"One has to be a bit special to earn such interest. It's quite flattering."

"Don't be flattered," Soldono said as he got out of the jeep. "You'd be surprised at the scum we deal with."

"No, I wouldn't." He turned to a tall, good-looking man dressed in khakis who was approaching. "This is Miguel Vicente. He'll show you to your room. There are guards in the hall. If you need anything during the night, just ask one of them to get it for you. I have breakfast at nine. I'll send Miguel to get you tomorrow morning and bring you to the dining room."

As she looked at him, she realized that Miguel was more boy than man. Probably not more than nineteen or twenty. But he also wore a holstered pistol on his hip. Good God, talk about an armed camp.

He smiled. "If you'll come this way, Ms. Duncan."

"Miguel doesn't have to come for you in the morning, I'll do it," Soldono said. "Good night. Sleep well."

She nodded. "Good night, Soldono." She inclined her head in a cool acknowledgment of Montalvo before she followed Miguel.

Jesus, she'd need a guide in this place, she thought as she moved through polished rosewood halls and chandelier-lit staircases. It was a bloody palace. The beauty of hand-carved chests and velvet drapes was in complete contrast to the military encampment outside these front doors.

And the room to which Miguel took her was as luxurious and beautifully furnished as the rest of the house.

"I hope you're comfortable here," Miguel said. "I was told you must be happy. Does it please you?"

He was frowning anxiously and she was once more aware of how young he was. "It's fine."

"Truly?"

She nodded as she gazed around the room. More carving on the headboard, fine Persian rugs on polished wood floors. "It's like something out of a Zorro movie."

He smiled. "I saw that movie, but he was in prison a good deal of the time. I hope that's not what you meant."

"No, strictly Spanish hidalgo." She went to the huge bed where Miguel had placed her bags. "Do you work in the house?"

He shook his head. "Only for you. I'm a soldier for the Colonel."

"Colonel?"

He opened the French doors. "Colonel Montalvo."

"Montalvo?" She stared at him in bewilderment. "If he's an officer, it must be purely self-assumed."

"I'm a soldier for the Colonel," he repeated. "The bath is the door to the left. May you sleep well." He was gone before she could answer.

A colonel? Oh, well, maybe he liked the idea of styling himself as an officer to match his little army here at the compound. She wouldn't have thought he would be that vain. No, that's right, Galen had mentioned something about him being with the rebels but nothing about being an officer.

But what did she know? She'd only scratched the surface of the man. If she was lucky, she'd not have to dig any deeper. She'd finish the job he gave her. She'd demand the payment he'd offered and be off and back to the lake cottage. Dear God, and perhaps if Montalvo kept his word, she'd be at peace at last.

If Joe would allow her to come back to him. He'd be hurt and angry and he wasn't going to be easy or forgiving. In his eyes her greatest sin would be leaving him behind. He'd been through too much with her.

Don't think about Joe. It hurt too much. She felt very much alone in this big, palatial room so different from the small, comfortable cottage to which she was accustomed. She wanted to go home.

Stop whining. She grabbed her nightshirt out of the suitcase and headed for the bathroom. Take a shower. Go to bed. Tomorrow she'd dive into work and close everything else out.

The skull.

Montalvo hadn't given her any details about it. She should have asked him on the way here but she'd deliberately avoided it. She had been going through too much emotional trauma to want to concentrate on anything but taking the first steps to adjusting.

Tomorrow she would ask about the skull.

She hadn't asked about the skull.

Montalvo leaned back in his office chair and opened the well-thumbed Eve Duncan dossier on his desk. He was tired but he knew he couldn't sleep. The adrenaline was still flowing through him like strong wine. Or maybe it was the meeting with Eve that was intoxicating. She was as strong as he'd expected but that hint of vulnerability had struck him by surprise. He supposed it shouldn't; he'd studied her, listened to her lecture tapes, read everything he could find about her. This picture in her dossier didn't do her justice. Her body was slim and strong, but the fineness of her bones gave her a breakable fragility that was highly provocative, almost sexual.

He'd expected Eve to confront him the moment she arrived and it hadn't happened. Not that he wasn't relieved. The longer he could put off her questions the better.

He looked up as Miguel came into the room. "How is she?"

"Well. She appeared tired." He hesitated. "She's… pleasant. She's not going to be hurt, is she?"

"Not if we can help it. One can never be sure. You know that, Miguel."

"Yes, I know that. It's just… I think I like her."

"So do I. Same answer."

He nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" He rushed on to another subject. "I took a message on the house phone. It was Delk from Atlanta. He said that he'd been trying to reach you on your cell."

"I had it turned off. I didn't want to disturb our guest with listening to my business calls. She's a bit sensitive to my occupation." He chuckled. "No, she thinks I'm Satan. But then she's never met Satan. What was the message?"

"Joe Quinn left today on the six-thirty jet for Bogota."

Montalvo's smile faded. "Already? He didn't waste time."

"You said he'd be coming."

Montalvo shrugged. "I thought perhaps I might have a day or two to prepare. Sometimes men have difficulty dealing with the initial emotions of anger and rejection and have to work their way through them. It seems I was wrong. It just means we'll have to move faster."

"Do you want him dead?"

"No, I promised I wouldn't kill him. Which makes it even more difficult."

"I could do it for you. I made no promise."

"It's an implied promise that would include my men."

Miguel smiled. "But I don't understand implications. I'm just an ignorant boy from the country. My father is in trouble so I must help him."

He frowned. "I'm not your father. For God's sake, I killed your father."

"And must supply me with another to replace him. I chose you."

"Miguel, you chose wrong. Leave while you-" He broke off. "You're not listening."

"I listened. I won't kill Joe Quinn. You want to wait until you can do it yourself." He turned. "I'll go and tell the men to be on the alert for Quinn. Will he really come after her against such heavy odds?"

"I would."

Miguel stopped at the door to look curiously at him over his shoulder. "Why?"

"She's an extraordinary woman. You don't find one like her every day. You're lucky to find one in a decade."

"Yet you may let her die."

"Yes, I may let her die." He looked down at the dossier in front of him. "Any news from Diaz?"

"No. But they must be missing Aquila. They'll either send someone else or make another move."

"You've become very canny about strategy."

Miguel smiled again. "I'm my father's son." He strolled out of the study.

Montalvo muttered a curse beneath his breath. He had to do something about Miguel. He'd sent him away before but he always came back. No, admit it, he'd let him come back because he was a selfish bastard and he was closer to the boy than to anyone else in the world.

He closed the dossier and stood up. He'd worry about Miguel after all this was over. Hell, he might be on the run himself by that time and that would make the problem of sending the boy away from him a moot point.