"Later would be best," I tell her. Before the words clear my lips, she smothers them with an openmouthed kiss as she pulls my pants down. Together we finally shed them over the edge of the bed, where the red chemise and Joselyn's thong join them.

She is back in my arms, the warm, tawny glow of her nakedness against my flesh. Her lips press to my ear in a husky, sensuous voice: "If Herman calls now, he won't have to worry about Thorn. I will beat him to death with his own phone."

THIRTY-SEVEN.

What they say about h.e.l.l and good intentions is true. I had intended to call Herman by ten o'clock.

When the phone rings, somewhere m.u.f.fled and distant, I gaze over and the clock on the nightstand reads 9:10. I rouse from a deep sleep to the feel of her warm body against me. Joselyn's tousled hair covers her face as it nuzzles into the cranny of my neck, her limp arm and sharp nails draped across my chest. Each time I move she sticks her claws in me like a cat.

When I see the sliver of bright light breaching the blackout curtains, I panic. "Oh, s.h.i.t." The phone is still ringing. But it's not night, it's the morning after.

I struggle to get up.

"Emmmmm!" Joselyn stirs and digs a fingernail into my nipple. "What time is it?"

"Morning," I tell her. I free myself from the claw.

"Where are you going?" She yawns, covers her mouth, and stretches under the covers.

"Looking for my phone." It's not on the nightstand. When it rings again I realize it's still strapped to the belt on my pants, down on the floor under the tangle of garments.

I lean over and fish my way through the red s.e.xy thong and the chemise, trying to focus my eyes. I find my pants and feel for the phone, slide it out of the holster, and check the screen. It's Herman. I push the green b.u.t.ton. "h.e.l.lo!"

"Where were you? Took you long enough," he says.

"Couldn't find my phone."

"Hope you slept well, 'cause I've been up since six," he says.

"Where are you?" I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up.

"I been on the road since six thirty," he says.

"You're tailing Thorn?"

"Yeah, and you're not gonna believe what I'm lookin' at right now."

"Where are you?"

Joselyn kneels up behind me on the bed and puts her arms around my chest, her chin on my shoulder from behind, and starts to graze me with her nails again. "What's happening?"

"Stop it."

"You didn't seem to mind last night."

"Is that who I think it is?" says Herman.

"Yeah. Tell me what's going on."

"You first," he says.

"Never mind. Just tell me where you are."

"Well, right now I'm on a narrow ledge of ground, on a hillside off a dirt road, lyin' on my stomach lookin' at some farmer's field through a pair of binoculars," says Herman. "According to the odometer, I'm about 12.8 miles south of Ponce and about a half mile east of the main highway. Thorn's got himself a makeshift landing strip out here."

"Is the plane there?"

"Yep. I'm looking at it right now. He's got it tucked away under some camouflage netting and a bunch of equipment down there. He's got one, two, three guys working with him. Looks like they're getting ready to do some painting and one guy's doing some welding."

"How do I get out there?" I ask.

"You want me to come get ya?"

"No. Stay there. Keep an eye on Thorn. If he leaves, follow him. I'll grab a taxi."

"Not without me you won't." Joselyn pushes off behind me, pulls the top sheet off the bed, and wraps it around herself. Then, as if in a gown with a long trail, she parades toward the bathroom, where she closes the door.

"I need to take a shower," I tell her.

"Go ahead, the door's unlocked," she hollers. "And you don't have anything I haven't already seen."

"Sounds like you had a better night than I did," says Herman.

"Yeah, well, what can I say?"

"You can give me a briefing," he says.

"Later. First tell me how to get out there." I grab a pen and the pad from the nightstand. Herman gives me detailed directions. I write it all down.

"Do me a favor," he says. "Have the driver stop so you can get me a cup of coffee and somethin' to eat. Thorn gets up early and he moves fast. I can smell military all over him," says Herman. "I didn't get any breakfast."

"What do you want?"

"Steak and eggs, hash browns, side of pancakes, and a pot of coffee."

"Are you sure you don't want me to have this catered?" I say.

Herman laughs. "Driver might know where there's a good doughnut shop. Get me a big cup of coffee, one of those sixteen-ounce jobs, and a dozen doughnuts."

"You know those aren't good for you."

"Have 'em throw in some tofu," says Herman. "And make it two dozen if you guys are eatin'."

I check my watch. "It'll take me at least forty-five minutes to get there."

"Hurry up. I'm hungry," he says.

It takes us twenty minutes to shower, clean up, and get dressed. We grab a cab out in front and have him take us to a doughnut shop with a small market next door. Joselyn buys a couple small containers of fresh cut-up fruit and two plastic cartons of yogurt at the market while I get the doughnuts and three coffees.

She and I sit in the backseat of the taxi feasting on yogurt and fruit as we down our coffee. When I lift the lid on the doughnut box for an inspection, she slaps my hand and seals the box shut.

"You sapped my vital juices," I tell her. "I need to keep up my strength."

"Sounds like Superman needs v.i.a.g.r.a," she says. "There's nothing in that box but kryptonite. I noticed last night that your speeding bullet is already a little too quick." She glances at me sideways and smiles. How fast women become possessive.

"Is that so?"

"Uh-huh."

"Maybe I just need more time at the range," I tell her. "It could be that I'm out of practice." I squeeze her thigh through her jeans and she jumps, dropping a piece of fruit off her plastic fork into her lap.

She starts to laugh, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Yeah, well, you start eating doughnuts and you'll be shooting blanks," she tells me. "And I got a flash for you. You won't be jumping me in a single bound. Stick with me and I'll keep you healthy," she says.

"And what about happy?"

She turns to look at me. "I don't know. You'll have to judge that for yourself," she says.

THIRTY-EIGHT.

The taxi driver finds the dirt road and a few hundred feet in I see Herman's rental car parked halfway into the brush off to the side.

We pull up. I pay the driver, grab Herman's coffee and the doughnut box, and Joselyn and I get out.

"Over here!" I hear Herman's voice beyond the brush.

We make our way between some bushes where Herman's big feet have beaten the gra.s.s down to make a narrow path.

He rolls over off his stomach and sits up as soon as he sees us. "Thought you guys were never gonna get here," he says. "I'm dyin'."

"Not to worry. Your friend brought you a box of poison," says Joselyn.

He reaches up and takes the coffee in one hand and hands me the field gla.s.ses with the other. I give him the doughnuts. He sets them on the ground and plucks the lid off the coffee. "Ah, good, cream," he says. "You remembered. Any sugar?"

"In the box with the doughnuts," I tell him.

He opens the lid and finds six packets. Herman holds them together in his big fingers and rips the tops off all of them in one move. Then he pours the contents into the hot coffee, stirring it like syrup with a plastic fork.

"We could just get a long needle and inject twenty pounds of sugar into your heart," says Joselyn. She stands there motionless looking at the steaming cup in Herman's hand as if it were a viper.

"What did I tell you when I first saw her?" says Herman. He talks without looking at us, picking through the box of doughnuts for his first victim. "All shapely and s.e.xy like that. She's gotta be a health nut. Don't say I didn't warn you. Course there are advantages..."

"Yes, one tends to live longer," says Joselyn.

"That wasn't the advantage I had in mind," says Herman. "But I suppose it'll do. Watch the gla.s.ses." He looks at me as I scan the open field down below through the binoculars. "You're not careful, Thorn's gonna pick up glare off the front lens. Morning sun," he says.

I lower them. "So what do I do?"

"Baseball cap on the ground there," says Herman. "Use it to shield the front end a little bit. Keep the sunlight off them."

I settle onto the ground on my stomach, lay the baseball cap over the top of the fifty-power gla.s.ses with the bill sticking out over the two lenses. Then I focus them.

"Look to the left there, in the trees up at the end of the field," says Herman. "See the camouflage?"

"Oh, yeah. I see the plane but he's got it covered pretty well. Unless you were looking for it, you wouldn't see it."

"Wouldn't see it at all from the air," says Herman, "not with the naked eye anyway. My guess is that's what he's worried about. Drug interdiction flights. Last few years that's become a heavy part of the action down here. If the cartels can bring their product in here, they're already inside the U.S. Customs zone."

"So what do you think Thorn's up to?" I ask.

"Haven't seen enough to know yet," he says. He grabs another doughnut and gulps some coffee.

"I don't know, but I doubt that it's drugs," says Joselyn. "Not unless he's changed. It's true it's been a long time. But I don't think so." Joselyn sees a small rock outcropping a few feet away. She steps over and dusts it off with her hand, very feminine, then turns and sits on it. "Do you see him down there? Thorn, I mean?" She looks at me.

"I don't know. I see three men working around the plane. One of them is up on a ladder, big extension thing, against the tail section," I tell her. "Another one's got a shorter ladder working against the side of the plane up forward, just in front of the wing."

"Yeah, he's been taping down paper," says Herman, "some big pieces. Looks like they painted the fuselage white, then did the whole tail section that dark blue. Sort of a cone shape on an angle all the way down underneath the tail."

"I see it," I tell him.

"Now they're gettin' ready to put up a logo or some letters. I'm not sure," says Herman.

"Yeah, I hear the compressor, but I don't see it," I tell him.

"They must have it in the plane to keep the noise down. You can hear that thing all the way out here every time they fire it up," he says. "They had it going a few minutes ago, just before you got here. They were clearing two spray guns. Shot a lot of red and blue paint all over the gra.s.s."

"Looks like we got company."

An old beat-up Ford F-250 pickup truck is coming down the runway, moving fast, coming this way. For a moment I wonder if the driver has seen us.

"That's Thorn's truck. I followed it on the way out here," says Herman. "We better get out of here."

"Hold on. He's stopping," I say.

Herman turns to look.

Joselyn is on her feet, standing next to him, shading her eyes with one hand and staring down at the field.