breakfast of a pistol.
Which made it a nice match for the man’s face.
He smiled, revealing beautiful square teeth inside a dense beard. “My name is Raúl. I am in charge of Ms. Veronica. I am under specific orders not to let anyone near her.”
“Were those orders given by Ms. Veronica?”
“This is not your business. And you are unarmed. I understand you got past my associates, and that has given you confidence. But they are boys. You are about to find out what happens when you meet a man.”
Evan nodded, chewed his lip. “Let me be clear. I’m a nice guy by choice.”
Raúl grinned again. “You are a nice guy who is about to—”
Evan’s hand flashed out, slapping Raúl’s thumb upward, engaging the safety an instant before Raúl pulled the trigger. Raúl’s eyes dropped to the Bersa, and Evan drove a wing chun bil jee finger jab into his larynx. Raúl clutched at his throat, releasing the pistol. As it fell, Evan caught it by the slide, his hand rising in an uppercut, the metal curled in his fist like a roll of quarters. When he struck the jawbone, he heard those beautiful teeth splinter.
Raúl went down, shoulder blades slapping concrete. His hands pressed to the bottom of his face, which was no longer the shape it had been an instant prior. Evan stepped over him carefully and turned the corner.
The woman was still before the tomb with the baby’s carved likeness. But she was standing now, staring directly at him. She was poised, exceptionally so, shoulders back, swanlike neck, her hands at repose at her narrow waist like those of a ballerina in first position. Given the gloom and the eclipse of her black summer hat, he could see nothing of her features. And at this distance he was confident that she could see nothing of his.
Unsure what to expect, he started for her. Moonlight glossed the edges of the mausoleums. The air was heavy with the sweet-rot scent of dead flowers.
She didn’t move as he drew near.
And then her arms straightened nervously, one hand picking at the hip of her dress. A resonance in his chest caught him off guard; it was as though she’d teleported her trepidation to him. But how did he know she was apprehensive?
And more to the point, why was he?
He was aware of his arms swinging heavily at his sides, the distance closing one painstaking step at a time. And then he was standing before her. Her breathing had quickened, her chest rising and falling, her collarbones and the hollow of her neck pronounced.
Trace of lilac. The faint pressure of her breath in the air. The total black of her face.
She reached tentatively for his cheek and then seemed to lose her nerve. Her hand froze, wobbling in the air.
An exhale escaped her, putting more slack in her posture. Averting her gaze, she looked down to one side. A straw-yellow glow from a streetlight beyond the cemetery’s wall caught half her face, mascara-laden lashes casting a shadow down her cheek, doubling the smoky look of her eyes.
He looked at her wide cheeks and dark shimmering eyes.
And knew it was her.
Something beneath the surface of her pale skin, something deeper than an expression or even bone structure, a physical resonance no less profound than the one that had transmitted her apprehension to him.
Ms. Veronica.
The woman who’d given birth to him.
In the pit of his gut, he felt something knot and release simultaneously. It was a yielding and a hardening, though into what and against what he did not know. His face felt hot, an uncharacteristic flush creeping north from his throat. Moments before, he’d engaged three large men without so much as an uptick in heartbeat, but now he sensed his breath moving irregularly in his throat.
She lowered her hand all the way. “Evan,” she said.
He nodded.
She removed her hat, and he looked at her.
She was so much more attractive than he was, her age showing only in the textured skin of her neck and hands. She looked keenly vulnerable, almost lost, and he sensed it was not an expression she wore often.
For a moment they regarded each other.
And then the sky above exploded, a police helicopter swooping down and laying a spotlight across them. Even through the glare, Evan could make out the lettering on the side: POLICÍA DE LA PROVINCIA DE BUENOS AIRES. Rotor wash flapped the summer hat in Veronica’s hand as a second helo banked into view to the east, quickly