The weather was miserably humid and he, a child of the desert, hated the heaviness of the air. This was also the prime time of the year for hurricanes, so he made a point of listening to his weather radio every day. If one of the huge storms got into the gulf, he wanted to be far inland at the time.
Once a week, he went to shore for supplies, and also to call Gallagher. Gallagher did not trust cell phones, though he had one; he simply never conducted any business over one. He was so careful he did not even use a cordless phone. Pavón had tried to tell him he could get a secure cell phone, one whose conversations could not be intercepted, but it was one of Gallagher’s quirks that he was so distrustful.
Since learning Diaz was asking about him, Pavón appreciated such caution. Perhaps it would keep him alive.
The only long-term solution he could think of was if he killed both Diaz and Milla Boone: Diaz because he was the immediate, and strongest threat, and the woman because she would just keep hiring people until one of them succeeded. How she had finally linked Pavón with the kidnapping, he didn’t know; someone had obviously talked, despite Gallagher’s influence.
To kill them would require a game of delicate balance, at least where Diaz was concerned. The woman would be easier, so he would take her last. Perhaps he would even show her what a real man was, before she died. Ah, he knew the perfect ending for her! After he finished using her, he would donate her to the cause, an act of tremendous goodwill on his part. He chuckled at his own play on words, then quickly sobered.
The difficult part would be getting close to Diaz; the man was like smoke, appearing and disappearing with the wind and leaving no trace of his movements. To find Diaz, Pavón would have to offer himself up like a tethered goat, and it must be done carefully. He would have to lead Diaz into a place and situation in which he, Pavón, had the control—and he would have to prevent Diaz from realizing that the tethered goat was armed and ready until it was too late to save himself.
This required much consideration and planning; it wasn’t something that could be done overnight. Everything must be perfect—or he himself would be dead.
No one was more cautious and meticulous about detail than Gallagher, so when Pavón went to shore that week and made his regular call, he broached his plan. “We must lure Diaz to me,” he said, “but in such a way that he doesn’t know he’s being lured.”
Gallagher paused, then said, “That’s a good idea. Let me think about it. Where are you now?”
“In a safe place.” Gallagher wasn’t the only one who could be cautious.
“We need to meet.”
Ah. That meant there was something he didn’t wish to say over the phone. “I cannot get there today.” He could, but he preferred to have Gallagher think he was much farther away, perhaps even in Chiapas, the southernmost Mexican state.
“When, then?” Gallagher sounded annoyed, and . . . something else. Worried, perhaps? But why should Gallagher sound worried? Diaz was not after him—in an instant, Pavón perceived that he was in danger not only from Diaz. He was a link, not only between Gallagher and what was going on now, but between Gallagher and Milla Boone’s kidnapped child, ten years ago. The best way for Gallagher to protect himself was to break that link.
“Perhaps . . . two weeks from now?” Pavón said slyly.
“Two—goddamnit, you can get here faster than that.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to leave this wonderful place. I have everything I need here, and no one knows how to find me. If I come there, many people know my face. I have to ask myself, who will people be most afraid of: Señor Gallagher or Señor Diaz? If Señor Diaz has a knife to a man’s throat and asks if he has seen me, will that man lie, or will he tell the truth? I think he will piss himself, but he will tell the truth.”
Gallagher dragged in a long, exasperated breath. “All right. If you’re afraid, then you’re afraid. When you find your cojones, call me and we’ll set up a meeting.”
An insult to his machismo was supposed to suddenly make him stupid? Pavón smiled to himself as he hung up the phone. The smile quickly faded, though; what did he do, now that he couldn’t count on Gallagher’s help?
He would have to take care of Diaz by himself. There was no other option. How to do it, though, was a problem. Perhaps he could take the woman and use her as bait? If Diaz was working for her, he would come to her aid, so long as he didn’t suspect a trap. How could he take her and make it look like something unrelated?
He kept coming back to using himself as bait. But for her, not Diaz. He would somehow have to make certain Diaz was occupied elsewhere, then get a message to the Boone woman that he knew she wouldn’t ignore, nor would she wait until Diaz was available. She would come by herself, and then he would have her. When he had her, he would also have Diaz. Perhaps not right away, but he could enjoy himself while he was waiting.
Yes. It was a good plan.
The days slipped past and cooler weather settled in. Except for that one heat wave the summer hadn’t been a hot one, but Milla was still glad to see it go and autumn arrive. She kept her appointment with Susanna and got a new prescription for the birth control patches just before she used up her supply, which was a good thing considering the drastic change in her love life.
“I want to apologize for what happened,” Susanna said contritely. “I was out of line. I should have listened to you and not thought I knew best.”
Milla blinked at her, totally at sea for a moment. She never felt chatty when her feet were in stirrups, and she’d been determinedly thinking of other things. These days, to an alarming degree, “other things” meant Diaz.