Juan finally found a suitable description for horse manure in Spanish and spat it out, then continued, “to a guest? To a young lady?”
Flynn shrugged, idly drumming a drum against the table. “I told her it was a vintage German Riesling. She believed me.”
“No! Anyone would know—”
“Anyone who knew wine.”
“So—she does not know wine. What does that prove?”
“That she isn’t any bloody socialite.”
Juan shrugged. “Her manners are impeccable. Her voice … the lines of her face. She has elegance and breeding—”
“We’re not talking about a racehorse, Juan. We’re talking about a woman.”
“ Sí —but you can prove nothing against her for not spitting out your excuse for wine. Rather, it but enhances her perfection. She was too polite to insult her host.”
Flynn leaned back and lit a cigarette, staring at Juan with narrowed eyes that sparkled with both amusement and reproach.
“You’re bewitched, Juan. It isn’t like you.”
“No—I’ll correct that,” Juan retorted, wagging a finger at Flynn. “It is exactly like me. Me—I am hot-blooded. I love to fall in love. But you … you fall in love only when it fits your convenience. And never with reckless passion. Yet I would say that you are—in the very least—intrigued.”
“I have to be intrigued. And careful.”
“Careful-bah! So she is not a socialite! She is a poor beauty, thrilled to have fallen into the good graces of Flynn Colby. Have you nothing to offer me to drink to cleanse my palate of that—”
“I know what you think of the wine.” Flynn crushed out his cigarette and stood, then strode for the bar. “Brandy?”
“Fine.”
Flynn proceeded to pour out the drink.
Juan watched him reflectively for a minute. “Her name is real,” he said at last.
Flynn gazed up. “You’ve checked?”
“Yes. The police have already checked with the consulate about a new passport. She is Brittany Marie Martin, twenty-five, of Cocoa Beach, Florida, U.S.A.”
Flynn walked back around the bar and set a snifter before Juan. “So her name is real.” He took his seat again.
Juan waved a hand in the air impatiently. “Perhaps she is just lovestruck—entranced with a notorious figure from the pages of a magazine.”
“I don’t think she’s terribly entranced with me.”
“Ah, but she’s in your casa . Would it were mine!”
“Seriously, Juan, I’m worried. She could be my downfall.”
“You’re worried? I don’t believe it. How could she know anything?”
“I don’t know.” He lit another cigarette, exhaled, and stared musingly at the smoke as it drifted into the air. Then his gaze fell to meet Juan’s directly.
“I’ve got a phone number for you to get on tomorrow.” He called out a string of numbers. Juan briskly drew a pad and pen from his jacket to write them down. “It’s Cocoa Beach—find out what you can.”
“First thing,” Juan agreed. “And you—what will you be doing? Entertaining your guest?”
“You know I can’t. I’ve work to do. Funds to transfer. But tomorrow night, I’ll be bringing her to Drury’s dinner party.”
“Will that be wise?”
Flynn shrugged. His lids lowered to give his eyes a lazy cast and he relaxed more comfortably into the chair. But even in those thin slits, there was a sharp glitter, and Juan doubted that his friend ever missed a thing—not even in sleep perhaps.
“I want to see her in action.”
“Do you, I wonder?” Juan queried lightly. “Drury is a man of charisma and I think he’ll find your guest charming and innocent—even if you don’t.”
Flynn started; his eyes opened fully. It was surprising how much Juan’s suggestion jarred him. “I’ll have to see that he doesn’t charm her away. I don’t want her getting too close to Drury. Not when I don’t know what either is up to—and I have to make bloody damn sure that they don’t key in on me.”
Juan stood up and drained his brandy. “There are other reasons to see
Flynn shrugged, idly drumming a drum against the table. “I told her it was a vintage German Riesling. She believed me.”
“No! Anyone would know—”
“Anyone who knew wine.”
“So—she does not know wine. What does that prove?”
“That she isn’t any bloody socialite.”
Juan shrugged. “Her manners are impeccable. Her voice … the lines of her face. She has elegance and breeding—”
“We’re not talking about a racehorse, Juan. We’re talking about a woman.”
“ Sí —but you can prove nothing against her for not spitting out your excuse for wine. Rather, it but enhances her perfection. She was too polite to insult her host.”
Flynn leaned back and lit a cigarette, staring at Juan with narrowed eyes that sparkled with both amusement and reproach.
“You’re bewitched, Juan. It isn’t like you.”
“No—I’ll correct that,” Juan retorted, wagging a finger at Flynn. “It is exactly like me. Me—I am hot-blooded. I love to fall in love. But you … you fall in love only when it fits your convenience. And never with reckless passion. Yet I would say that you are—in the very least—intrigued.”
“I have to be intrigued. And careful.”
“Careful-bah! So she is not a socialite! She is a poor beauty, thrilled to have fallen into the good graces of Flynn Colby. Have you nothing to offer me to drink to cleanse my palate of that—”
“I know what you think of the wine.” Flynn crushed out his cigarette and stood, then strode for the bar. “Brandy?”
“Fine.”
Flynn proceeded to pour out the drink.
Juan watched him reflectively for a minute. “Her name is real,” he said at last.
Flynn gazed up. “You’ve checked?”
“Yes. The police have already checked with the consulate about a new passport. She is Brittany Marie Martin, twenty-five, of Cocoa Beach, Florida, U.S.A.”
Flynn walked back around the bar and set a snifter before Juan. “So her name is real.” He took his seat again.
Juan waved a hand in the air impatiently. “Perhaps she is just lovestruck—entranced with a notorious figure from the pages of a magazine.”
“I don’t think she’s terribly entranced with me.”
“Ah, but she’s in your casa . Would it were mine!”
“Seriously, Juan, I’m worried. She could be my downfall.”
“You’re worried? I don’t believe it. How could she know anything?”
“I don’t know.” He lit another cigarette, exhaled, and stared musingly at the smoke as it drifted into the air. Then his gaze fell to meet Juan’s directly.
“I’ve got a phone number for you to get on tomorrow.” He called out a string of numbers. Juan briskly drew a pad and pen from his jacket to write them down. “It’s Cocoa Beach—find out what you can.”
“First thing,” Juan agreed. “And you—what will you be doing? Entertaining your guest?”
“You know I can’t. I’ve work to do. Funds to transfer. But tomorrow night, I’ll be bringing her to Drury’s dinner party.”
“Will that be wise?”
Flynn shrugged. His lids lowered to give his eyes a lazy cast and he relaxed more comfortably into the chair. But even in those thin slits, there was a sharp glitter, and Juan doubted that his friend ever missed a thing—not even in sleep perhaps.
“I want to see her in action.”
“Do you, I wonder?” Juan queried lightly. “Drury is a man of charisma and I think he’ll find your guest charming and innocent—even if you don’t.”
Flynn started; his eyes opened fully. It was surprising how much Juan’s suggestion jarred him. “I’ll have to see that he doesn’t charm her away. I don’t want her getting too close to Drury. Not when I don’t know what either is up to—and I have to make bloody damn sure that they don’t key in on me.”
Juan stood up and drained his brandy. “There are other reasons to see
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