Obsession Эс Лера

CHAPTER THREE

“DO YOU KNOW HIM?”

William Kelman’s voice was cold as he tilted his head to the other side of the room. Without even looking, Emma knew instantly whom he meant.

“Yes, I do,” she answered. “His name is Raul Santos.”

“Is he a client of yours?”

It wasn’t a question she could answer; the people whose money she handled valued their privacy. “My client list is confidential, Mr. Kelman. Surely you appreciate that fact as much as anyone.”

He grunted his reply and sipped his brandy, his eyes boring a tunnel across the dimly lit dining room.

After a second, she sneaked a look, too. Raul was meeting William Kelman’s stare, and he wasn’t blinking. She could almost feel the tension crackling between the two men. Raul’s friend Wendy seemed as aware of the silent confrontation as Emma. She reached out and put her hand on his arm and said something quietly. He leaned over to listen, but he didn’t break eye contact.

William Kelman looked away first.

“Tell me more about this currency thing,” he commanded.

Relieved by his change of subject, Emma took a deep breath. “The local currency is called a boliviano and it’s equal to one hundred centavos.”

“What’s that in American money?”

“It changes, but on Friday, a boliviano was worth about fifty cents, give or take a bit.”

“And you make money for your clients by trading this currency, right?”

“That’s part of what I do.”

“How does that work, exactly?”

“The official exchange rate floats, but it’s reviewed periodically. The government has five to ten million dollars they handle every day. I sell bolivianos for dollars or vice versa, and if I do it right, I make money on the margin—the difference between the two amounts.”

“How do you know how many dollars they’ll offer?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “But that’s not really important. The rate is what counts.”

“How much do you make for your clients doing this?”

“It varies from day to day.”

“On?”

“On a lot of things. The markets the day before, the movement of the other currencies being traded, the local economy…”

He leaned his elbows on the table, and at the same time Emma felt a hot gaze on her back. Raul Santos was still staring at them, she could tell.

“Do you know the rate ahead of time?”

She looked at him in surprise. “The rate is examined by a government committee. If there is a change, it’s secret until it’s announced a few days later. For obvious reasons.”

“But if you did know the figure in advance, you’d make more money for your clients, right?”

His question was unsettling, but Emma tried to make light of it. “Only until I got caught—which would probably be immediately. If I knew the information in advance and acted on it, that would be insider trading. It’s as illegal here as it is in the United States.”

He paused, and for some reason, her uneasiness grew. “And you don’t break the law, do you, Ms. Toussaint?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t.”

He nodded slowly, but she had the feeling he didn’t believe her. “Not for anything?”

She opened her mouth to answer the same way, then she hesitated. She’d make a deal with the devil if it meant getting her kids back. She’d do anything for them, wouldn’t she? Even break the law?

Over the middle of the table, she lifted her eyes and their gazes locked. Then he smiled.

RAUL WATCHED William Kelman and Emma depart the restaurant. He’d thought Kelman was going to come over and speak to him, but he hadn’t, and Raul had felt a flash of disappointment. He’d almost welcome a direct confrontation, to settle things as he’d done when he was younger and knew less—with fists and bloodied noses. It was a more honest way, but Kelman didn’t operate like that. He was sneaky and underhanded, and when this was all over, bloody noses would not be the end result.

Rising from the table, Raul motioned to Wendy to do the same. “Let’s go,” he said roughly. “I want to follow them. I want to know where she lives.”

Wendy stood up, grabbing her purse and coat, while she protested, “This is crazy, Raul. You’re heading for disaster.”

Taking her elbow, he led her away from the table and shook his head. “Disaster was losing five years of my life to that son of a bitch. What’s going to happen next is not disaster.”

“And the woman? What do you think she’ll call it?”

Ignoring Wendy’s question, Raul stopped at the front door and motioned to the valet to bring his car, handing the man a wad of bills. He’d already arranged to have the car nearby, and within seconds they were in it and driving off. Ahead of them, along the boulevard, he could just make out the taillights of the car Emma was in. Kelman had departed in a different one.

As if the conversation had never been interrupted, Wendy spoke again, her voice insistent. “Emma Toussaint is going to get hurt, Raul. And she doesn’t deserve it. She’ll be an innocent victim, caugh up in your scheme for revenge. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Raul swerved to avoid a pothole the size of a small crater. They were heading to the First Ring, in the central part of town, an older area shunned by most of the expatriates. “There’s no other way,” he said grimly. “And she’s not that innocent, anyway. I checked her out.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head impatiently. “It’s not important, but believe me, she’s had her share of trouble. And she caused most it herself.”

“Well, that might be true, but she didn’t cause yours. And it’s not fair to drag her into this.”

“Who said life is fair?”

Wendy shook her head at his cynical reply. “You should walk away and forget about him, Raul.”

“Is that what you would do?”

“Yes, I would, because this isn’t worth it. William Kelman is a dangerous man, and you’re going to get hurt, maybe killed. To make matters even worse, you’re going to take that poor woman with you.”

“No one’s going to die.” He paused. “I just want to make Kelman wish he was dead, and the key to that is taking his money. I can’t do that without her help.”

“And if she doesn’t offer it?”

“She will, whether she knows it or not.”

There was obviously nothing else she could say, and Wendy fell silent. Ten minutes later, Raul slowed his SUV as the vehicle ahead of them entered a deserted side street and parked, a cloud of exhaust pouring from its tailpipe. The homes were modest, not what he would have expected for an American banker. Emma stepped from the car and hurried to the front gate of a two-story house. It was mostly hidden behind a brick wall covered in some kind of greenery, but from the little Raul could see, it looked well tended. Unlocking the iron entrance, she disappeared from sight. His window down, Raul heard her walking up the sidewalk, then the sound stopped and a moment after that, a door slammed. The finality of the noise didn’t faze him. He threw his truck in gear and made a sharp U-turn. Fifteen minutes after that, he was in front of Wendy’s house.

“Is there any way I can change your mind?” Wendy reached across the seat and put her hand on his. Her touch was warm and it brought back memories. “Is there any way I can stop you from going back there?”

Beneath the casual tone, Raul heard what she was trying to ask.

“No,” he said. “Kelman might show up there later, and I need to know if he does. I have to understand what kind of relationship they have.”

He read the disappointment that flashed across her face, even though the expression was gone immediately. She’d expected his answer. She nodded and reached for the door handle, then paused.

“Going back there tonight would be a mistake, Raul,” she said softly. “A very big mistake.”

He met her troubled gaze with a blank one of his own. “It won’t be the first time. Or the last.”

BY THE TIME Raul got back to Emma’s, it was almost one in the morning. Except for a single low light in one upstairs corner, the house and gardens were dark. He parked the truck, then settled into the expectant stillness to wait.

EMMA RAN THE BRUSH through her hair and absentmindedly looked at her watch. Sarah and Jake had been asleep for hours, or at least they should have been. She imagined them in their beds, tucked in safe and sound. She’d done Sarah’s room in lavender and pink, Jake’s in dark green and navy. Todd had complained when Emma had selected the colors, saying they didn’t match the rest of the house. The decorator had concurred and been horrified when he’d seen them. But Emma hadn’t cared. Her hand stilled as she remembered her son’s face when he’d first seen the baseball wallpaper. His eyes had blazed with excitement, and he’d jumped up and down, squealing with delight.

Before Emma could stop herself, her vision blurred with tears. Angrily she threw down the hairbrush and wiped at her eyes, but it didn’t do any good. The stinging tears continued. She took a ragged breath, but several minutes passed before she managed to get a tenuous hold on her emotions. Searching her brain for a distraction, she focused on the first thing she thought of—Raul Santos.

Seeing him at Candelabra this evening had been a shock. She wasn’t sure why—the man obviously had no trouble getting a date—but she hadn’t expected him there, especially with a gorgeous woman on his arm. They’d talked a lot, their dark heads together, their hands wrapped around matching glasses of wine. What on earth had he thought when he’d caught Emma pouring out her glass of champagne? She couldn’t imagine what must have run through his head, but she told herself she didn’t care. It would have been far worse for her if she’d drunk the wine.

She stood abruptly and crossed her bedroom to the window facing the street. Over the garden wall, the avenue was dark and deserted, save for several vehicles parked on the other side. A night bird called out, his cry piercing the empty silence.

After a second she dropped the curtain and turned. Halfway to her bed, she stopped impulsively and returned to her desk by the window to flick on her computer. The hard drive whirred into action as she pointed the mouse to her server icon.

The modem connection clicked and hummed, then a few seconds later, connected. At the other end, the phone began to ring and her screen began to blink. Navigating to the site she needed, Emma entered her password, then nodded in satisfaction. Leon was on-line, just as she’d known he would be.

She imagined him sitting in a trance before his computer at the bank in New Orleans. The lab operated twenty-four hours a day, and Leon always took the night shift. Totally without social graces, he’d managed to insult half the management team when he’d worked as a summer intern at the bank. The other half had seen his wardrobe and assumed he was a homeless kid hanging around the lobby to stay cool. She’d sensed the brains behind the facade and had gotten Leon Davis his job; she hoped he remembered that now.

She typed quickly. “Leon, this is Emma Toussaint. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

His answer reflected his surprise. “I’m just surfing. Nothing important. What’s up?”

There was caution in his short reply, and she wasn’t surprised. Todd hadn’t just ruined her personal life; he’d annihilated her professional one, as well. Everyone at the bank—even down in the computer lab, she was sure—had heard the gossip. Knowing her ex-husband and his family as she did, she was sure he’d kept the bad news alive as much as he could.

Her fingers tapped out her answer. “I’m working overseas—in South America—and I’ve got a question. I don’t know anyone who could help me but you.”

The flattery worked, just as she knew it would.

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

She paused. He was brilliant and could get the information; she’d been the only person at the bank who hadn’t been ready to fire him when they’d discovered he’d hacked his way into the salary file to see what everyone was making. But how to pose her query?

“I want you to check out someone for me. Discreetly,” she typed. “Raul Santos. He’s a new customer at my bank. Used to live in Washington, D.C., or possibly El Paso, Texas.” She hit the enter key before she could think too hard about it.

“Sounds interesting. You want that real time or can I get back to you?”

“There’s no hurry.”

“No problem. I’ll catch you later in the week. Stay cool.”

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the monitor. She wasn’t sure why she’d done what she just had. If anyone found out, she’d have a hard time explaining. Requesting personal data on her clients was not standard operating procedure. On the other hand, Raul Santos didn’t seem like her usual client.

If she wanted to check out someone, it ought to be William Kelman. Any time a client asked the kind of questions he had this evening, a red light came on in Emma’s brain. Curiosity of that sort usually meant one thing—the person wanted it for a reason, and it generally wasn’t a legitimate one. She thought briefly of talking it over with Chris but just as quickly decided against saying anything to her boss. He didn’t like problems, and anything remotely out of the ordinary was a problem to him. She shut down her machine, empty silence replacing the mechanical hum of the computer.

One way or the other, she needed Kelman’s account and as many like it as she could find. Each one meant a bonus, and each bonus brought her one step closer to her goal—having enough money to buy the meanest, toughest lawyer New Orleans had to offer. She’d fought Todd with everything she’d had, but that hadn’t been enough. When she went back to try again, she’d have what she needed.

Nothing else mattered.

THE DIM LIGHT behind the upstairs window went out at 1:45 a.m. Raul glanced at his watch, then waited five more minutes before starting the truck. He drove slowly down the street toward Emma’s house and paused right in front. She didn’t know what kind of vehicle he had, so if she looked out the window it wouldn’t matter, anyway.

As if the house were breathing, the upstairs curtains moved in and out in a rhythmic pattern. Must be a fan, he thought, something to break the still night air. He wasn’t prepared for the i that appeared next in his mind, surprising him with its intensity. Emma in bed. The blond hair shining in the darkness. Her slim body in a nightgown. Her fingers curled against the sheets. In the restaurant this evening, her elegant beauty had made every other woman in the place look overblown, too made up.

Then he remembered his words to Wendy. Emma had had her share of troubles. The file he had on her back at the villa he’d rented contained only the barest details, but they were grim. She’d grown up in Louisiana and met Todd Toussaint at college. They’d married, and two children had followed quickly—but so had disaster.

Todd Toussaint had made sure everyone knew the split was not his fault. He divorced her and her life went downhill quickly. She was fired from the bank, and he gained full custody of the children. Without a family, a job or even references, she’d ended up in Santa Cruz, Bolivia.

Emma Toussaint had nowhere to go and nothing to lose. She was just the kind of woman William Kelman would seek out and use.

All Raul had to do was stand by and watch it happen.

CHAPTER FOUR

THEY MET AT PARQUE URBANO twice a week, where four laps around the track equaled two miles. Reina could keep up with Emma for three circuits, but on the fourth one, she always fell back and Emma would surge forward. They’d connect again at the finish line. On Wednesday morning, as Emma was ending her run, she saw Reina, already sitting on the curb, fanning her face. She rose slowly as Emma neared.

“One more time,” Emma urged her, still jogging in place. “C’mon, we’ll walk it.”

“I can’t,” Reina puffed. “No way.”

“I thought you were interested in a rich husband,” Emma teased, finally stopping. “How’re you gonna catch one if you can’t run after him?”

Reina made a face of disgust. “Good point. I’ll go, but you have to bribe me.”

Emma took a swig from the water bottle she’d left on a nearby bench. “With what?”

“I want to hear about your dinner with William Kelman.”

Emma shook her head and began to walk, Reina trailing at her side. “You know I can’t talk about my clients with you.”

“I don’t want to know about his bank balance! I meant your dinner, silly.”

Emma spoke slowly. “Well, he’s…strange. You should have warned me. He asked me all kinds of questions about trading.”

“That’s your job. Why is it strange for him to ask you about it?”

“Let’s just say the questions weren’t the kind I usually get,” Emma answered. “They were more about how to get around the system than how to use it the way you’re supposed to.”

“He’s been in and out of Santa Cruz for years and never had any trouble. I think he’s okay.”

“You think he’s okay because you’re interested in him.”

“And why shouldn’t I be? He may be old, but he’s rich and single. He told me all about himself when I was showing him houses. He was a big shot with the government. He went back and forth between here and the States, doing deals. He’s not some narcotraficante.”

The word made Emma’s mind shoot off in a different direction. Toward the man she’d met the other day. She spoke impulsively. “Reina, do you know a guy by the name of Raul Santos? He’s an American, too. You haven’t shown him anything, have you?”

Reina stopped so fast her tennis shoes kicked up tiny clouds of dust. “Where did you hear that name?”

“A…friend mentioned him,” Emma said, crossing her fingers inside her pocket. “She, um, wants to introduce us.”

“Don’t do it.” Reina’s gaze turned serious and she put her hand on Emma’s arm. “I’ve heard things about him. He’s not what he seems.”

Emma’s pulse took a leap. “What do you mean?”

“There are rumors about him. Not good ones.”

“Do you think he’s—”

“I don’t know what I think, only what I’ve heard, and he’s someone to stay away from. He’s not your kind, sweetie.”

Reina might be the biggest gossip in town, but she never talked badly about people. “Have you met him?” Emma persisted.

“I’ve seen him. He came into our office, inquiring about renting a place. Another agent took care of him, but I saw him passing through. Later she told me who he was.” Reina met Emma’s gaze speculatively. “He’s a very nice-looking man.”

Emma nodded slowly. The smoldering, dark-eyed sensuality he possessed had struck her immediately, and she’d be a liar to disagree. And yes, she’d glanced in his direction more than once last night at the restaurant. Obviously she had more interest in him than she did in most of her clients. Not only had she e-mailed Leon about him, she’d now asked Reina about him. Still, it didn’t mean she was interested in Raul Santos. At least not that way.

It was purely professional, Emma told herself. Nothing personal.

She turned the conversation in a different direction, and Reina seemed happy to oblige. They chatted until they finished the lap, then the two said goodbye, Reina driving off in her pride and joy—a Toyota Four Runner she’d paid a fortune for, given the exchange rate—and Emma trotting down the street. The park wasn’t that far from where she lived, and she liked the extra warmup and cool-down time she got by walking there. Fifteen minutes later, she reached her street and then her house. Putting her key in the garden gate’s lock, she turned it, then realized with surprise the gate was already open. She stopped and stared at the key ring.

She’d locked the gate when she left. She always did.

Despite the warm November sun, a chill of uneasiness swept over her. She quickly glanced up and down the sidewalk. The street was empty, and when she turned back to her house, it looked the same. Nothing appeared disturbed. The front door was shut, and the windows were tightly secured, just as they’d always been.

Should she go on in or…or what? You didn’t call the police for things like this, not here. This wasn’t the States. The guard at the bank did double duty sometimes, helping people with private security matters, but this hardly seemed worth bothering him about. And what if it was nothing? The man would say she was a fool, and before she could blink, everyone at the bank would hear the story. She couldn’t afford anything remotely negative said about her at work.

She hesitated a moment longer, then resolutely pushed open the gate and stepped inside. Locking it securely behind her, Emma walked up the sidewalk to the entry. Her mouth suddenly dry, she reached for the doorknob and told herself she was being ridiculous. Everything was fine, and even if it wasn’t, what could a thief take from her that mattered? Material things meant nothing to her now. All she really valued was her bank balance, and no one could get to that.

The old-fashioned knob was large and heavy. Emma twisted it sharply to the right, but it held and she gave a huge sigh of relief. She must have just forgotten the gate, that was all.

Unlocking the door quickly, she stepped inside. Her pulse continued to race, though, and just to be on the safe side, she called out, feeling silly all the same. “Hello? Is anyone here?” She switched to Spanish. “La polica est aqu,” she warned in a loud voice. “Me entiende?” The police are here. Do you understand me?

The only answer was silence, so she closed the door behind her. Listening closely, she stood immobile and waited. She heard no soft footfalls, no stealthy departure, no hint of anyone’s presence. Finally, after a few more minutes of listening to her heart pound, she accepted what the stillness told her. She was alone.

Still spooked in spite of herself, she grabbed the wooden cane resting by the front door. She’d discovered it in one of the closets after moving in, and the heavy silver top, shaped like a bird’s head, had kept her from throwing it away. She’d check out the house just to make sure. With the walking stick in hand, she went into every room. Nothing was disturbed or missing. By the time she made the tour—living room, dining room, kitchen, then upstairs into the two bedrooms and the bath—she’d convinced herself everything was fine. Of course, someone could have circled behind her to hide, but why would someone even be there? A thief would run.

She went back downstairs and into the kitchen, and that was when she realized she’d forgotten the maid’s room. A tiny closet-size area with a separate bath, it had a door to the patio at the rear of the house. She gripped the handle of the cane and tiptoed to the closed door beside the refrigerator. Taking a deep breath, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door.

The room was empty. And the door leading outside was locked. Emma let out her breath in a whoosh and leaned against the wall, her legs suddenly trembling now that her foolish search was over.

There was no one inside the house. She was fine. She was safe. She’d simply left the gate unlocked, her mind on something else. Like Raul Santos.

She gave a shaky laugh and turned to go upstairs and shower. Just for good measure, she took the cane with her.

Over the running water, she never heard the back door close.

BY FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Emma was exhausted. The week had been a hard one, and she was looking forward to the end of it, despite the fact that on Saturday she had another party to go to. This one, a charity event, was out in the country at a club the expatriates favored called La Sierra. She didn’t want to attend any more than she’d wanted to attend the last event, but business was business. Reina had told her William Kelman would be there, and that was all it took. He had yet to come into the bank. If Emma had to woo him some more to obtain his account, then she’d do it. She didn’t have the luxury of being proud and hadn’t in quite some time.

She spent the morning doing paperwork, her only interruption coming when her phone rang at close to one. She picked it up and answered.

“You have a call from the States,” Felicity said. “A Mr. Leonard F. Davis III. Are you available?”

It took Emma a minute to recognize the name, but when she did, her throat went tight. “Put him through,” she said.

The minute she said hello, Leon said excitedly, “This guy is something, Emma, the guy you asked me to look up. How’d you hook up with—”

She made her voice as businesslike as possible as she interrupted him and halted the flow of words. “Mr. Davis! What a surprise. I thought you were going to e-mail me this information.” She glanced toward her open office door nervously. “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I was gonna mail you, but when I saw this, I had to make it direct. I’m calling on my lunch break. I don’t know what kind of bank you’re working for now, but this guy’s not like the customers we used to get here.”

“What do you mean?” she asked calmly.

“Well, for one thing, he’s into some serious money. Real serious. Most people don’t carry six figures in their local checking accounts, right? Out there in El Paso, he’s run more than that through on several occasions, some of it cash.”

Cash deposits of more than ten thousand dollars were always scrutinized. It meant tons of paperwork and hassle, but the banks complied; they had to or risk more than they wanted if the deposits were ever questioned.

“Did they check out?”

“All the forms were fine. Nothing fishy on the surface.”

As quietly as possible, Emma leaned forward in her chair, the phone in her hand. Felicity was at her desk, and as Emma watched, the secretary rose, picked up her coffee cup and walked across the reception area to the small kitchen that was concealed behind a screen.

“Could you find addresses for him?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, but…” His voice trailed off. She could hear the sound of paper being shuffled, then he spoke again. “There’s something weird about it, though. He lived in Washington, just like you said, but there’s a five-year gap.”

Emma waited for him to explain, but he said nothing more. “A gap? What do you mean?”

“I mean a gap. The guy just disappeared for five years. He lived at 1019 Oak Cypress Drive for seven years, Unit 302C. Took the paper, subscribed to magazines, had a credit card, then everything stopped. It was like he flew to the moon or something. Five years later he resurfaced.”

“That’s crazy. Are you sure you looked—”

“I checked everything. Nothing got past me, okay?”

Emma bit her tongue. She’d forgotten how defensive Leon was. “And you did a great job, I’m sure. I just don’t understand, that’s all.” She peered through her office door and caught Felicity going out into the hallway. She was heading for the main section of the bank, probably the offices out front. A new vice president had just been hired, and Emma had heard the secretaries giggling and talking about the man. Seeing the woman leave, Emma felt a moment’s relief and spoke again.

“What do you think the gap means?”

“I don’t know, unless…”

He didn’t say more, so she pressed him. “Unless what?”

“Well, he did live in Washington. Worked at a big law firm there—”

“He’s an attorney?”

“Yeah, passed the bar first time he took it, no problem.” His voice went up a notch. “But listen, Em, maybe that was a cover, you know? Maybe he’s one of the alphabet men.”

“Speak English,” she said impatiently. “What are saying?”

“He could be a spook. CIA or FBI. Maybe even DEA, since he was in El Paso, too.”