Risky Business

appeals to you.”
    He’d watched her survey. She didn’t have to speak for him to understand that she’d compared Acapulco with her corner of Mexico and found Acapulco lacking. “Under certain circumstances.” Taking her arm, Jonas led her inside.
    The bank was, as banks should be, quiet and sedate. Clerks wore neat suits and polite smiles. What conversation there was, was carried on in murmurs. Jerry, he thought, had always preferred the ultraconservative in storing his money, just as he’d preferred the wild in spending it. Without hesitation, Jonas strolled over to the most attractive teller. “Good afternoon.”
    She glanced up. It only took a second for her polite smile to brighten. “Mr. Sharpe, Buenos días. It’s nice to see you again.”
    Beside him, Liz stiffened. He’s been here before, she thought. Why hadn’t he told her? She sent a long, probing look his way. Just what game was he playing?
    “It’s nice to see you.” He leaned against the counter, urbaneand, she noted, flirtatious. The little tug of jealousy was as unexpected as it was unwanted. “I wondered if you’d remember me.”
    The teller blushed before she glanced cautiously toward her supervisor. “Of course. How can I help you today?”
    Jonas took the key out of his pocket. “I’d like to get into my box.” He simply turned and stopped Liz with a look when she started to speak.
    “I’ll arrange that for you right away.” The teller took a form, dated it and passed it to Jonas. “If you’ll just sign here.”
    Jonas took her pen and casually dashed off a signature. Liz read: Jeremiah C. Sharpe. Though she looked up quickly, Jonas was smiling at the teller. Because her supervisor was hovering nearby, the teller stuck to procedure and checked the signature against the card in the files. They matched perfectly.
    “This way, Mr. Sharpe.”
    “Isn’t that illegal?” Liz murmured as the teller led them from the main lobby.
    “Yes.” Jonas gestured for her to precede him through the doorway.
    “And does it make me an accessory?”
    He smiled at her, waiting while the teller drew the long metal box from its slot. “Yes. If there’s any trouble, I’ll recommend a good lawyer.”
    “Great. All I need’s another lawyer.”
    “You can use this booth, Mr. Sharpe. Just ring when you’re finished.”
    “Thanks.” Jonas nudged Liz inside, shut, then locked, the door.
    “How did you know?”
    “Know what?” Jonas set the box on a table.
    “To go to that clerk? When she first spoke to you, I thought you’d been here before.”
    “There were three men and two women. The other womanwas into her fifties. As far as Jerry would’ve been concerned, there would have been only one clerk there.”
    That line of thinking was clear enough, but his actions weren’t. “You signed his name perfectly.”
    Key in hand, Jonas looked at her. “He was part of me. If we were in the same room, I could have told you what he was thinking. Writing his name is as easy as writing my own.”
    “And was it the same for him?”
    It could still hurt, quickly and unexpectedly. “Yes, it was the same for him.”
    But Liz remembered Jerry’s good-natured description of his brother as a stuffed shirt. The man Liz was beginning to know didn’t fit. “I wonder if you understood each other as well as both of you thought.” She looked down at the box again. None of her business, she thought, and wished it were as true as she’d once believed. “I guess you’d better open it.”
    He slipped the key into the lock, then turned it soundlessly. When he drew back the lid, Liz could only stare. She’d never seen so much money in her life. It sat in neat stacks, tidily banded, crisply American. Unable to resist, Liz reached out to touch.
    “God, it looks like thousands.” She swallowed. “Hundreds of thousands.”
    His face expressionless, Jonas flipped through the stacks. The booth became as quiet as a tomb. “Roughly three hundred thousand, in twenties and fifties.”
    “Do you think he stole it?” she murmured, too overwhelmed to notice Jonas’s hands tighten on the money. “This must be the money the man who broke into my house wanted.”
    “I’m sure it is.” Jonas set down a stack of bills and picked up a small bag. “But he didn’t steal it.” He forced his emotions to freeze. “I’m afraid he earned it.”
    “How?” she demanded. “No one earns this kind of moneyin a matter of days, and I’d swear Jerry was nearly