Torres was a high-ranking police officer whom Luke had met several years ago at the indoor tennis club he belonged to. On the court, they were more or less evenly matched, Ramon with a tendency to an erratic brilliance, Luke somewhat stronger and more consistent. From a series of hard-fought games, they’d moved gradually and naturally to an undemanding friendship. At least every two weeks they had lunch together, sparring over politics, learning from each other’s areas of expertise; occasionally Luke had dinner with Ramon, his wife Rosita and their three children. Somehow, over the years, it had become clear that both men had pulled themselves upward from backgrounds of poverty and deprivation: Luke from Teal Lake, Ramon from the slums of Mexico City. They never spoke directly about this. But it was there, an unspoken bond between two laconic men.
“I’ve got a court booked at noon tomorrow,” Ramon said. “Want a game? We could have lunch afterward, if you’ve got time.”
“Sure. Sounds like a good idea. As always at these shindigs, I ate too much…I’ll meet you there.”
They rang off. Luke changed into casual clothes and drove downtown to the nearest camera shop. The prints would be ready the next morning; he could pick them up on his way to the tennis club.
So at eleven-forty the next morning, Luke walked out of the shop with an unopened envelope in his hand. He got in his car, drove to the club, and parked a little distance away from all the other cars. It was one of those summer days of thick fog, a heavy white blanket spread over the city, cooling the air.
Appropriate, thought Luke, realizing he was reluctant to open the envelope. He’d been in a fog ever since he’d left Manitoba. Oh, at his meetings in New York he’d functioned at top efficiency, and he was doing the same at the office here; there was nothing new about that. But the rest of the time he felt as though his feet weren’t quite on the ground. As though part of him was still back in Askja.
His normal life had taken over; but he hadn’t forgotten Katrin. Far from it.
She was even more real to him here, hundreds of miles away, than she’d been at the resort, Luke thought, tugging at the tape on the flap of the envelope. He had the eerie sense that if he turned around quickly enough, she’d be standing there, her brilliant blue eyes gazing straight at him.
Ridiculous. Get a grip. He didn’t need a woman turning his life upside down, he reminded himself. Not now or ever.
With sudden decision Luke pulled the flap open, took out the prints and leafed through them. His heart jumped in his chest. There she was, on the beach, her hair swirling around her head, her slim legs bare to the sun as she reached for the Frisbee. In the other two photos she was laughing, Tomas grinning back at her, their shadows striping the sand.
She looked young and carefree, and very beautiful.
He shoved the photos in his gym bag and hurried into the club. He was late. He was never late.
Ramon was tossing balls into the air and practising his serves when Luke joined him on the court. “Buenos días, amigo,” Ramon said. His gaze sharpened. “You okay?”
Luke should have remembered Ramon had a law officer’s ability to assess people with just a glance. “Sure,” he said, jogging on the spot to warm up. “Want to rally for a few minutes?”
What would Ramon have thought of Katrin in her shapeless uniform and ugly glasses? Would he have discerned the woman of passion—and secrets—behind her disguise? Or would he have been as obtuse as Luke had been?
Grimly Luke forced himself to concentrate. They rallied for five minutes, then settled into the game. But Luke’s focus was off. He lost the first set 6-4, won the second by sheer brute force, and lost the final set 6-2. He and Ramon headed for the locker room, showered, then walked to a little Greek restaurant they both liked. Once they’d ordered, Ramon said, “What’s up, Luke? Was business off-kilter for you up there in the wilds of Canada?”
“It went fine.”
“You’ve never played so badly before.”
“Thanks,” Luke said dryly. “How’s Rosita? And the family?”
Rosita, Ramon’s gorgeous and flamboyant wife, had had three children since their marriage, and to everyone’s surprise, including her own, settled into motherhood as though made for it. “She’s in decorating mode,” Ramon said, wiping the froth from his beer off his moustache. “Tearing the rooms apart, painting up a storm. The kids are fine. Usually covered in paint by the time I get home. So you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong.”
“I met this woman,” Luke blurted.
“About time.”
“Marriage isn’t for everyone, Ramon,” Luke said forcefully. “One of these years I’ll settle down. But until then, I like playing the field.”
“This woman…she wanted marriage?”
“No.”
Ramon smiled at the waitress as she put his spanakopita in front of him. “So,” he said amiably, once they were alone again, “she was immune to your charm and your undoubted good looks?”
“Yeah. Well, no. Sort of. I guess.”
Ramon gave him a quizzical look. “One thing I’ve always admired about you is your decisiveness. Yes. No. Always you know which one to choose. Except now.”
“It’s not that simple,” Luke said edgily. “She wasn’t one of the delegates. She was working as a waitress at the resort.”
Ramon raised his brows. “So she was after your money? I thought you were used to that by now.”
“She wasn’t! I swear she wasn’t.”
“You went to bed with her?”
Luke ate a black olive. “I feel like I’m in the dock,” he said, scowling. “No, I did not.”
“But you wanted to. Some women say no just to keep a man interested. On the hook.”
“She wasn’t like that.”
“You’ve got it bad, amigo,” Ramon chuckled. “She was beautiful, yes?”
“Oh, yeah, she was beautiful.” Luke frowned. “She reminded me of someone, but I can’t think who. And she had a thing about San Francisco, reacted like a startled deer every time it was mentioned.”
“What was her name?”
“Katrin.” Impulsively Luke fumbled in his gym bag, took out the envelope of prints and passed the three of Katrin across the table. Ramon took them carefully by the corners, his total attention focussed on the laughing woman on the beach. When he looked up, he was no longer smiling.
“What’s her last name?” he asked in a clipped voice.
“Sigurdson. What’s the matter?”
“Sigurdson…that’s right. Although I knew her as Katrin Staines. Widow of Donald Staines. That mean anything to you?”
Luke’s nerves tightened like overstretched
