this far, but…” He let the sentence trail off and tried to look like a concerned brother. “We’ll do anything to get her back, Captain. Anything.”
While he let that sink in, Remo pulled out the photos. The same photos, the captain noted silently, that the other man had shown him only the day before. His story had been that of a father seeking his daughter as well, and as well, he’d offered money.
“My father’s offering a reward to anyone who can help us. Understand that my sister’s my father’s only daughter. And the youngest,” he added for clout. He remembered, without much affection, how pampered his own kid sister had been. “He’s prepared to be generous.”
Sambirano looked down at the pictures of Whitney and Doug. The newlyweds who’d left town rather abruptly. He glanced over at the innkeeper who kept her lips folded in disapproval. Those eating breakfast understood the look and went back to their meal.
The captain wasn’t impressed by Remo’s story any more than he’d been impressed by Doug’s the day before. Whitney beamed up at him. She, however, had impressed him, then and now. “A lovely woman.”
“You can imagine how my father feels, Captain, knowing she’s with a man like him. Scum.”
There was enough passion in the word to let the captain know the animosity wasn’t feigned. If one man found the other, one would die. It mattered little to him, as long as neither died in his town. He saw no reason to mention the man in the panama with a similar set of pictures.
“A brother,” he said slowly as he drew the cigar under his nose, “is responsible for the welfare of his sister.”
“Yeah, I’m worried sick about her. God knows what he’ll do when her money runs out or when he just gets tired of her. If there’s anything you can do… I promise to be very grateful, Captain.”
The captain had chosen law enforcement in the quiet little town because he hadn’t much ambition. That is, he didn’t care to sweat in the fields or callous his hands on a fishing boat. But he did believe in making a tidy profit. He handed Remo the photographs. “I sympathize with your family. I have a daughter myself. If you’ll come with me to my office, we can discuss this further. I believe I can help you.”
Dark eyes met dark eyes. Each recognized the other for what he was. Each accepted that business was indeed business. “I’d appreciate that, Captain. I’d appreciate that very much.”
As he walked through the door, Remo touched the scar on his cheek. He could almost taste Doug’s blood. Dimitri, he thought with a flood of relief, was going to be very pleased. Very pleased.
C H A P T E R
11
Over her breakfast coffee, Whitney added Jacques’s fifty-dollar advance and retotaled the list of Doug’s expenses. A treasure hunt, she decided, had quite an overhead.
While the others had slept during the night, Doug beside her in the tent, Jacques content under the stars, Whitney had lain awake for some time, going over the journey. In many ways it had been a lark, an exciting, somewhat twisted vacation complete with souvenirs and a few exotic meals. If they never found the treasure, she would’ve written it off just that way—except for the memory of a young waiter who’d died only because he’d been there.
Some people are born with a certain comfortable naiveté that never leaves them, mainly because their lives remain comfortable. Money can provoke cynicism or cushion it.
Perhaps her wealth had sheltered her to some extent, but Whitney had never been naive. She counted her change not because she had to worry about pennies, but because she expected value for value. She accepted compliments with grace, and a grain of salt. And she knew to some, life was cheap.
Death could be a means to an end, something accomplished for revenge, for amusement, or for a fee. The fee might vary—the life of a statesman was certainly worth more on the open market than the life of a ghetto drug dealer. One might be worth no more than the price of a syringe full of heroin, the other hundreds of thousands of cool, clean Swiss francs.
A business, some had taken the exchange of life for gain to the height and routine of a brokerage firm. She’d known it before, considered it the way one considered many of the daily social ills. Aloofly. But now she’d dealt with it personally. An innocent man had