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you we’ll search high and low for Aron. None of us are ready to give him up.”
        
    ***
     
    Onboard the Isabella
     
    Proficient at tying up loose ends of potential problems, Martina used the time before the helicopter came wisely. After she dressed, she made sure Aron had clothes. There was one crewman about the same size, so she gathered jeans and shirts for him to wear. As incapacitated as he was, she didn’t foresee him needing them until they were out of the hospital and on their way to Los Banos, but she wanted to have the appearance of his being a passenger on board the yacht, just in case he roused enough to notice.  
    Her plan was to make it appear as if he’d been living with her for quite some time. She’d gone online and did some research on cases of amnesia caused by head injury. There was no guideline or guarantee of how long his memories would elude him. His amnesia could last from hours to years. By the time his hospital stay was over, she would have her act together. But right now, she decided to take out a little insurance policy. Retrieving Aron’s dive suit and mask from the trash, she went to the kitchen and smeared beef blood on it, tossing them both overboard, wrapped around the largest mackerel in the refrigerator. No one questioned. No one stopped her. No one even dared make eye contact with the Diosa. What Martina Delgado wanted, Martina got. And right now, she wanted Aron McCoy.
     
    ***
     
    Waves of agony crashed against his skull. He felt like his eyes were going to explode out of his head. This was no headache, this was torture. Throwing up seemed imminent, but it would kill him. The pain was just too excruciating. God, he needed to take a piss. Going on himself was humiliating, but there was no way he could move. He could barely open his eyes. The light coming through the window speared through his brain like knives. Through the haze of pain, he could make out a man standing over a table set for two. “Where am I?”
    “At sea, Señor.” The information was offered with an easy nonchalance as the waiter folded a napkin and laid it next to a place setting of gleaming crystal and china.
    “What’s wrong with me?”
    “You almost drowned.” The man was impeccably dressed in a black and white uniform.
    “I don’t remember.” He started to rub his hand over his face, then realized he was clasping something hard in the palm of his hand. In fact he’d held onto it so tightly, the edges had cut into his palm. There was blood. Aron turned the coin over and over, looking at it through pain glazed eyes. It was old, looked to be made of gold with a woman’s face on it. A beautiful face. He stared at it. A longing for something or someone rose up inside of him. He was lonely. “Do I have someone here with me?”   
    “Our Diosa will take care of you.”
    The waiter moved toward him. Quickly, he closed his hand, lest the stranger see what he was holding. This coin meant something to him. Was he a treasure hunter? That didn’t sound right. But what the hell did he know? He didn’t even know his own name. “Who the hell is Diosa?”
    “I am.” A cultured voice with the same Latin lilt as the waiter caused him to jerk his head around. Damn! That hurt. “We are on our way to Mexico City to get you some help, Amor.”
    Amor? He raised his eyes to take in the image of the woman standing next to him. She was beautiful, stacked, elegant, with perfect make-up, perfect features and a wide smile. An expectant look was in her eyes. She placed a hand on his arm.
    “I need to use the bathroom.”
    She looked disappointed. “Very well. I’ll get you some help.”
    In a few seconds, she returned with a man who worked to help him stand. But as soon as he was on his feet, a blinding shaft of pain caused him to groan and sink to his knees.
    “Help him!” She urged.
    Blackness rolled toward him as bile rose in his throat. With horrid heaves, he emptied his stomach all over the pristine