82 Desire

boat.”
    “I’d appreciate it.” Skip turned the officer over to the forger, and when she had collected the tools of Edward Favret’s new identity, headed back north. She stopped at a gas station, and while she was there, she gave Steve a call. “Hey. Good,” he said. “An Officer Rudolfo just called. Hung up no more than ten seconds ago.”
    Wings fluttered in Skip’s stomach.
    “She said to tell you the boat’s gone.”
    ***
    The forger had said seven sharp, no earlier, no later, and Russell had arrived on the minute, this time having been allowed to drive himself to her house.
    Some friends Dina had. Life with Bebe was never like this, he thought on the way down the coast. Thought it uneasily.
    He still hadn’t the least idea how Dina came to know someone who wasn’t her brother and knew where to find a forger—someone who probably wasn’t a probation officer, either. But then when he thought about it, the bar where Russell met her didn’t seem out of the question. Ex-boyfriend, maybe. But the curious part was how protective the man had been—Dina was unquestionably a very unusual, very special person, one he had truly come to cherish.
    He’d called her right away after her mysterious departure, to make sure they were still on track, whatever that might mean. They were, but he still didn’t know what it meant.
    He thought it would be relaxing to be with a nice, if extremely busy woman who didn’t know any forgers. On the other hand, Dina was so intoxicating he didn’t know if he could live without the excitement. Not that it mattered—he was going to have to get out of the country, and he’d probably never see either Dina or Bebe again.
    It was a thought that had the potential to depress him deeply, but at the moment, driving to Eleanor Holser’s, he was in a great mood, about to make the second payment on his ticket to a new life and a new world.
    And that night, he and Dina were going to cook on the boat and go for a midnight sail, maybe anchor somewhere peaceful, where the water would rock them to sleep. It was Dina’s idea, and Russell couldn’t imagine Bebe agreeing to such a thing, much less suggesting it.
    He had told her there might be a lot of wind, making the sail the wet, vigorous sort, and she had said, “ All right !” It was over the phone, but in his mind’s eye he could see the playfulness in her face, the way her eyes would brighten as she thought about it.
    Were women that way before you got married, even got close to them, and then they changed? It wasn’t a question the Gallup Poll was likely to tackle. Too bad, because lots of men needed to know.
    He got off the expressway and threaded his way through quiet streets where every lawn was mowed, American-dream streets, the yards of which were planted with hedges of ficus, beds of hibiscus and crotons and cycads, poinciana trees and palms and fragrant ginger. Criminals had to live somewhere, he mused as he turned the corner onto Eleanor Holser’s block.
    A woman as big as a biker was standing at the front door. The woman had a gun.
    What the fuck was this?
    He nearly drove up on the curb trying to double-check his first glance, but it was the same information the second time around. Nothing to do, he concluded, but drive on by.
    It must be some kind of setup, he thought—the two women were going to kill him for his twelve-and-a-half grand.
    But he couldn’t make that make sense. Holser was a forger, not a shanghai-er of sailors. Then there was the deeper problem of why the biker woman had her gun drawn outside the house. All his corporate and Uptown instincts told him to get the hell out without a backward glance, but he wasn’t about to, not without his papers. He had a lot of money invested and little time to lose.
    When he had circled the block, the woman was gone. He parked down the street, as a neighbor might, or a neighbor’s guest, perhaps, got out of the car, and walked toward the forger’s house, thinking to mount a discreet investigation.
    He heard the gentle clicking of a car door, and then the authoritative male voice: “Freeze or I’ll blow your head off.”
    Fuck. The law. The woman must be a cop and this guy was her partner—he hadn’t even noticed another occupied vehicle.
    Russell froze, his hands a foot from his body, as non-threatening as possible.
    “Turn around.” The cop was burly and dark, vaguely Latin-looking.
    Russell obeyed.
    “Get in the car, Russell.” The cop seemed