Liz’s crumpled napkin slid to the floor as she rose to walk out with him. He didn’t speak again until they had the door of the villa closed behind them.

“You had no business telling him we were partners.”

Because she’d been ready for the attack, she shrugged it off. “He said more once I did.”

“He’d have said just as much if you’d made an excuse and left the table.”

She folded her arms. “We have the same problem, remember?”

He didn’t care to have his own words tossed back at him. “The least you could have done was to give him another name.”

“Why? They know who I am. Sooner or later he’s going to talk to whoever’s in charge and get the whole story.”

She was right. He didn’t care for that either. “Are you packed?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s check out. We’ll go to the airport.”

“And then?”

“And then we go straight to Moralas.”

* * *

“You’ve been very busy.” Moralas held on to his temper as he rocked back in his chair. “Two of my men wasted their valuable time looking for you in Acapulco. You might have told me, Mr. Sharpe, that you planned to take Miss Palmer on a trip.”

“I thought a police tail in Acapulco might be inconvenient.”

“And now that you have finished your own investigation, you bring me this.” He held up the key and examined it. “This which Miss Palmer discovered several days ago. As a lawyer, you must understand the phrase ‘withholding evidence.’”

“Of course.” Jonas nodded coolly. “But neither Miss Palmer nor myself could know the key was evidence. We speculated, naturally, that it might have belonged to my brother. Withholding a speculation is hardly a crime.”

“Perhaps not, but it is poor judgment. Poor judgment often translates into an offense.”

Jonas leaned back in his chair. If Moralas wanted to argue law, they’d argue law. “If the key belonged to my brother, as executor of his estate, it became mine. In any case, once it was proved to me that the key did indeed belong to Jerry, and that the contents of the safe-deposit box were evidence, I brought both the key and a description of the contents to you.”

“Indeed. And do you also speculate as to how your brother came to possess those particular items?”

“Yes.”

Moralas waited a beat, then turned to Liz. “And you, Miss Palmer—you also have your speculations?”

She had her hands gripped tightly in her lap, but her voice was matter-of-fact and reasonable. “I know that whoever attacked me wanted money, obviously a great deal of money. We found a great deal.”

“And a bag of what Mr. Sharpe…speculates is cocaine.” Moralas folded his hands on the desk with the key under them. “Miss Palmer, did you at any time see Mr. Jeremiah Sharpe in possession of cocaine?”

“No.”