Luis called after her. "María, Aideen will be accompanying you to San Sebastián."

The thirty-eight-year-old woman nodded. But she didn't take her eyes off McCaskey. Their faces were only inches apart.

"Hello, María," McCaskey said.

María was breathing slowly. Her thick eyebrows formed a hard, rigid line like a bulwark. Her pale, sensuously arched lips formed another. "I prayed that I would never see you again," she said. Her accent, like her voice, was thick and deep.

McCaskey's own expression hardened. "I guess you didn't pray hard enough."

"Maybe not," she replied. "I was too busy crying."

This time McCaskey did not respond.

María's eyes ranged over him. Other than that, her features didn't change. It seemed to Aideen that the woman was looking for something. A man she once loved, memories to soften the hate? Or was she searching for something different? Something to revitalize her anger. The sight of arms, a chest, thighs, and hands she had once held and caressed.

After a moment María turned and walked back to her bicycle. She snatched her grip from the basket behind the seat.

"Keep this for me, Luis," she said, indicating the bicycle. She walked over to Aideen and offered her hand. "I apologize for my rudeness, Ms. Marley. I'm María Corneja."

Aideen accepted her hand. "Call me Aideen."

"I'm glad to know you, Aideen," María said. She looked at Luis. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

Luis shook his head. "You know the codes. If something comes up, I'll call on your cellular phone."

María nodded and looked at Aideen. "Let's go," she said and started toward the helicopter. She made a point of not looking at McCaskey again.

Aideen slung her own backpack over a shoulder and scurried after her.

"Good luck to both of you," McCaskey said to the women as they passed.

Aideen was the only one who turned and thanked him.

The Kawasaki chopper revved up as the women approached. Though they wouldn't have been able to hear one another over the din, Aideen found the bitter silence awkward. She also felt torn. As McCaskey's colleague she felt she should say something on his behalf. But as a woman she felt like she should have ignored him too-and, while she was at it, used her own eyes to curse all men. Curse her father for having been an abusive alcoholic. Curse the drug dealers who ruined lives and families and made widows and orphans in Mexico. Curse the occasional gentleman caller in her own life who was only a gentleman for as long as it took to become an intimate.

They climbed on board and were airborne in less than a minute. They sat close beside each other in the small, noisy cockpit, the silence continuing until Aideen finally had had enough of it.

"I understand you were out of the police business for a while," she said. "What did you do?"