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of women on the beach. “So’re you, Luis. But don’t let me stop you.”
    “So you take the fishing boat today?” He hefted the larger cooler and walked with her toward the shop. “I changed the schedule for you. Thirteen signed up for the glass bottom for the morning. We got both dive boats going out, so I told my cousin Miguel to help fill in today. Okay?”
    “Terrific.” Luis was young, fickle with women and fond of his tequila, but he could be counted on in a pinch. “I guess I’m going to have to hire someone on, at least part-time.”
    Luis looked at her, then at the ground. He’d worked closest with Jerry. “Miguel, he’s not dependable. Here one day, gone the next. I got a nephew, a good boy. But he can’t work until he’s out of school.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Liz said absently. “Let’s just put this right on the boat. I want to check the gear.”
    On board, Liz went through a routine check on the tackle and line. As she looked over the big reels and massive rods, she wondered, with a little smirk, if the lawyer had ever done any big-game fishing. Probably wouldn’t know a tuna if it jumped up and bit his toe, she decided.
    The decks were clean, the equipment organized, as she insisted. Luis had been with her the longest, but anyone whoworked for Liz understood the hard and fast rule about giving the clients the efficiency they paid for.
    The boat was small by serious sport fishing standards, but her clients rarely went away dissatisfied. She knew the waters all along the Yucatan Peninsula and the habits of the game that teemed below the surface. Her boat might not have sonar and fish finders and complicated equipment, but she determined to give Jonas Sharpe the ride of his life. She’d keep him so busy, strapped in a fighting chair, that he wouldn’t have time to bother her. By the time they docked again, his arms would ache, his back would hurt and the only thing he’d be interested in would be a hot bath and bed. And if he wasn’t a complete fool, she’d see to it that he had a trophy to take back to wherever he’d come from.
    Just where was that? she wondered as she checked the gauges on the bridge. She’d never thought to ask Jerry. It hadn’t seemed important. Yet now she found herself wondering where Jonas came from, what kind of life he led there. Was he the type who frequented elegant restaurants with an equally elegant woman on his arm? Did he watch foreign films and play bridge? Or did he prefer noisy clubs and hot jazz? She hadn’t been able to find his slot as easily as she did with most people she met, so she wondered, perhaps too much. Not my business, she reminded herself and turned to call to Luis.
    “I’ll take care of everything here. Go ahead and open the shop. The glass bottom should be ready to leave in half an hour.”
    But he wasn’t listening. Standing on the deck, he stared back at the narrow dock. She saw him raise a shaky hand to cross himself. “Madre de Dios.”
    “Luis?” She came down the short flight of stairs to join him. “What—”
    Then she saw Jonas, a straw hat covering his head, sunglassesshading his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to shave, so that the light growth of beard gave him a lazy, vagrant look accented by a faded T-shirt and brief black trunks. He didn’t, she realized, look like a man who’d play bridge. Knowing what was going through Luis’s mind, Liz shook his arm and spoke quickly.
    “It’s his brother, Luis. I told you they were twins.”
    “Back from the dead,” Luis whispered.
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” She shook off the shudder his words brought her. “His name is Jonas and he’s nothing like Jerry at all, really. You’ll see when you talk to him. You’re prompt, Mr. Sharpe,” she called out, hoping to jolt Luis out of his shock. “Need help coming aboard?”
    “I can manage.” Hefting a small cooler, Jonas stepped lightly on deck. “The Expatriate. ” He referred to the careful lettering on the