His finger hovered over the keyboard.

He had a new credit card since the separation. One that bore his name alone. Nobody but him would see the statement—but even if they did, the sites he used had discreet billing appellations.

Maybe one quick transaction to entertain himself?

Of course he’d be careful. No way would he let it get out of hand again. Too much was at stake—his job, his marriage . . . his blood pressure. Sweating bullets did a number on the body.

But ten minutes of fun wouldn’t break the bank—or undermine his resolve to stick with the program.

He could control this.

Will took another sip of beer.

Tuned out the alarms bells that began clanging with renewed vigor in his mind.

And pressed the forbidden link.

6

EDUARDO PEERED THROUGH a tiny crack in the blinds, stomach flipping like a hooked catfish on the banks of the Mississippi that flowed through his adopted city.

Miguel and the man who’d become a frequent nocturnal visitor were having another conversation in the back alley of the south city rental flat he and Margarita had called home for five years.

This did not bode well.

“What are you doing in the dark, mi amor?” Margarita entered the room, wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

Two soft kicks prodded his lower back as she hugged him.

His son or daughter, making their presence known.

Throat tightening, he braced for the discussion they had to have. He could not—would not—put his child’s future at risk. They had to get rid of Miguel.

“Watching your brother.”

Her embrace slackened. “Where is he?”

He shifted aside and indicated the slit in the blinds.

After a brief hesitation, she took his place and squinted into the darkness. “Who is he talking to?”

“I don’t know.” As usual, it was impossible to identify the age, race, or build of the clandestine caller, who always wore a bulky coat and a brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead. “But it’s the same man who’s been coming around for the past few months.”

She backed away from the window, furrows scoring her brow. “It could be a friend.”

Wishful thinking.

“Friends are welcomed into a home, not met in cold, dark alleys where no one can see them.” He leaned close to the window again.

A small package was handed off, which his brother-in-law tucked into his oversized jacket. The other man slipped into the night as Miguel strolled back toward the flat.

“It could be innocent, Eduardo.”

The note of desperation in her voice suggested she didn’t believe that any more than he did.