Now You See Him(48)

The bartender spread a meaty hand over the crowded bar. "Take your pick," he said, turning away.

She had the nerve to reach out and catch his arm. "No, I'm looking for a particular man. My cousin. He has a big boat…"

"Lots of big boats," the bartender said, nodding toward the shining blue of the Mediterranean beyond the grimy, fly-specked window.

"His name is Daniel Travers. He's my cousin…"

A man standing too close beside her sniggered. "That's what they all say. If you can't find this 'cousin' of yours, I can get you plenty of work. There are lots of very rich cousins out there, and I won't expect too much of a cut."

She glared at the man, giving him her best patrician stare. The man simply shrugged. "Or you can make do with one of us." He ran a filthy hand down her bare arm, and she shivered. "A tourist would know better than to come into a place like this. Why should a man with a boat be here? The rich ones go to better places than this."

She yanked her arm away, stumbling backward into a table, knocking over several bottles of beer on disgruntled customers. It happened quickly, too quickly. Someone grabbed her purse, another swung a punch, and somewhere a woman screamed. Francey dived for her purse, landing on her knees on the dusty floor, her purse clutched in her hands. Landed in front of two pairs of uniformed legs.

She looked up, way up, into the shuttered expressions of two members of the local police. They didn't move, merely stared down at her as she struggled to her feet.

"That one," the bartender was suddenly more voluble. "She came in here, causing trouble with my customers. Said she was looking for a rich boat owner."

Francey glared at him in frustration. "Not a rich boat owner," she corrected him. "I'm looking for my cousin. I was told he was somewhere off the Costa Blanca, and I thought…"

"Your passport, señorita," one policeman said in a clipped voice.

She considered arguing, then thought better of it. She opened her purse, reaching in for her papers, when the man plucked it out of her hands.

"Hey!" she protested, grabbing for it, but the man simply knocked her backward onto the floor.

She was too shocked to move. She simply sat there, staring up, as the policeman pulled out a neatly wrapped white package from her capacious purse. A package she'd never seen before in her life.

"That's not mine," she protested.

This time they didn't leave her on the floor. The other man hauled her upright, hard hands digging into her arms. "That's what they all say," he muttered. "You Americans come here to buy drugs because you think we're fools. You'll discover we don't take kindly to drug smugglers."

"Drugs?" Francey shrieked. "I haven't—"

"Bring her along, Sandoval," the first man ordered. "If she gives you any trouble, silence her."

"I want to speak to a lawyer," she protested as he began dragging her from the bar. "I want to speak to the American ambassador."

"The nearest consulate is in Valencia. Word will get to them eventually. As for a lawyer, one will be appointed for you. Unfortunately most of our lawyers do not speak English."

"This is ridiculous!" Francey cried as she was shoved out into the blinding white sunlight. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"That will be for the courts to decide. Until that time, you will be a guest of the local government."

"For how long?"

Sandoval opened the back door of the patrol car and shoved her inside. "Spanish justice moves slowly, but it moves very surely. If I were you, I wouldn't expect to be going anywhere for a long, long time. " He threw her purse in after her, slamming the door.

She yanked at the door handle, but it was securely locked. The car started with a jerk, tearing off into the late-afternoon sunlight, and Francey swiveled around, looking at the bar behind her. Someone was standing out front, someone she hadn't noticed before. A short man, well dressed, his face obscured by dark glasses. Suddenly she remembered the man on the beach on Baby Jerome, the man who'd arrived with Daniel and disappeared with Michael. She was certain it was the same man, and then he disappeared from sight as the police car screeched around a narrow corner.

Francey sat back, trembling. "Calm down," she whispered to herself. "This is all a dreadful mistake. Things will be cleared up in no time." Then she looked down at the ransacked purse in her lap and wasn't so certain.

She pawed through it, looking for some clue as to who would do such a thing to her. Everything was still intact, her wallet, her passport, her aspirin and her makeup. Funny that they hadn't checked the pill bottle to see if she were smuggling contraband that way. She opened her wallet, looking in the secret compartment for the picture of Michael, wanting to touch it for strength, for anger, for some sort of courage.