How big a piece?” Peter asked, and couldn’t help flashing a predatory smile of his own.
Baltasar laughed. “I think I could like you, Pietro.” He was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping out a simple beat on his desk. “I know you have a small but well-run organization in Chicago. How would you feel about expanding that operation?”
“Depends if the returns are as big as the risk. I like to stay small because it keeps me under the authority’s radar.”
“It also keeps you living in shacks in the jungle.”
Peter snuffed out his cigar in a crystal ashtray. “You got me there.”
“I’m expecting a large payment soon that will cover all the expenses necessary to set you up properly. I have one thousand kilos of pure powder processed and ready. I can have half that shipment sent to Chicago. Can you handle it?”
“I can, but I’ll have to increase my base.”
“Think you can have it done by the thirteenth?”
Peter nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Good. I’m cutting back on my organization in Colorado. I want to transfer operations to Chicago consecutively.”
Peter schooled his features not to show too much excitement. This was a bigger break than any of them had anticipated. Baltasar must be very unhappy with Barclay to be cutting him out. Either that or he was on to Barclay’s arrest. And if that was the case, this whole conversation could be a setup and Baltasar could have wind of the sting operation the CIA had planned.
Peter’s stomach turned, and it wasn’t just from the cigar.
“All communications will be directly between you and I. You won’t use my name, but will always refer to me as El Patrón. Each month I will send an e-mail communication of when you can expect the next shipment of kilos and where—”
The door burst open and a woman rushed in, her long, flowing wheat-gold hair, bouncing across her shoulders.
Baltasar stood.
The woman stopped dead in her tracks, her arms frozen in midswing, her large hazel eyes staring in widened shock. At him.
Emily.
Peter’s heart slammed into the side of his chest.
A man dressed in the tan uniform of Baltasar’s guards came running up behind her, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her back.
Peter stood, and had to stop himself from rushing forward and ripping the man’s arm off. He must be dreaming. It couldn’t possibly be his Emily standing in Baltasar Escalante’s office being manhandled by a guard.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Escalante,” the guard said. “The señorita is faster than she looks.” His lips quivered in disgust. “I won’t let her get by me again.”
Emily’s shocked gaze hadn’t left Peter’s.
It was her. And if he didn’t do something fast, she would say or do something, and the jig would be up, his cover blown.
“It’s all right, Esteban,” Baltasar said, and walked toward them. “You may leave us.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. The guard nodded and backed out the door. Peter took advantage of Baltasar’s diverted attention and held a forefinger to his lips. For a brief second, Emily’s eyes widened.
Once the door clicked shut, Baltasar turned back to Emily. His Emily. What was she doing there? Why wasn’t she back home in Colorado Springs working at Vance Memorial and raising babies? His mind felt wrapped in several layers of cotton. He forced out three quick breaths, then took a deep one and tried not to think about how fast his heart was beating. He had to calm down. He had to make sure neither one of them gave the game away.
Baltasar turned back to his desk and snuffed out his cigar. “Dr. Armstrong, is everything all right with Marcos?” he asked.
Emily still hadn’t spoken. She just stood there staring, her emotions playing across her face—shock, pain, regret.
Peter held his breath. Come on, Emily. Pull it together. Don’t give me away.
“Dr. Armstrong?” Baltasar said again.
Peter didn’t like the way Baltasar’s gaze kept shifting from her to him then back to her again.
“Is everything all right?” he asked again.
She took a step toward Peter, her mouth opening to speak. He lifted his hand a fraction of an inch, gave a slight shake of his head, and hoped she could still read him as easily as he could still read her.
“Sorry,” she said, regaining her voice, though it was obvious how much of a struggle it was for her.
“Is everything all right with Marcos?” Speculation ran high in Baltasar’s tone.
Peter turned toward the window, breaking their connection before Baltasar’s speculation turned to suspicion.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” Emily said, seeming to pull it together. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Marcos is coming down with a cough that we’ll need to keep a close watch on. It seems he’s develoved pneumonia. But he’s been given antibiotics. His spirits are high and he’s resting comfortably.”
Peter sat back in his chair and acted uninterested while watching them out of the corner of his eye. He knew Baltasar’s son was dying of AIDS, which explained why Emily, a pediatric hematologist, would be there, but it certainly didn’t explain how she got there.
“He’s a wonderful little boy,” Emily added.
“Thank you,” Baltasar said softly. “I think so, too.”
She fell silent, her large hazel eyes once again seeking out Peter’s, once again causing a painful lurch in his chest. He tried not to look at her, tried to look back out the window, or at the desk, anywhere, but all the willpower in the world couldn’t pull him away. How he missed her, the sharp pain of it sliced through him.
“Was there something you needed, Dr. Armstrong?”
The abrupt edge to Baltasar’s tone sent a twinge of anxiety rushing through him. They’d have to be careful around this man. From everything Peter had heard and seen, he could play Mr. Charm, but underneath he was a diabolical and ruthless killer.
“Yes,” Emily said, and turned slightly, giving Baltasar her full attention.
That’s it, babe. Don’t let him see you sweat.
“The phones in our wing aren’t working and we need to call the clinic and let them know we’ve arrived safely. It’s been several hours since we were due and we don’t want them to worry.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Dr. Armstrong, but I’ve already contacted the clinic and let them know you’ve been delayed.”
As she hesitated, the pieces clicked into place. Baltasar needed a doctor for his son and he took one, regardless of what she
