His insides tensed, the whole of him uneasy in the thick, where the human press made it possible for an unknown assailant to get in tight for an up-close kill.

She glanced back, grabbed his hand, threaded her fingers between his, and pulled him along, navigating the throng like a shark through territorial waters. She’d flipped again, offering a warm, playful version of herself, not so much real as needing him to believe it was real, and she led him off the walking path onto a sectioned-off patio, where, putting on airs for the young twentysomething at the hostess station, she plied a drawl so thick he’d only ever heard similar in movies and on ranches and in sororities.

“We’re here to meet someone?” she said. “Bolivia, I think?”

They were early, even with the stroll through the museum, the wait for the taxi, the slow ride into town, and fighting to move through the Friday evening throng. But the hostess smiled, as if she knew exactly what Jill intended, and handed them off to a server, who led them away from the low, rumbling roar to a quiet interior, where the decor and dishes were high end, and the tables spaced widely enough to allow room to breathe.

Tension eased. Holden’s hands relaxed.

He followed around a wall to the far back corner, where a Hispanic brunette in a maxi dress sat alone, looking over a menu, nails impeccable, makeup flawless, and Holden recognized the face, because its twin currently led him by the hand.

In the shock of the unexpected, a laugh escaped.

Jack glanced up, smiled, and stood, every movement perfect.

He leaned out to hug his sister, and surprisingly, Jill let him.

And he offered a feminine hand in Holden’s direction.

Holden shook, and only then did the facade break.

Eyes that had been smiling hardened. Delicate grip turned firm. “Thank you,” Jack said. “I appreciate you coming.” The sincerity beneath the words was a gut punch that spoke of a man who’d truly believed he’d lost his sister and who credited Holden for bringing her to him.

Holden clasped left hand over right. Lips tight, he nodded.

Nothing needed to be said.

It was what it was, and that was enough.

Jack let go and sat.

Jill leaned over him and, in a low growl, said, “Apologize.”

The server, catching the mood, said she’d be right back.

Jack flipped tresses over his shoulder.

“I’ll apologize properly when I can,” he said. “Words will have to do for now.” He paused for emphasis. “I’m sorry. I hope one day you’ll let me explain, and maybe one day after that, forgive me.”

The anger went out of her like air in a deflating balloon.

She sat, and Holden followed, and he made a finger circle in Jack’s direction and said, “What’s with the . . . ?”