Obsession

CHAPTER THREE

“DO YOU KNOW HIM?”

William Kelman’s voice was cold as he tilted his head to the other side of the room. Without even looking, Emma knew instantly whom he meant.

“Yes, I do,” she answered. “His name is Raul Santos.”

“Is he a client of yours?”

It wasn’t a question she could answer; the people whose money she handled valued their privacy. “My client list is confidential, Mr. Kelman. Surely you appreciate that fact as much as anyone.”

He grunted his reply and sipped his brandy, his eyes boring a tunnel across the dimly lit dining room.

After a second, she sneaked a look, too. Raul was meeting William Kelman’s stare, and he wasn’t blinking. She could almost feel the tension crackling between the two men. Raul’s friend Wendy seemed as aware of the silent confrontation as Emma. She reached out and put her hand on his arm and said something quietly. He leaned over to listen, but he didn’t break eye contact.

William Kelman looked away first.

“Tell me more about this currency thing,” he commanded.

Relieved by his change of subject, Emma took a deep breath. “The local currency is called a boliviano and it’s equal to one hundred centavos.”

“What’s that in American money?”

“It changes, but on Friday, a boliviano was worth about fifty cents, give or take a bit.”

“And you make money for your clients by trading this currency, right?”

“That’s part of what I do.”

“How does that work, exactly?”

“The official exchange rate floats, but it’s reviewed periodically. The government has five to ten million dollars they handle every day. I sell bolivianos for dollars or vice versa, and if I do it right, I make money on the margin—the difference between the two amounts.”

“How do you know how many dollars they’ll offer?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “But that’s not really important. The rate is what counts.”

“How much do you make for your clients doing this?”

“It varies from day to day.”

“On?”

“On a lot of things. The markets the day before, the movement of the other currencies being traded, the local economy…”

He leaned his elbows on the table, and at the same time Emma felt a hot gaze on her back. Raul Santos was still staring at them, she could tell.

“Do you know the rate ahead of time?”

She looked at him in surprise. “The rate is examined by a government committee. If there is a change, it’s secret until it’s announced a few days later. For obvious reasons.”

“But if you did know the figure in advance, you’d make more money for your clients, right?”

His question was unsettling, but Emma tried to make light of it. “Only until I got caught—which would probably be immediately. If I knew the information in advance and acted on it, that would be insider trading. It’s as illegal here as it is in the United States.”

He paused, and for some reason, her uneasiness grew. “And you don’t break the law, do you, Ms. Toussaint?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t.”

He nodded slowly, but she had the feeling he didn’t believe her. “Not for anything?”

She opened her mouth to answer the same way, then she hesitated. She’d make a deal with the devil if it meant getting her kids back. She’d do anything for them, wouldn’t she? Even break the law?

Over the middle of the table, she lifted her eyes and their gazes locked. Then he smiled.

RAUL WATCHED William Kelman and Emma depart the restaurant. He’d thought Kelman was going to come over and speak to him, but he hadn’t, and Raul had felt a flash of disappointment. He’d almost welcome a direct confrontation, to settle things as he’d done when he was younger and knew less—with fists and bloodied noses. It was a more honest way, but Kelman didn’t operate like that. He was sneaky and underhanded, and when this was all over, bloody noses would not be the end result.

Rising from the table, Raul motioned to Wendy to do the same. “Let’s go,” he said roughly. “I want to follow them. I want to know where she lives.”

Wendy stood up, grabbing her purse and coat, while she protested, “This is crazy, Raul. You’re heading for disaster.”

Taking her elbow, he led her away from the table and shook his head. “Disaster was losing five years of my life to that son of a bitch. What’s going to happen next is not disaster.”

“And the woman? What do you think she’ll call it?”

Ignoring Wendy’s question, Raul stopped at the front door and motioned to the valet to bring his car, handing the man a wad of bills. He’d already arranged to have the car nearby, and within seconds they were in it and driving off. Ahead of them, along the boulevard, he could just make out the taillights of the car Emma was in. Kelman had departed in a different one.

As if the conversation had never been interrupted, Wendy spoke again, her voice insistent. “Emma Toussaint is going to get hurt, Raul. And she doesn’t deserve it. She’ll be an innocent victim, caught up in your scheme for revenge. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Raul swerved to avoid a pothole the size of a small crater. They were heading to the First Ring, in the central part of town, an older area shunned by most of the expatriates. “There’s no other way,” he said grimly. “And she’s not that innocent, anyway. I checked her out.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head impatiently. “It’s not important, but believe me, she’s had her share of trouble. And she caused most it herself.”

“Well, that might be true, but she didn’t cause yours. And it’s not fair to drag her into this.”

“Who said life is fair?”

Wendy shook her head at his cynical reply. “You should walk away and forget about him, Raul.”

“Is that what you would do?”

“Yes, I would, because this isn’t worth it. William Kelman is a dangerous man, and you’re going to get hurt, maybe killed. To make matters even worse, you’re going to take that poor woman with you.”

“No one’s going to die.” He paused. “I just want to make Kelman wish he was dead, and the key to that is taking his money. I can’t do that without her help.”

“And if she doesn’t offer it?”

“She will, whether she knows it or not.”

There was obviously nothing else she could say, and Wendy fell silent. Ten minutes later, Raul slowed his SUV as the vehicle ahead of them entered a deserted side street and parked, a cloud of exhaust pouring from its tailpipe. The homes were modest, not what he would have expected for an American banker. Emma stepped from the car and hurried to the front gate of a two-story house. It was mostly hidden behind a brick wall covered in some kind of greenery, but from the little Raul could see, it looked well tended. Unlocking the iron entrance, she disappeared from sight. His window down, Raul heard her walking up the sidewalk, then the sound stopped and a moment after that, a door slammed. The finality of the noise didn’t faze him. He threw his truck in gear and made a sharp U-turn. Fifteen minutes after that, he was in front of Wendy’s house.

“Is there any way I can change your mind?” Wendy reached across the seat and put her hand on his. Her touch was warm and it brought back memories. “Is there any way I can stop you from going back there?”

Beneath the casual tone, Raul heard what she was trying to ask.

“No,” he said. “Kelman might show up there later, and I need to know if he does. I have to understand what kind of relationship they have.”

He read the disappointment that flashed across her face, even though the expression was gone immediately. She’d expected his answer. She nodded and reached for the door handle, then paused.

“Going back there tonight would be a mistake, Raul,” she said softly. “A very big mistake.”

He met her troubled gaze with a blank one of his own. “It won’t be the first time. Or the last.”

BY THE TIME Raul got back to Emma’s, it was almost one in the morning. Except for a single low light in one upstairs corner, the house and gardens were dark. He parked the truck, then settled into the expectant stillness to wait.

EMMA RAN THE BRUSH through her hair and absentmindedly looked at her watch. Sarah and Jake had been asleep for hours, or at least they should have been. She imagined them in their beds, tucked in safe and sound. She’d done Sarah’s room in lavender and pink, Jake’s in dark green and navy. Todd had complained when Emma had selected the colors, saying they didn’t match the rest of the house. The decorator had concurred and been horrified when he’d seen them. But Emma hadn’t cared. Her hand stilled as she remembered her son’s face when he’d first seen the baseball wallpaper. His eyes had blazed with excitement, and he’d jumped up and down, squealing with delight.

Before Emma could stop herself, her vision blurred with tears. Angrily she threw down the hairbrush and wiped at her eyes, but it didn’t do any good. The stinging tears continued. She took a ragged breath, but several minutes passed before she managed to get a tenuous hold on her emotions. Searching her brain for a distraction, she focused on the first thing she thought of—Raul Santos.

Seeing him at Candelabra this evening had been a shock. She wasn’t sure why—the man obviously had no trouble getting a date—but she hadn’t expected him there, especially with a gorgeous woman on his arm. They’d talked a lot, their dark heads together, their hands wrapped around matching glasses of wine. What on earth had he thought when he’d caught Emma pouring out her glass of champagne? She couldn’t imagine what must have run through his head, but she told herself she didn’t care. It would have been far worse for her if she’d drunk the wine.

She stood abruptly and crossed her bedroom to the window facing the street. Over the garden wall, the avenue was dark and deserted, save for several vehicles parked on the other side. A night bird called out, his cry piercing the empty silence.

After a second she dropped the curtain and turned. Halfway to her bed, she stopped impulsively and returned to her desk by the window to flick on her computer. The hard drive whirred into action as she pointed the mouse to her server icon.

The modem connection clicked and hummed, then a few seconds later, connected. At the other end, the phone began to ring and her screen began to blink. Navigating to the site she needed, Emma entered her password, then nodded in satisfaction. Leon was on-line, just as she’d known he would be.

She imagined him sitting in a trance before his computer at the bank in New Orleans. The lab operated twenty-four hours a day, and Leon always took the night shift. Totally without social graces, he’d managed to insult half the management team when he’d worked as a summer intern at the bank. The other half had seen his wardrobe and assumed he was a homeless kid hanging around the lobby to stay cool. She’d sensed the brains behind the facade and had gotten Leon Davis his job; she hoped he remembered that now.

She typed quickly. “Leon, this is Emma Toussaint. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

His answer reflected his surprise. “I’m just surfing. Nothing important. What’s up?”

There was caution in his short reply, and she wasn’t surprised. Todd hadn’t just ruined her personal life; he’d annihilated her professional one, as well. Everyone at the bank—even down in the computer lab, she was sure—had heard the gossip. Knowing her ex-husband and his family as she did, she was sure he’d kept the bad news alive as much as he could.

Her fingers tapped out her answer. “I’m working overseas—in South America—and I’ve got a question. I don’t know anyone who could help me but you.”

The flattery worked, just as she knew it would.

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

She paused. He was brilliant and could get the information; she’d been the only person at the bank who hadn’t been ready to fire him when they’d discovered he’d hacked his way into the salary file to see what everyone was making. But how to pose her query?

“I want you to check out someone for me. Discreetly,” she typed. “Raul Santos. He’s a new customer at my bank. Used to live in Washington, D.C., or possibly El Paso, Texas.” She hit the enter key before she could think too hard about it.

“Sounds interesting. You want that real time or can I get back to you?”

“There’s no hurry.”

“No problem. I’ll catch you later in the week. Stay cool.”

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the monitor. She wasn’t sure why she’d done what she just had. If anyone found out, she’d have a hard time explaining. Requesting personal data on her clients was not standard operating procedure. On the other hand, Raul Santos didn’t seem like her usual client.

If she wanted to check out someone, it ought to be William Kelman. Any time a client asked the kind of questions he had this evening, a red light came on in Emma’s brain. Curiosity of that sort usually meant one thing—the person wanted it for a reason, and it generally wasn’t a legitimate one. She thought briefly of talking it over with Chris but just as quickly decided against saying anything to her boss. He didn’t like problems, and anything remotely out of the ordinary was a problem to him. She shut down her machine, empty silence replacing the mechanical hum of the computer.

One way or the other, she needed Kelman’s account and as many like it as she could find. Each one meant a bonus, and each bonus brought her one step closer to her goal—having enough money to buy the meanest, toughest lawyer New Orleans had to offer. She’d fought Todd with everything she’d had, but that hadn’t been enough. When she went back to try again, she’d have what she needed.

Nothing else mattered.

THE DIM LIGHT behind the upstairs window went out at 1:45 a.m. Raul glanced at his watch, then waited five more minutes before starting the truck. He drove slowly down the street toward Emma’s house and paused right in front. She didn’t know what kind of vehicle he had, so if she looked out the window it wouldn’t matter, anyway.

As if the house were breathing, the upstairs curtains moved in and out in a rhythmic pattern. Must be a fan, he thought, something to break the still night air. He wasn’t prepared for the image that appeared next in his mind, surprising him with its intensity. Emma in bed. The blond hair shining in the darkness. Her slim body in a nightgown. Her fingers curled against the sheets. In the restaurant this evening, her elegant beauty had made every other woman in the place look overblown, too made up.

Then he remembered his words to Wendy. Emma had had her share of troubles. The file he had on her back at the villa he’d rented contained only the barest details, but they were grim. She’d grown up in Louisiana and met Todd Toussaint at college. They’d married, and two children had followed quickly—but so had disaster.

Todd Toussaint had made sure everyone knew the split was not his fault. He divorced her and her life went downhill quickly. She was fired from the bank, and he gained full custody of the children. Without a family, a job or even references, she’d ended up in Santa Cruz, Bolivia.

Emma Toussaint had nowhere to go and nothing to lose. She was just the kind of woman William Kelman would seek out and use.

All Raul had to do was stand by and watch it happen.

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