“It’s a favor, Eve,” Margaret interrupted. “I take all kinds of jobs to survive but not from my friends. Just pay the bill, and I’ll send you the money next time I have it.”
“That’s not what I—” She shrugged. “We’ll work it out.” She took Margaret’s arm and pulled her toward the front entrance. “Come on. I need to get you to bed.”
“You’re treating me like a kid.” Margaret’s eyes were gleaming with amusement. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Eve.”
“Since you were a kid. That doesn’t make it right.”
“And you suddenly had a maternal flash of your Jane as a child trying to survive on the streets.” She chuckled. “She did very well, and so did I.”
“Again, that doesn’t make it right.” She opened the glass door. “And I’ll treat you the way I wish to treat you. Okay?”
Margaret nodded slowly. “Okay.” Her smile was brilliant. “Like you said, we’ll work it out. I can handle it.”
*
“There’s Joe,” Eve waved across the terrace at Joe, who had just come into the hotel restaurant. “He made good time,” she told Margaret. “It’s only a little after noon.”
“Protective.” She ate a bite of her salad as she watched Joe make his way through the tables toward them. “Like Nalchek. He was probably on edge about your being out here without him.”
She was right, Eve thought. She’d talked to Joe early this morning when he was getting ready to go to the airport, and he hadn’t been pleased with her.
“Hi.” Joe pulled out a chair and dropped down onto it. “Good to see you, Margaret. Though I could wish that you hadn’t exploded on the scene with such enthusiasm.”
“You mean recklessness,” Margaret substituted. “And no one would have ever known I went to those woods if Nalchek hadn’t been out there. I would have done what I had to do, then called Eve and told her I was on my way to her hotel.”
“And she would still have left the hotel and come to pick you up.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Margaret said. “She’s as protective as you are.”
“I can argue with it,” Eve said. “Drop it, Joe.”
He smiled. “It’s dropped. Just wanted to draw her attention to my take on it.”
“Loud and clear,” Margaret said cheerfully. “Everyone in the world has to take care of Eve, or they’ll be facing Joe Quinn’s wrath.”
He nodded. “Something like that. And she’s staring very disapprovingly at me at this moment. I think it’s time I changed the subject.” He turned to Eve. “I got word from the Interpol database right before I got on the plane. They may have come up with a match.” He grimaced. “Though it took long enough. Walsh is a fairly common name. I was bouncing back and forth between Interpol and the FBI most of the night. One dead end after another. This one came closest, and the location seems right.” He took out his phone and dialed up the report. “James Bradford Walsh. British subject, fifty-seven, last-known address in Sacramento, California. That’s not his real name but one of his most-frequently-used aliases.” He paused. “No current warrants, but he’s a very ugly customer. His prime area of expertise is as enforcer. He’s worked for various mobs both in London and the U.S. His last-known employer was the Castino Cartel in Mexico City. He fit right in with them. His record reflected burglary, drugs, suspicion of human trafficking, suspicion of murder. In short, he did anything that was demanded of him by the Castino family.”
“What about children?” Eve asked. “Is there anything about violence toward children?”
“Some of the human trafficking involved children but not exclusively.”
“Anything about ‘marking’ his victims?”
Joe shook his head. “No details. Either he’s not our man, or he’s very clever. I’m searching other European Web sites to see if he’s mentioned.”