He doesn't look at me. "The Federales found his safe house first. There was a shoot-out. His wife and three kids were killed in the cross fire. Martinez got away. He blames me. Thinks I gave up the location."

"You didn't?"

He shakes his head. "Martinez is a stone-cold killer but he loved his family. I would have gone there to bargain with him, never to send a hit squad against him. I didn't give up the location but someone did."

"Foley?"

"Foley just wants the money. And I doubt he knew where Martinez had gone. Even Martinez' men didn't know where the house was."

"But you knew."

He nods.

"So Martinez blames you for the death of his family?"

Max doesn't answer. He doesn't have to.

"Last night. Did you know I'd be in Beso de la Muerte?"

Max grunts. "No. I was being tailed by Foley, Martinez and, I suspect, some of my fellow agents. I needed a few hours rest. Culebra offers sanctuary."

"And you weren't afraid they'd catch up to you while you rested?"

"It was a chance I had to take. Martinez knows about Beso de la Muerte, of course, but he hasn't shown up there since his business with Culebra concluded. It's almost as if once it was done, he forgot the place existed."

Probably not far from the truth. I think Beso de la Muerte is protected by some powerful glamour. What happened today may be part of that but this isn't the time to venture down that path. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing." Max's eyes flash. “There isn't a damned thing you can do. If you try, you'll only make things worse and maybe get us both killed."

"But what about Foley?"

He stops me with a determined shake of his head. "I mean it, Anna. You can't fix this. I know what I have to do. Find Martinez and bring him in. If you want to do something, let me stay here until dark. I've got a car parked on Mission. If Foley is watching, create a diversion so I can get to it."

"That's it? What if I go to Williams? He has contacts in the FBI."

"And tell him what? You think he's going to believe me when my own people don't?"

Max looks tired. Arguing is not going to accomplish anything except add me to his list of things to worry about.

"I won't interfere if you don't want me to," I say.

"Do you mean that?"

I blow out a breath. "Do I have a choice?"

The cloud lifts from his eyes. He smiles and pulls me to my feet. "So, it looks like I have a few hours to kill." He puts his hands on my shoulders and works the robe down my arms. "What about you? You and David have anything going today?"

David and I? Not a thing, especially with Gloria hanging around. I start unbuttoning his shirt. "What shall we do?"

"Whatever you did before? Do it again."

My head is screaming, never. But my heart is thudding against my ribs and my traitorous body is already warming to the idea. Max leans down to kiss me and I feel his excitement. I can control myself. I can.

The ugly voice of reason starts screaming in my head. You are supposed to be breaking up with this man. What are you doing?

But it's too late. I'm already kissing him back.

Then the damned phone rings.

MAX GROANS. "I don't have to answer it," I whisper. "The machine can pick up."

We stand, wrapped in each other's arms until the answering machine clicks on.

"Hey, Anna. It's David."

Max steps back and gives me a little push toward the phone.

Reluctantly, I cross to the other side and punch the speakerphone mode. "What's up?"

"You're there. Good. We have a job. Can you meet me at the office?"

My eyes slide to Max. "This isn't such a good time."

There's the briefest of hesitations before David says, "Sorry. But it's now or never for this. If you want, I'll call Jerry. See if he has someone else I can use for backup."

There's an undertone in his voice that gives me pause. He sounds both annoyed and angry. I glance over at Max. This time, Max gets up and starts toward me, gesturing that I should go. "I'm on my way."

Max takes the phone out of my hand and replaces the receiver on the cradle. "Go."

"Will you be here when I get back?"

Instead of answering, Max starts rebuttoning his shirt. I fish my clothes out from under the bed where I kicked them in my haste to jump into bed.

Awkwardly, I wriggle into my jeans, pull my sweater over my head. Max waits until I'm dressed to reach down and pick up my bra. It was lying half-hidden among the bedclothes. He twirls it around a finger. "Forget something?"

I take it from him, stick it in a drawer. "I'll be back as soon as I can," I say. "Stay here. I'll let you know if I pick up a tail."

Max doesn't reply.

I reach up and touch his cheek. "I'm sorry I have to go. Wait for me, okay? Promise you won't leave until you hear from me."

Max smiles and wraps me in a hug. "Be careful," he says.

He doesn't say he'll wait for my call or me. He is smiling though, and that's a better image to carry away than the one last night at Beso de la Muerte.

I back out of the garage and head up the alley toward Mission. I idle longer than I need to at the intersection, hoping if Foley is watching, he'll give himself away by starting his own car. But when I finally negotiate the turn, the only car behind me is a battered woody with a surfboard on top and three mop heads inside. No one else pulls away from the curb. No one else seems to take any interest in my progress downtown.

When I call home, to let Max know that if Foley is watching the place, he's probably still there, he doesn't pick up. I speak the message to the recorder, not knowing if Max is listening or not. Maybe he decided not to wait for dark to leave after all.

But David is waiting. In the parking lot, standing beside his Hummer. He's wearing jeans ripped at the knee and a dirty Windbreaker. He hands me a paper bag and a small gun case and motions for me to climb inside.

I raise an eyebrow at the sight of the case. "You brought my gun? Who are we going after?"

He waits until we're both belted in to answer. "Remember that police officer who was killed in Chula Vista last summer?"

How could I forget? Big story with an unhappy ending. The victim was a young officer just out of the academy, making what he thought was a routine midday traffic stop. Only the car ended up being stolen and the driver was a Mexican national wanted by the FBI on drug trafficking charges. The cop was shot before he got the report back on the car. And Alvaro Guzman made it across the border before his identity was confirmed.

"Guzman is back in San Diego? I can't believe it. If he's caught, he's as good as dead. What would bring him back here?"

David smiles. "Love." He draws out the word. "Jealousy. Getting high on his own supply. He has a lady who took up with his cousin the minute he was gone. The cops know it, too, and have been watching both of them. So has a friend of mine. From the inside. He says Guzman has already made it across the border. He's just waiting for the chance to catch his cousin with his girlfriend."

"And this friend told you this why?"

"Best reason of all. The reward. It's over half a mil now. He's in for a third and he doesn't have to be the one who turns Guzman in. He's our silent partner."

"This is the first I've heard of any of this."