Forty-Four

“I would take a long hard look at that address book,” Bryan said. “You want to be sure. The McCabes”—he said the name with sarcasm—“have a way of taking a perfect plan and turning it inside out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carlos was getting annoyed.

“The book has a tr—”

Finn gasped. “It was you.”

“It was me, what?” Bryan seemed amused and completely untroubled.

Finn, on the other hand, was suddenly and uncharacteristically angry. He leaned forward and grabbed Bryan’s shirt. “You put that dead kid in our house. You kidnapped him, tied him up, shot him, then placed him on our chair where you thought Silva and Eduardo would find him. Eduardo would report back that Silva’s name was in his wallet. It was a way of pointing the finger when the truth would come out. When Carlos would learn who he was.”

“What are you talking about?” Carlos growled. “What kid was shot?” He turned to Bryan. “Do you know what he’s saying?”

Bryan opened his mouth, but Hollis spoke first. “We use a house sometimes as part of our cover identity. It’s where Silva, Bryan, and Eduardo came the night they spirited us to Argentina. Earlier that night we’d been awoken by some noise and came downstairs. There was a young man, long brown hair, probably twenty years old, in our living room. He’d been shot somewhere else and brought there. Naturally we moved the body.”

“Your home in the States?” Carlos said. “And the boy, describe him exactly.”

“The local police did a DNA test on him. He was a partial match to a man named Vincente Martinez. A grandson perhaps.”

Carlos went pale. “They’re sure?” he asked quietly.

Hollis nodded.

“Silva killed him.” Bryan was glaring at Finn, but it was clear he was still looking for a way to spin it. “He hated you, boss. He wanted revenge for the time he spent in prison, the money you stole from him.”

Carlos sat, unmoving. “Silva hated me,” he agreed. “But he loved my grandson like his own.” He turned toward Bryan. “You whispered in my ear about Teresa and Eduardo, about Silva’s disloyalty, and now you try to get me to turn on my new American friends. You killed my Nicolas for what? To become my right-hand man?”

“You’re just a stop on the way,” Finn said.

Carlos was shaking. He pointed a finger at Bryan. “You are a dead man.”

Bryan got up, leaned over to Carlos, “No, old man. You are the dead one.” He said something in Spanish, but Hollis only picked up one word—patetico, pathetic. He pushed Finn and moved through the restaurant, nearly knocking over a waiter. He was out the door before any of them could react. Peter’s men were supposed to be outside. Bryan knew that too. Hollis was sure he could evade them.

What now? They couldn’t just leave a grieving man to finish his hot chocolate. They couldn’t stay and risk Bryan returning. Hollis looked to Finn. He didn’t seem to have an answer, either.

“What can we do for you, Señor?” she asked.

Carlos reached out and grabbed her hand so tightly she thought he would break it. “I think the music is ended. I think it is time to be done with my business.” With his free hand he brushed aside the book.

“You’re not going to the meeting?” Finn asked.

Carlos shook his head.

Finn glanced toward Hollis. He had to go to the meeting, or else the book would not get passed to the next man or, hopefully, to the head of TCT itself.

And what if Bryan had been lying about not knowing the location? He would get there and tell the contact what they’d all been up to. Bryan knew where they lived. Hollis and Finn would never have a moment’s rest if all of TCT were looking for them, if Bryan were free to show up anytime.

Peter and Declan would have lost an important chance. And the others—would Bryan go looking for Elsa and Levi? For Teresa and Eduardo? He might want to eliminate anyone who had seen him offer to cooperate with Blue. Or he might kill them all just because he could.

Carlos had to go through with the meeting and that book would have to go up the chain of command, just as they’d planned.

“Bryan will poison TCT against you,” Hollis said.

Carlos shrugged. “My grandson was not in my business. He was studying in Nebraska. He said it was all cornfields, but he loved it. He wanted to be an architect. He was a good boy. Why would Bryan do this to him?”

“Bryan killed your grandson because you had hired us to do the hit he felt was his opportunity,” Hollis said. “He wanted your permission to kill us, and Silva along with us. Silva’s name in your grandson’s pocket. I think he believed that Eduardo would see it as Silva’s revenge, and report to you what had happened. But we moved the body before they came to our home. Bryan couldn’t admit it was supposed to be there. That’s why he kept searching the house.” She realized she was speaking more to Finn than to Carlos, but what came out of her mouth next was for both of them. “If he would do that to an innocent young man, what’s next?”

“What happens to Teresa?” Finn suggested. “Can anyone you love ever be safe?”

That woke Carlos up. “I must see Teresa. I’ll go to her father’s house and insist she comes home. She loved Nicolas. She’ll want to know what’s happened.”

Hollis felt herself starting to panic.

Finn signaled for the waiter. “A glass … Un vaso … um … de agua, por favor.” He was buying them time.

The waiter nodded and soon returned with three glasses of water. Finn sipped his, and Hollis realized how dry her mouth was. She drank half the glass in one gulp.

“Let me call Teresa,” Hollis said. “If she’s angry at you, let me talk to her first, smooth things over.”

“She will be angry at you as well. You took Eduardo from her.”

“She doesn’t know it was us. That’s not how we work.”

Carlos looked relieved. “Maybe do not tell her yet about my grandson. She’s already grieving, and I need time to think about how to tell my daughter, if she doesn’t yet know. Just tell my wife that I am sorry and I want to see that she’s okay.”

Hollis got up from the table. She pulled the phone Eduardo had given her from her purse and walked toward the exit of the restaurant. She couldn’t use the phone to call Peter. Eduardo had said it was bugged. She had absolutely no idea what plan Peter would come up with to get them back on track. But she kept walking toward the door as if she did, knowing each step got her farther from Finn, who was doing his best to comfort a killer.

As she almost reached the door, she saw a cell phone on a table. The man was reading the paper. She got her hand ready. She could just take it. She could feel herself tense, her face get warm. Someone could see her and then it would all be over. Police would be called. Or she could just take it, and no one would notice. Maybe Declan could teach them how to pick pockets. He’d no doubt protest he’d never done such a thing, but he knew how. She knew he did.

She moved close to the table, her purse on the arm closest to the man. She casually moved her arm down her purse, brushed the table. Her fingers found the phone and she picked it up, dropped it into her purse, and kept walking.

Nothing. No one said a word.

Outside, she dialed Peter’s number and filled him in as quickly as she could.

“We put Teresa and Eduardo on a plane hours ago,” he said. “Maybe we can get someone to play Teresa.”

“I think he knows what his wife looks like. How do we get away with that?”

“From a distance. She won’t talk to him, but he can see her. But from yards away. Maybe the window at her father’s house?”

“No.” But Hollis suddenly had an idea. “A church. She’s in mourning for her dead lover, angry at her husband. Probably full of guilt. Teresa would go to church. Is her father still in Buenos Aires?”

“Yes, he leaves in an hour,” Peter said.

“Don’t let him. If he’s with Teresa, it will sell it.”

“I can try and get an agent to play her. It will take a couple of hours.”

“We don’t have time. It’s nearly two and Carlos has to be on that plane at three.”

“Maybe you say that Teresa won’t see him. Only the father will talk to him.”

She didn’t think it would be enough. But it might have to be. Teresa, a dark-haired beauty, was long gone and there was no one else. “Wait,” she said, as she remembered another brunette she’d met in Argentina. “It’s a long shot. I mean a very, very long shot.”

“Are you going to suggest putting Declan in a wig, because I don’t think even Carlos’s old eyes will be deceived.”

She could hear Declan laugh in the background. It was a little disconcerting to think of their budding friendship, created over too much caffeine and a rushed forgery.

“Actually no, but that would be fun,” she said. “I was thinking of a waitress named Gabriella who was very kind to us. She works at that restaurant in Palermo where you met with us in the kitchen. She’s got dark hair like Teresa. She’s shorter, but if she’s sitting in a pew, her back to Carlos, with Teresa’s father by her side … maybe.”

“Gabriella. Yes. She could work. Hold on …”

She could hear Peter and Declan talking quickly. A plan was being put in place.

“Declan is on the phone to Teresa’s father. He said to go to the Nuestra Señora de los Santos Church. Our Lady of the Saints. He said there is a mass for the dead being said there at two fifteen. It’s by your hotel, he said. If you go at two thirty, mass will be underway. Keep Carlos at the back of the church. We’ll put Gabriella and Teresa’s father in the middle. Close enough to see but not too well.”

“I think we can do that. Carlos doesn’t strike me as a religious man, but I doubt even he would interrupt a church service.”

“One problem. I don’t think Gabriella will say yes to me. When she saw me in the kitchen, I had my gun out. She looked terrified. And as charming as Declan can be, she’s never met him, so I doubt she’ll follow him, either.”

“I’ll go to the restaurant. I’ll talk her into it,” Hollis said. “And I’ll have Finn bring Carlos. Two thirty at the church.”

It was 1:38. There wasn’t even an hour. It was impossible.