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had written a cryptic note that might just as well have been stamped “For Your Eyes Only.” She had contacted a spy who had a connection like none other with Sheridan. Calissa had probably paid a lot of money for his spur-of-the-moment travel expenses.
    Surprising tales, the note said, about their father, things the younger would not know.
    Sheridan looked at her husband of ten years, her best friend and confidant. His eyes were shut. Out of weariness? pain? anger that their location was known? or just plain indifference? More and more it had taken on shades of indifference, of detachment from her, and really, of life in general.
    Things were changing between them. Since moving to Topala, they had lived in what felt like physical safety, that centerpiece around which they’d made every decision since the shooting. Luke had it right. She was Eliot’s nurse, cook, housekeeper, secretary, chauffeur, companion. She wasn’t sure where best friend and confidant fit anymore.
    Calissa’s note was personal. It didn’t involve Luke or the government. It declared a sister’s love. No. She was not going to answer his question about “beyond those things.”
    Instead she said, “It was signed, ‘With love, Lissy.’”
    “And you believe that? that she cares?”
    She stood, covered his legs with a light blanket, and kissed his forehead. “Yes, oddly enough, I think I do.”

Chapter 9
    As Luke walked beside Sheridan down the steep hill, he said, “How does Eliot get around town?”
    “Mostly he doesn’t. We have a car. It’s parked at the cantina.”
    “You don’t use it much, then?”
    “Only when we go into Mesa Aguamiel. Here in the village we all walk or ride a burro everywhere. Neither of which he can do, of course. Too many hills.”
    “Topala, the place where time stopped. This can’t be a walk in the park, no matter how idyllic it appears. How do you get food and stuff?”
    “It’s delivered by truck, weekly or daily, usually to the square. I hire the boys to lug propane and drinking water up the hill.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t you know these particulars?”
    “No.”
    “Little blip in the research, eh?”
    He ignored her smart remark.
    She noted how he strode with athletic ease over the uneven cobblestones, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses under the bill of his cap. She had always been impressed with the way he moved and spoke. He epitomized the quality of being at ease no matter what. There was absolutely nothing awkward about him, either physically or socially. It always disconcerted her.
    She said, “Do you know what’s in Calissa’s note?”
    “I have no idea. She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t open it.”
    “How did she convince you to come? And please don’t give me that line about being concerned about our welfare.”
    “That is true, though.”
    At some deep level his words resonated. What he had done for them in the aftermath of the shooting spoke volumes of care and concern. Ludicrous as it sounded, the guy probably did sense a connection with her and Eliot because of that day. But . . .
    “But it’s not enough, Luke. Not enough to disrupt your life and bring you all this way.”
    “Yeah.” He hesitated, no doubt taking time to choose just the right words. “I half expected a ‘tommyrot’ out of Eliot. You’re right. There is more to it.”
    So. That was that, then. Eliot had been right. Luke came because he himself had something to gain. Her tiny flicker of hope that he might have come purely because of altruism was snuffed out. Poof.
    She took a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you for being honest anyway.”
    “Sure.”
    They fell silent and continued their walk downhill. Below them lay the town center, now awash in sunlight and tourists.
    Until Luke’s arrival that morning, this daily influx of visitors did not disturb her. Most of them came up from cruise ships docked in Mazatlán. They came, they went, all in short order. They purchased trinkets and