Sweet Revenge

wrappers had yet to be swept away along with a few plastic toys that had burst from a piñata and had been lost in the cracks. The town smelled of the water that hemmed it. The moon was clear and white, the stars holding enough (ire within to shimmer red at the edges. Above her the palms whispered in the warm, moist air so typical of islands.
    She went through an alleyway, and the music that echoed in the square was muffled. Another turn and she was in the stalls where by day the merchants hawked and haggled for the tourists. There were bargains to be had here, if one had a good eye and a quick wit. When the stalls were open there would be leather fashioned into belts, bags, sandals. Trinket boxes with little birds carved for handles could be had for a few thousand pesos or a pair of crisp American singles. The black coral the island was famed for could be seen in row after row of display cases. There would be hammered silver, abalone, cotton dresses festooned with embroidery.
    Now it was empty, the merchandise swept back from the narrow aisles and locked away behind garage doors. There would be no bargaining on Christmas. At least not for the tourists.
    Adrianne stopped, and waited.
    “You’re on time, señorita.”
    He melted out of the shadows, a short, spare man with deep marks in his face from acne or chicken pox. His lighter, with its inlay of turquoise, flared as he lit a cigarette and she saw the pucker of an old scar on the back of his hand.
    “I’m always on time for business.” There was a twang of Texas to her voice now. “You have the amount we agreed on?”
    “You have the merchandise?”
    She knew the kind of man she was dealing with. “I’ll see the money first.”
    “As you wish.” With a key he unlocked one of the stall doors. It lifted along its runners with bumps and rattles. Inside, it was crammed with cheap silver jewelry that hung on the walls and lay behind dusty glass. It smelled of overripe fruit and stale tobacco. He drew a satchel from behind him.“One hundred and fifty thousand American dollars. My backer wished to pay only one hundred, but I persuaded him.”
    “Fortunate for both of us.” Adrianne pulled on a surgical glove, then drew a pouch from her bag. “You’ll want to examine the stones, though I can assure you they’re genuine.”
    “Naturally. You’ll want to count the money, though I can assure you it’s all there.”
    “Naturally.” Cautious, eyes locked, they exchanged bags. Adrianne flipped through the bills before taking out a small device and running the face of a fifty over it. “These are also genuine. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
    “The pleasure’s been mine.” He slipped the loupe and the pouch into his pocket. The knife he brought out glittered in the shadows. “I’ll take the money back, señorita.”
    She looked at the knife, then raised her eyes to his. It was always best to watch the eyes. “Is this the way your backer does business?”
    “It’s the way I do business. He gets the necklace, I get the money, and you, pretty lady, get to keep your life.”
    “And if I don’t want you to keep the money?”
    “Then you lose your life, and I still keep the money.” He took a step forward with the knife between them. “It would be a pity to die alone in the dark on Christmas Eve.”
    Perhaps it was simple reflex, her own instinct for survival. Or perhaps it had been his words, bringing back the horror of her mother’s death. But when he reached for the satchel, Adrianne ignored the knife and brought her foot up hard between his legs. The knife clattered to the ground only seconds before he did.
    “Bastard,” she muttered as she sent the knife careening into the dark. “Now your pride’s as small as your brain and just as useless.”
    “Well put,” Philip said as he came up behind her. He held up a hand as Adrianne whirled. In his other was a snub-nosed .38. He doubted he would need it, as the courier was currently retching onto the concrete. “Remind me to wear reinforced shorts around you, darling. Now pick up the pouch and let’s be on our way.”
    “What the hell are you doing here?”
    “I was about to save your life, but you took care of that.The jewels, Addy. I’d prefer not to spend Christmas in a Mexican jail.”
    She snatched up the pouch and strode past him. “And I’d prefer that you’d go to hell.”
    Philip engaged the safety before dropping the pistol back into his pocket. “At this