“Then they don’t have him yet.”

Gregory raised one finger for silence so he could listen. Chino turned away from him, opened the refrigerator behind the bar and withdrew a bottle of Taittinger. Using a remote, he turned off the television set, putting an end to James Garner in a rerun of what one of the graphics had labeled Los Filos Rockford. Sitting at the bar, Amy was nonchalanting it, as Sam liked to say, acting as if she were not sick with worry about him. On the bar was a basket of steaming, deep-fried, irregularly-shaped things that Chino must have ordered from the kitchen before Amy’s arrival. They were crisp and mild, like potato chips, and just as addictive.

Amy had been seeing other people in the house, most of them hurrying in the corridors. They kept their eyes to themselves. The two she had seen in a room on telephones had smiled and waved when they had seen him, but they had tried to avoid looking at her.

Chino twisted the cork from the champagne silently, looked to her for a reaction, and clearly enjoyed her nod of approval. She was willing to let him think she was succumbing to his charm — it was obvious he expected to be successful with her if he chose to make a move. He had had a thick, white terrycloth robe ready for her when she’d climbed out of the pool, held it like the gentlemen he wanted her to see. He opened doors, said things like, “If you will allow me,” and “If you please,” as if he didn’t have the power of life and death over her. She was sure he would remind her of that fact if he thought he wasn’t getting his way fast enough to suit him.

By then, she was sure, it would be too late for her to change her game plan. His ego went to the center of the earth, if not deeper. He was not just well-tailored, but perfectly groomed. She knew doctors like him, three or four showers a day, facials, manicures, massages, always scented with cologne. He was delicious, and of course you had to get very close for even a hint of it. He treated himself like a movie star. At what point would he sour on her tease? If she had to deliver, she was going to have to figure out exactly how he wanted it wrapped. And then she would have to execute.

He put a champagne flute in front of her and carefully filled it, with bubbles frothing up. She locked his eyes.

“Would you get my shirt, please?”