He was silent a moment. “So you're really going to use me?”
She flinched. “Yes.”
“You're already having trouble with the thought.”
“I'll get over it.” Her hand went to the Band-Aid on her left arm. “You're not the only one being used. I'm not asking for your blood.”
“You might be.” He studied her. “But not at the moment. So, like a true loyal serf, I'll make myself handy in other ways. What do you want for lunch?”
Relief surged through her. She hadn't been sure until that moment that he'd go along with her. “I'm not hungry.”
“You'll have to eat anyway. You're like Josie. It's necessary to build the blood supply.”
“Then give me anything.”
He nodded and started for the kitchen.
“Kaldak.” She hesitated when he glanced over his shoulder. “I couldn't see any other way. Everyone knows what Esteban is but no one's stopping him. I don't want anything to happen to you, but you're the only one I can trust.”
“You trust me?” he asked slowly.
“Yes.”
“Don't, Bess.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
Third battle. She supposed she should consider it a victory, but she did not. Kaldak had temporarily conceded, not surrendered. She had sensed the anger and frustration in him seething just below the surface, and it had upset her. It must have been that same anger that had caused him to say she couldn't trust him. She could trust him. She did trust him. She didn't always know what he was thinking, he was sometimes rough and brutally frank, but almost from the start he had been beside her, helping her.
I'll take care of you.
She didn't need anyone to take care of her but it had been good not to be alone.
And right now she felt very much alone.
“Steak?” She looked at her plate dubiously. “I can't eat all that. Not for lunch.”
“Sure you can.” He sat down opposite her. “It's good for you.”
She shrugged and picked up her fork. “I'll try.”
“I'm glad to see you're cooperating.”
“We made a deal. I keep my promises.”
“As I recall, it was more like blackmail. But that's okay. Semantics don't matter. Not if you eat your steak.” He took a bite of his own. “And I was a bit deceptive too. I've no intention of devoting my entire attention to serving you. I may have a few other things to do.”
“What things?”
He didn't answer. “Don't worry, I won't leave you unprotected.”
“What things?”
“I've been working for over two years to keep Esteban and Habin from turning that anthrax loose. I wasn't able to stop what happened at Tenajo. It's not going to happen here.” He met her gaze. “I can understand why you want Esteban dead. Do you think I don't? I have my own reasons for wanting the bastard dead. There were times when I was working with him down in Mexico that I was barely able to hold myself back. Do you know how many opportunities I had? It would have taken just one twist of his neck. But I kept myself from killing him and I'll keep you from killing him until it's safe to do it.”
She shook her head.
He shrugged. “I knew it wouldn't do any good to talk to you. The pain's too fresh. I wouldn't have listened either.”
“You said you'd help me.”
“I'll help you. I'm just trying to be honest with you. If killing him interferes, I'll see that you delay it.” He glanced at her plate. “You've barely made a dent in that. Eat a little more.”
“I don't think I can right now. Maybe we can stop at a restaurant while we're out.”
He stared at her in shock. “Out?”
“We're going for a walk in the French Quarter. We'll go out every day but always at a different time and to a different destination. I hear it's always a mistake to show habit.”
“We're not going anywhere outside this apartment.”
“Yes, we are. I want Esteban to know I'm here and that I'm going to stay here.”
“Bravado could get you killed.”
“It's not bravado. I'm not safe here in the apartment either, am I?”
“You're a hell of a lot safer than on the street.”
“Answer me.”
He finally nodded. “There's always a way if you put your mind to it. An electrical charge, a poisonous snake in the shower drain.” He shrugged. “If they want to get extreme, a small missile through that window over there.”
“So much for security.”
“Why do you think we want you out of here?”
“It's a question of relative safety, then. If we stay holed up, they'd only start figuring out how to get at me in here. If they think I'm going to be someplace where I'll be an easier target, they might wait.”
“Maybe. Are you going to risk your life on it?”
“Yes. It's better than hiding and waiting for them to come and get me. I'd rather go after them.”
“You don't have the advantage. They know what you look like.”
“But I have you to protect me. That's how it's going to be, Kaldak.”
“Great, just great,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Yes, I want any calls from Ed Katz at the CDC to come over my regular line.”
“That line is sure to be tapped.”
“I want Esteban to know what we're doing. I want him to worry about it. I want to make him nervous.”
“He's not the only one you're making nervous.”
“You'll survive.” Curious, she asked, “Have you ever put a snake in a drain?”
“Hell, no. I'm scared of them. But not everybody is as squeamish.”
“Comforting.”
“You asked me. If you want comfort, you'll let me take you to that safe house in North Carolina.”
She shook her head.
“I didn't think so. So we show ourselves and let them see that it's not worth their while to target the apartment. Is there any place you particularly want to go?”
She said immediately, “Zontag's.”
He gazed at her inquiringly.
“It's the best camera equipment store in town. I have to buy a new camera.”
The camera in the window at Zontag's captured and held her attention.
“I wish you'd looked that way at the steak I made for lunch,” Kaldak said. “Ravenous. Definitely ravenous.”
She was. She could hardly wait to get her hands on it. “It's a good camera. All the bells and whistles.”
“Is that the kind you had before?” Kaldak asked.
She shook her head. “That was a Hasselblad. Oh, I have other cameras too, but that was my favorite.”
“Don't you want to replace it with the same model?”
“No, I can't replace it. I lived with that camera for eight years. It was like an old friend. You can't replace old friends just because they're not there anymore.” Just as you couldn't replace a sister. The thought brought a rush of pain, but she quickly blocked it as she started for the shop entrance. “So you make a new friend with great qualities and hope for the best. I'll be right back.”
He followed her. “Where you go, I go.”
All the way from her apartment he had stayed glued to her. “I doubt if anyone's waiting inside to pounce on me.”
“I would be. You're a photographer with no camera. This is the best camera shop in town. It's an ideal match.” He opened the door for her and glanced inside. “No customers. If anyone comes in and gets close to you, step away. Don't let anyone touch you. It would take only a pinprick.”
“Mardi Gras starts next week. It's going to be hard to avoid being touched in the French Quarter. You'd have to run interference for me like a Saints linebacker.”
“Then that's what I'll do. But help me out, okay?”
“You can be sure of it,” she said absently, looking back at the camera in the window. The familiar eagerness was surging through her, and she felt a moment of guilt. An obsession, Emily had called it, and she had bur
ied Emily only that morning. Should she be feeling this––
“Would you rather go back to the apartment and curl up in a corner?” Kaldak asked roughly, his gaze on her face. “Is that what Emily would want for you?”
Emily would have wanted Bess to live and enjoy life. Emily hadn't understood Bess's passion, but she would never have wanted Bess to do without anything that would make her happy. In fact, she would have fought anyone who tried to interfere with Bess. Not that she hadn't done plenty of interfering herself. She could almost hear her. . . .
She moved purposefully toward the counter. “No, that's not what Emily would want and that's not what I want either.”
“You're stroking that camera as if it were a dog,” Kaldak said as he held the shop door open for her.
“I'm just getting the feel of it. And it's feeling like a German shepherd. Definitely not a golden retriever. We had one when I was a kid, and Simon was lovable, but really dumb.” She touched the camera hanging around her neck. “This camera is smart, very smart.”
“A new friend?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. It's still just an acquaintance. But I think it will grow on me.” It was already growing on her. She was feeling that solid sense of rightness, of completion. She raised the camera, focused on the balcony across the street, and took a quick shot. “It's a good camera.”
“Then I'm glad you managed to find it.” He took her elbow. “It's time we got back to the apartment. We've been on display long enough.”
The tall clown with green hair juggling on the corner.
Focus.
Shoot.
The old bag lady with rouged cheeks and thick stockings sitting on the stool beside the alley.
Focus.
Shoot.
The musician dressed in overalls and checked shirt playing his fiddle in the middle of Royal Street.
Focus.
Shoot.
“If you keep stopping, we're not going to make it back to the apartment before morning,” Kaldak said dryly.
“Well, I have to break it in.” She took another shot of the clown. “And there's no place on earth more photogenic than New Orleans. That's one of the reasons I moved here. It has everything I want. You can go one block in any direction and find a picture that tells a story.”
“Just so you're not the story.” He kept an eye on the crowd around them. “And I've a hunch you're not taking pictures for the love of it.”
“He could be here, couldn't he?”
“He probably is nearby.”
“Then I may have a picture of him.”
“Is that why you picked up the camera today?”
“No.” She shot him a glance. “But I thought you'd approve of the reconnaissance.”
“Sorry.” Kaldak's gaze was on a trio of teenagers ahead. “I guess I'm a little edgy.”
It would take a lot to make Kaldak edgy, she thought with a chill. “I don't think your hit man is one of those kids.”
“Could be. Could be anyone. I'd bet he's here, watching. You never can tell.”
“No, you can't tell.” She had taken photographs of murderers before. In Somalia, in Croatia, that butcher of young boys in Chicago. But she had never taken a picture of anyone who wanted to murder her.
Show them.
Her hands were trembling a little as she lifted her camera.
Focus.
Shoot.
She had taken his picture.
De Salmo gazed after the Grady woman and Kaldak until they disappeared around the corner.
She had taken him by surprise. He hadn't expected her to be strolling around, shooting pictures. Security surrounding her was so tight, he'd thought they'd be keeping her under wraps. He had already started planning how to get inside the apartment.
That cocky bastard Kaldak evidently thought his presence was enough of a deterrent. Stupid. It wasn't going to be as difficult a hit as Esteban thought. Easy money.
But it bothered him that she had taken his picture.
Twelve
A man was sitting on the stairs outside her apartment.
Kaldak saw her stiffen and said quickly, “It's okay. It's Yael. I told Ramsey to send him over as soon as he got to the States.”
“Just out for a nice stroll?” Yael Nablett rose to his feet and held out a hand. He had just the hint of an accent. “It's no wonder Ramsey is having a cow.”
Kaldak smiled as he shook Yael's hand. “Now, that's a sight I'd pay to see. I'm glad you're here. Bess Grady. Yael Nablett.”
She murmured something polite. This was the man who had searched for Emily, the man who had found her grave in the hills. Yael Nablett was nearing forty, with green eyes, short brown hair, and a lean, strong body.
“I wasn't sure you'd leave Mexico,” Kaldak said. He unlocked the front door and let everyone inside.
“Not much left for me to do there. Esteban's dropped from view. He left a note officially requesting a medical leave of absence. We think he's left the country.”
“Shit. When?”
“Yesterday.” His gaze shifted to Bess and he said quietly, “I'm very sorry about your sister. I tried to get Kaldak to give you some warning, but Esteban was too fast. He had everything planned and set up before he sent the crew to exhume your sister.”
“A warning wouldn't have helped.” Nothing would have helped but it was kind of him to have tried. She got the impression he was usually kind. “Thank you, Mr. Nablett.”
“Yael.” He turned to Kaldak. “Do you think he's headed here?”
“Not yet. I almost wish he were. I'd bet he has other fish to fry.”
Yael grimaced. “Let's hope not. How close is he?”
“Too close. The anthrax is almost at the point where they want it. He could strike anytime. That may be why he's left Mexico. He wouldn't have done it without reason.”
“He just disappeared?” Bess asked. “How could that happen? Weren't people watching him?”
“He's probably been planning it for a long time,” Yael answered. “He went into a building on the Paseo de la Reforma and never came out.”
“That should never have happened,” Kaldak said.
“I agree,” Yael said. “But it did.”
“And what did Ramsey say?”
“What didn't he say? He's foaming at the mouth. He sent a man to pick up Perez, Esteban's secretary, and put pressure on him. But I doubt if he knows anything. Ramsey's not sure which way to turn.” He smiled at Bess. “You've unsettled everyone by staying here, you know.”
Bess didn't return the smile. “Too bad. It may be the only way to get Esteban. You couldn't even keep track of him when you had him in full view.”
He flinched. “True.” He turned to Kaldak. “Rescue me. Give her one of those intimidating glares.”
“You're on your own. They don't faze her.”
“No?” He looked back at Bess. “Interesting.” He smiled again. “Then could I throw myself on your mercy and beg a cup of coffee? I came here straight from the airport.”
She nodded. “I'll make some. If you promise me it's not an excuse to get me out of the room so you can talk to Kaldak.”
“Well, actually it was.”
He looked like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, and this time she found herself smiling. “Then you can make your own coffee. No secrets.”
“Okay, I was only trying to keep you from worrying.” He glanced at Kaldak. “Ramsey thinks he knows who Esteban sent as hit man. The local police said one of their informants told them Marco De Salmo is in town.”
“So it is De Salmo,” Kaldak said. “I've heard of him.”
“But you've never seen him?”
“Once. In Rome, from a distance.”
“He's good?”
“Very good.”
“You couldn't recognize him?” Bess asked.
“I don't think so,” Kaldak replied, then turned to Yael. “Can Ramsey get me a photograph?”
Yael shook his
head. “De Salmo has no police record.”
“How could that be?” Bess asked.
Yael shrugged. “He appeared out of nowhere three years ago. The name's probably false, but we can't verify. We have practically zero on this guy.”
So the killer had a name, Bess thought. He might be faceless but he had a name. Marco De Salmo.
Yael turned to Kaldak. “You asked me to gather additional information on Esteban before I left Mexico, but I came up with nothing more than you know already.”
“Damn,” Kaldak said. “I was hoping for a break.”
“And what do you know already, Kaldak?” Bess asked.
“He grew up in the slums of Mexico City as one of twelve children. His father was a laborer. We located a social worker, Señora Damirez, who covered the zone and was familiar with the family. She said there was never enough to eat and they were packed like sardines into a two-room hut. The area was overrun by rats, and when Esteban was eight, he was taken to the clinic twice in one month with severe bites.”
“Only him? What about the other children?”
“No, evidently the rats liked little Esteban.”
“Pleasant.”
“But things got better for him. His brother, Domingo, died the next month and Esteban didn't have to sleep on the floor anymore. He took over his brother's cot. Then his oldest sister died and there was suddenly more food to go around.”
“How did they die?”
“Food poisoning.”
“Esteban?”
“Maybe. But the social worker said food poisoning was pretty common in the slums. When there's so little food, the kids eat anything in sight.” He paused. “But even if he didn't do it, he might have recognized the advantages of being an only child.”
“There were other deaths?”
“In the next five years three sisters and four brothers died.”
“How?”
“More food poisoning, two drownings, two knifed in alleys.”
“The social worker didn't suspect anything?”
“Not until we started investigating. In fact, she was a little indignant that we were asking questions about Esteban. Señora Damirez admires him. She described him as a polite, hardworking little boy. He hardly missed a day of school, which was extremely rare. He fought his way out of the gutter and joined the army when he was sixteen. A local success story. God knows, she couldn't have many.”