Risky Business

times, Captain, when it’s wiser not to employ certain rights. I think I’m safe in saying that the three of us in this room want basically the same thing.” He rose and flicked his lighter at the end of Moralas’s cigar. “You’ll have your list, Captain. And more.”
    Moralas lifted his gaze and waited.
    “Pablo Manchez,” Jonas said, and was gratified to see Moralas’s eyes narrow.
    “What of Manchez?”
    “He’s on Cozumel. Or was,” Jonas stated. “My brother met with him several times in local bars and clubs. You may also be interested in David Merriworth, an American working out of Acapulco. Apparently he’s the one who put my brother onto his contacts in Cozumel. If you contact the authorities in the States, you’ll find that Merriworth has an impressive rap sheet.”
    In his precise handwriting, Moralas noted down the names, though he wasn’t likely to forget them. “I appreciate the information. However, in the future, Mr. Sharpe, I would appreciate it more if you stayed out of my way. Buenas tardes, Miss Palmer.”
    Moments later, Liz strode out to the street. “I don’t like being threatened. That’s what he was doing, wasn’t it?” she demanded. “He was threatening to put me in jail.”
    Very calm, even a bit amused, Jonas lit a cigarette. “He was pointing out his options, and ours.”
    “He didn’t threaten to put you in jail,” Liz muttered.
    “He doesn’t worry as much about me as he does about you.”
    “Worry?” She stopped with her hand gripping the handle of Jonas’s rented car.
    “He’s a good cop. You’re one of his people.”
    She looked back toward the police station with a scowl. “He has a funny way of showing it.” A scruffy little boy scooted up to the car and gallantly opened the door for her. Even as he prepared to hold out a hand, Liz was digging for a coin.
    “Gracias.”
    He checked the coin, grinned at the amount and nodded approval. “Buenas tardes, señorita.” Just as gallantly he closed the door for her while the coin disappeared into a pocket.
    “It’s a good thing you don’t come into town often,” Jonas commented.
    “Why?”
    “You’d be broke in a week.”
    Liz found a clip in her purse and pulled back her hair. “Because I gave a little boy twenty-five pesos?”
    “How much did you give the other kid before we went in to Moralas?”
    “I bought something from him.”
    “Yeah.” Jonas swung away from the curb. “You look like a woman who can’t go a day without a box of Chiclets.”
    “You’re changing the subject.”
    “That’s right. Now tell me where I can find the best place for buying ingredients for chili.”
    “You want me to cook for you tonight?”
    “It’ll keep your mind off the rest. We’ve done everything we can do for the moment,” he added. “Tonight we’re going to relax.”
    She would have liked to believe he was right. Betweennerves and anger, she was wound tight. “Cooking’s supposed to relax me?”
    “Eating is going to relax you. It’s just an unavoidable circumstance that you have to cook it first.”
    It sounded so absurd that she subsided. “Turn left at the next corner. I tell you what to buy, you buy it, then you stay out of my way.”
    “Agreed.”
    “And you clean up.”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Pull over here,” she directed. “And remember, you asked for it.”
     
    Liz never skimped when she cooked, even taking into account that authentic Mexican spices had more zing than the sort sold in the average American supermarket. She’d developed a taste for Mexican food and Yucatán specialties when she’d been a child, exploring the peninsula with her parents. She wasn’t an elaborate cook, and when alone would often make do with a sandwich, but when her heart was in it, she could make a meal that would more than satisfy.
    Perhaps, in a way, she wanted to impress him. Liz found she was able to admit it while she prepared a Mayan salad for chilling. It was probably very natural and harmless to want to impress someone with your cooking. After peeling and slicing an avocado, she found, oddly enough, she was relaxing.
    So much of what she’d done in the past few days had been difficult or strange. It was a relief to make a decision no more vital than the proper way to slice her fruits and vegetables. In the end, she fussed with the arrangement a bit more, pleased with the contrasting colors of greens and oranges and cherry tomatoes. It was, she recalled, the only salad she