Sweet Revenge

cart and began dabbing at a stain the size of adinner plate on her skirt. “Clumsy son of a bitch spilled rum punch all over me.”
    Adrianne battled back a chuckle. The rubies hung heavy in her pocket. “Señora. Agua … ah, water? Cold water?”
    “This is silk, you idiot.” Tossing her head up, Lauren gave Adrianne a furious glare. She saw only a servant, an old and obviously stupid one. “What would you know about silk? God! There’s not a decent dry cleaners on this ridiculous island. Why Charlie didn’t build in Cancún, I don’t know.” She held the de la Renta skirt out. “Two thousand fucking dollars, and I might as well toss it out the window.” Snarling, she tugged viciously at the zipper. “Haven’t you got anything to do? We pay you by the hour. Get the hell out of here and earn your pesos.”
    “Sí, Señora St. John.
Gracias. Buenas tardes.”
    “And speak English.” Lauren gave Adrianne a shove through the door, then slammed it.
    Like Adrianne, Philip had a large supply of patience. He had pulled into the El Grande’s parking lot and situated himself in a position where he could watch not only her Jeep, but the entrance as well. It was hot. The sweat rolled down the back of his cotton shirt and dampened it against the seat. He swigged from a bottle of Pepsi and promised himself he wouldn’t have another cigarette until Adrianne walked back out. He’d keep his distance for a while longer. Sooner or later she would lead him to the man Philip admired for his skill and envied for Adrianne’s loyalty.
    He’d have to be good, damn good, Philip thought, if he was going to lift something from the hotel in broad daylight. But then, Philip already knew The Shadow was more than good. The Moreau heist had been the last of a long list of perfect robberies.
    As yet, he hadn’t quite figured out what part Adrianne was playing. A diversion? An informer? From her position, she would be perfect as a supplier of inside information. But why?
    She was laughing when she came out again. Quietly, at some private joke. He’d find out the why, he promised himself, and everything else there was to know about her. For now he followed at a distance.
    At the El Presidente, Philip waited for her to come out again. He estimated that she’d have to push it if she was going to make it back to the El Grande in time for the St. Johns’ party. Whether she took the elevator or the rampway, he would be able to see her from his position in the lobby. It was sundown when she came down, looking cool and self-possessed in a billowy, backless sundress. She didn’t head for the parking lot, but for the beach. From a distance he watched her walk down a pier and onto a sleek white yacht that bore the name
The Alamo.
    The woman she’d had drinks with earlier greeted her, along with a balding, ruddy-faced man and a slim young boy. He watched Adrianne offer a hand to the boy, then laugh and toss her arms around him while the setting sun shot spears of fire into her hair.
    If it was a business meeting, Philip mused, then he didn’t know infrared from a heat sensor. Readjusting his plans, he went up to her room.
    He hadn’t picked a lock in a number of years. Like riding a bike or making love, it was something that came back—and once reaccomplished, gave enormous satisfaction.
    She was tidy, Philip mused as he walked through her suite. He’d wondered about that, about how she lived when she was alone. There were no clothes carelessly tossed over a chair, no shoes left in the middle of the floor. On the vanity counter her bottles and tubes were capped and aligned. In the closet her clothes were neatly hung. She’d chosen the casual and roomy, he thought, as suited the hot days and warm nights. Her scent was there, lingering.
    When he caught himself daydreaming, he shook himself and began to search.
    Why the second set of rooms, he wondered. Why the assumed name? Now that he was in, he didn’t intend to leave until he had an answer.
    The makeup case wouldn’t have interested him, but he’d never seen Adrianne wear more than a few smudges of eye shadow and brushes of lipstick. In the three days she’d been in Mexico, she’d bothered to add the minimum only for evenings. So what would a woman who was very confident in her looks, and who rarely bothered to enhance them, need with a full makeup case?
    There were enough grease pencils and foundations to accommodate the chorus in a Broadway show. Intrigued, he lifted off