kind who kept a close eye on their money.
Before she could devote more worry to the subject, her phone rang again, her internal line this time.
“Usted tiene una visita.”
“Felicity, Inglés, por favor.” Emma now spoke perfect Spanish, but she insisted that the secretaries and assistants in her department speak English. People with money were usually paranoid; the clients, mostly British and American, were more comfortable when they could understand what was being said around them. She frowned. It’d been a long time since she’d had to remind the young woman.
“I’m sorry…You have a visitor.” Felicity’s voice dropped in a way Emma had never heard before. “A gentleman.”
“Who is it?”
Felicity gave Emma his name, but it was not familiar, and he didn’t have an appointment, either. That was not unusual, though. With the level of wealth most of her clients enjoyed, they expected to drop in and still be welcomed. Emma told the secretary she’d be right out.
She checked her hair and lipstick in a small mirror she kept in her desk, then rose and crossed the carpet. Just ou
tside her private office was a reception area that was exclusive to her clients. They could enter this quarter of the bank through the main lobby or come in by a door that led directly to the street. Emma entered the reception room and looked at her secretary.
Felicity met Emma’s eyes and tilted her head toward a man standing near the windows. He had his back to them, his hands locked behind him, but as Emma watched, he turned to face her. A field of energy seemed to surround him, waves of intensity rippling out from where he stood. Emma told herself she was being silly, but she swore she could actually feel the strength of his power from across the room.
She started toward him, her heels clicking on the tile floor. “I’m Emma Toussaint,” she said, holding out her hand as she got closer. “How may I help you, Mr. Santos?”
Up close, his magnetism was even stronger. She found herself holding her breath as his dark eyes passed over her in a practiced way. She’d become accustomed to the evaluations of South American males, but the way this man’s gaze scanned her body was different. It left her feeling strangely vulnerable. His touch added to the sensation. As they shook hands, it enveloped her with a sizzling heat.
“I’m here to open an account.” His voice was low and melodious with a hint of something she couldn’t place. “I understand you handle the customers with…special needs.”
“I’m in charge of the currency department, and I’m also the vice president of the expatriate accounts.” She answered carefully. “On occasion I do help with other areas.”
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