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gazed down the alley and saw her carryall where she’d dropped it before she ran. It had gotten knocked over in their skirmish and birds of paradise lay with bent stems, making it seem like their necks were broken. The lilies hadn’t fared much better. They were scattered haphazardly. Tucker’s chocolate pastry lay smashed and dusty to one side. Callie tried to marshal her strength for another attempt at escape but, though she managed to push herself away from the wall, she was too limp-muscled to run. What was the point anyway? He would catch her even if she was at her best form, he’d already proven that.
    She thought briefly about screaming “ Police!” and wondered if that would do any good. Would anyone even hear her? And did she want to get further embroiled in this? Bring in the authorities and have this bastard arrested for accosting her? He would tell his story and likely find Tucker anyway. A better way of dealing with him might be to try talking to him reasonably. He hadn’t listened to her so far, but she sensed he wasn’t as threatening as he’d been initially. She’d thrown him off balance and even the most stubborn person would lose conviction if faced with overwhelming evidence. He couldn’t believe she was Teresa forever.
    Callie hadn’t noticed her own condition until that moment. Her white dress was filthy, her arms and legs streaked with dust and sweat. She could just imagine what kind of state her hair was in. Only the bracelet on her arm appeared as clean and beautiful as it had been when she’d put it on this morning. She wished she’d left it at the apartment. Good God, was it really valuable?
    Gingerly she took a step, realized she wasn’t going to fall apart, then took another, straightening her shoulders. West eyed her carefully.
    “I’m going to get my bag,” she said.
    “You need some help?”
    She threw him a dark look, then hobbled over to the bag. He followed closely, as if afraid she would make another break for it. Like she had the strength.
    She picked up the lilies and stuffed them back in the bag. “I’m not interested in talking to you, Mr. Laughlin. I’m not Teresa. I don’t know how many times I can say it.”
    “Just take me to the boy and we’ll figure this out. You’re his mother. You hold all the cards. I just want to see him.”
    “Bullshit. You clearly want something more.” She slid the carryall up her arm, aware of how heavy it felt. Reaction, indeed. “I’m not anyone’s mother,” she added. Not anymore.
    “You live in one of these buildings?”
    “You think I’d take you to my place after you attacked me?” she demanded.
    “I didn’t attack you. You ran away. I was—”
    “You chased me down and threw me on the ground.”
    “You tripped!”
    “That’s not how I remember it.”
    “Wow.”
    “You want to talk? You want to learn who I really am? Fine. Let’s go somewhere else, but I’m not taking you to my place.”
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
    “Oh, yeah, I believe that.”
    He swore softly under his breath, but asked, “Where do you want to go, then?”
    “Somewhere public.” She carefully touched her chin. “I’m not feeling the best and I’d like something cool to drink.”
    His gaze slid over her tangled hair and dirt-smudged dress. He clearly wanted to argue but he only said, “We’ll go to my hotel.”
    “Oh, sure.” Callie almost laughed. Still, it was imperative that she get him as far away from Tucker as possible. As she tried to figure out what to do, the ferry horn blasted twice.
    Pointe du Bout. Across the bay.
    “We can go to Bakoua Beach, in Pointe du Bout,” Callie said, seeing West’s head swivel sharply to stare at her. “I’ve stayed there,” she explained a trifle defensively. “There’s an outdoor restaurant where we can talk privately. I realize it’s on the other side of the bay but I would feel comfortable there.”
    And it’s miles away from Tucker.
    West considered a