Page 31 of For the Love of Animals

With Carmen on her way, all Nate could do was wait. Upstairs, Verónica stumbled out of the bathroom, wiping her mouth, as he returned to his spot on the couch.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“No. Who was at the door?”

“Some guy in a black Mercedes. Said Mr. Lozano wanted to leave for the parade earlier than planned, so he stopped by to pick up the costume and save you the trouble of delivering it.”

“You gave it to him?”

“The one in the bag? Yeah. He checked it was the right one before he took it.”

“And he was happy?”

“Seemed that way.”

“Thank goodness. I don’t need to get up now.”

Nate held out the pills he’d brought up earlier. “How about you take a couple of these and go back to sleep? I’ll wake you if anybody else comes.”

“There shouldn’t be anyone. I only open on Saturdays by appointment.”

He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. She kissed him with all the passion of a dead fish, then closed her bloodshot eyes.

“Perhaps bed is a good idea.”

The best she’d had so far. “Here, let me help you.”

Nate listened in Verónica’s kitchen, hairs prickling on the back of his neck as Carmen purred up Lozano’s driveway in Verónica’s Honda. Five minutes until their part would be over, and Lozano’s fate would be in the hands of, well, fate.

The engine fell silent. A door slammed. Crunch, crunch, crunch. That must have been Carmen walking over the gravel.

Finally, a doorbell rang, a great clanging thing that shouted its owner’s self-importance.

“Can I help?”

“I’m here to deliver Señor Lozano’s costume for the parade.”

“We’re expecting Señorita Camacho. Where is she?”

“Sick. Really sick. But she didn’t want any delays with the costume, so she asked me to bring it. I’m her assistant.”

“Your name?”

“Josefina Cortes.”

“One minute.”

The door closed again, and Verónica’s phone rang ten seconds later. Fortunately, Nate had anticipated this, and his old friend at the CIA was already waiting on the other line. All he had to do was answer and hold the two phones together.

“Hello?”

“Señorita Camacho?”

“Si,” Yolanda said, coughing for effect. “Who is this?”

“I’m an associate of Miguel Lozano’s.”

“Is there a problem with the costume?”

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