Jeremy Tindall answers my summons and comes to my office after Arturo leaves. Where Gomez feigned pleasure to see me, Tindall's frown clearly shows he's annoyed to have his day disturbed. "Peter," he says, "you're holding me up from doing your business. I had to leave the mayor and two councilmen sitting in my office-"

"Let them wait," I say, glaring at the tall man-so thin and pale that he looks like a walking cadaver. "If they're unhappy, you can always send Arturo to them with a few more paper bags stuffed with money."

Tindall looks around the room as if he's worried someone's placed a wire. I smile at his show of concern, his never-ending paranoia. As my attorney, Jeremy handles all my legal activities, all my major purchases and sales. As my trusted retainer, Arturo takes care of my and the company's illicit needs, from money laundering and bribery to physical coercion.

Jeremy's perfectly comfortable with availing himself of Arturo's aid, his connections to South Florida's underworld. He uses him frequently to lubricate the process of business, to intimidate those who threaten our interests, but he despises the mention of it.

"We are what we are," Father used to say. "And we are what we do. The Tindalls just don't like to admit it."

Father had traveled to Washington as soon as the government took control of Florida from Spain. "Under disguise, I wandered from lawyer's office to lawyer's office to lawyer's office, asking if the attorneys could help me circumvent the government's laws, bribe officials, help me conceal crimes. At those few offices that didn't ask me to leave, I escalated my requests, alluding to white slavery, even murder. Ethan Tindall was the only one who didn't even blink. He stated his price and I hired him. I told him to move to Florida, to make sure our land grants were honored and to handle our business interests after that."

Jeremy's face flushes red. "So what's so important?"

The memory of cinnamon and musk comes up in my mind and I'm tempted to tell him about the girl and my need to find her. But no matter how much I want to talk about her with someone, anyone, I control my tongue. "You can only trust the Tindalls to do what greed and fear dictate," Father taught me. "In all dealings with them, you must remember to be cautious."

It took Father only a few months to catch Ethan Tindall betraying him. "The fool stole money from me," Father said. "I was glad to catch him at it early in our relationship. When I confronted him, he, of course, denied it. I grabbed his left arm and bit his hand off at the wrist. I don't believe he ever cheated me again."

"Your boat," I say to Jeremy. "I need to borrow it."

The man's face glows even redder. "My Grand Banks? You can't be serious."

I nod, not at all surprised by Jeremy's reluctance. Pictures of the forty-two-foot trawler crowd the walls of his office, outnumbering photographs of his family by a ratio of five to one.

"For Christ's sake, Peter, you can afford to buy one of your own."

"No," I say. "I don't have time for that. I want to leave in three days. Have the boat fueled and provisioned for a long cruise. Make sure the GPS is working. I'll need charts and coordinates for the Caribbean."

Jeremy clenches his jaw, and growls, "That's not what you pay me to do."

I ignore him. "Bill my account whatever you think is fair," I say. "I'll come to your house three nights from now. Have the Grand Banks ready."

He stares at the floor.

"Don't worry," I say. "I'll be coming by water-on my Grady White. You can use it while I'm gone."

Red-faced, curling his lip, Jeremy grumbles, "As if I'd be caught dead on a fishing boat."

Tired of his recalcitrance, I snap, "You forget, I could arrange that too, any time I want."

The attorney doesn't react to my threat. He says nothing. Neither do I. After years of experience with the man, I know what to expect after a confrontation. He'll change his demeanor, change the subject, act as if nothing has occurred.

After a few moments, his face returns to its usual funereal pallor. He looks up and grins a false smile at me. "Peter, do you know someone by the name of Santos… Jorge Santos?"

I frown at the sly slant of Tindall's smile, shake my head. "Emily mentioned his calls. She said you talked to him."

"He's a most insistent young man. Kept asking when you'll be back, demanding an appointment to meet with you. He said there were some questions about his sister he needs to ask you. He said she's been missing."

Maria again. I hate the reminder. I sigh. "I don't have time for him now. Have Emily call him, tell him I'll be glad to meet with him shortly after I return to town."

"I don't care about the girl. I'm concerned that he's learned that you can be found at this number. You're sure you just don't want me to have Arturo take care of him?"

"I'm sure," I say.

Jeremy cocks his right eyebrow. I know my refusal to harm the man has piqued his curiosity, but I refuse to issue a death warrant just to quiet the man's curiosity. "At least let me ask Arturo to have research done on him," he says. "It wouldn't hurt to know more about this Mr. Santos before you see him."

I pause before I answer. Do I care what Tindall learns about Santos? He'll certainly read whatever report Arturo makes. Finally, I decide nothing harmful can come from it, shrug and say, "Okay, go ahead."

"Good," Jeremy says.

Something in the smugness of his tone annoys me, as if he thinks he's just gained the upper hand. I hate that I can never be sure that he will stay intimidated, despise the self-satisfied grin on his face. "Your car," I say, grinning at the effect I know my request will create.

"My what?"

"Your Mercedes. I need to borrow it for the rest of the day-to go shopping."

Jeremy's face goes red again. "You ever heard of taking a taxi? How am I supposed to get home?"

"You could wait until I bring it back, work late while you wait."

"You know I don't like to work late," he says, spitting out his words.

"Funny, I saw your Mercedes here late a few months ago. If you weren't working, what were you doing?" My eyes go to the missing, smallest digit of his left hand. Only a small stump remains as a reminder of what had once been there, a reminder of the consequences of straining my good will. Father had said every generation of Tindalls would have to learn anew the penalty for disloyalty and Jeremy had received his lesson from me years ago.

He blanches when he sees the direction of my glance, then unconsciously reaches with his right hand to cover the sight of his injury.

"I didn't say I never work late," he mutters. "I must have been behind on something." He reaches into his pocket, produces his keys. "Whenever you're done, just leave the keys with the guard up front. I'm sure Arturo will be glad to take me home."

The memory of Jeremy's expression stays with me, keeps me smiling the rest of the day as I wander through the endless corridors of South Miami's Dadeland Mall, shopping, buying new clothes, looking for a gift to bring her.

After browsing through half a dozen jewelry stores, enduring the self-impressed, haughty tones of their sales staffs-who deign to show me their collections of mediocre, overpriced baubles-I stop by Mayer's Jeweler's. Shaking my head at the display of emerald jewelry in the window, I grin at the piece I like best, a gold four-leaf clover, just like Maria's, with the same brilliant emerald inset in its center, dangling on a gold chain-on sale for four hundred and fifty dollars. Thinking it's foolish to look for anything more here when I can find the same piece, and other jewelry every bit as good, in the ancient chests stored in the depths of my island home, I turn to leave.

The bustle of people around me, the overheard snippets of conversation do much to counteract the emptiness I've felt since Father's death. I'm loathe to return to the loneliness of the island just yet. On the way back to the boat, I stop at Detardo's. It's time, I think, to treat myself to a good meal, allow myself to be surrounded by other beings a little while longer.