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there. I’m going to get NBC, CNN, Fox—”
    “Fox?” she said, sounding disgusted. “Those bastards will turn this into a right-wing feeding frenzy.”
    “You’re a moderate now, remember?” he said. “And besides, with NBC and CNN there, they’ll balance each other out. And, don’t forget, this will give you a chance to reach out to the Hispanic vote.”
    “What? How? You heard, right? Evangeline Ramos died tonight.”
    The Mexican television star, he thought. He remembered her going down when the shooting started. A pity.
    “We’ll use that as our lead-in,” he said. “Her husband is Juan Cavalos, president of Grupo Financiero Banamex. First thing out of your mouth, you express condolences for her many fans, then transition into her support for her husband. Put it in those terms and he can’t help but come out on our side. Anything less would dishonor his wife, and he can’t afford that.”
    “Yeah,” Sutton said slowly, and he could picture her nodding into the phone, seeing the brutal logic of the move. “Yeah, okay.”
    A pause.
    “Paul?”
    “Yes, ma’am?”
    “That was pretty scary tonight. A lot scarier than San Antonio.”
    He nodded to himself. She was right. In San Antonio, they’d been watching from the fourth floor of the Mexican Embassy as her motorcade drove into the ambush. They’d watched Agent Perez and his team engage the shooters from the Los Zetas Cartel, watched the gunfight rage down the street, watching the gutters fill up with blood. But tonight, they’d been right in the thick of things. The bullets had whizzed over his head while he cowered behind a table, a beautiful Mexican goddess trembling beneath him.
    He glanced over at Monica. She was still smiling, but his own smile had vanished.
    “I know,” he said into the phone. “I was scared, too.”
    “How soon can you be here?”
    Monica rocked her bottom back and forth for him. She licked her lips.
    “Paul?”
    “Yeah,” he said, shaking himself. “Yeah, I’m here. Um, I’ll be there soon, okay? Forty minutes maybe.”
    “Hurry, Paul. Please.”
    “I will,” he said.
    He hung up the phone, then looked over at Monica. “Listen,” he said, “I hate to do this, but I have to go. Something’s come up. I have to handle this.” He knew he shouldn’t say too much, but damn was she incredible. “It’s about what happened tonight.”
    “Will I see you again?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he blurted out. “Yes. I’d like that. Can I call you?”
    “May I call you?” she said.
    She stood up, radiantly naked, and took her iPhone from her purse. She walked over to him and put her phone next to his.
    He gave her his number and she dialed it.
    “What ring tone will you give me, Paul Godwin?”
    He thought for a minute. “Sam Cooke maybe. ‘You Send Me.’ ”
    “I do not know it. But I look forward to hearing it.”
    “And for me? What’ll you use for mine?”
    “For you, I think it shall be Vicente Fernandez. He is always the best. I think I shall choose ‘ Aca Entre Nos .’ ”
    He had to think a moment for the translation. Just between us . Hmmm, not bad, he thought. “I like it,” he said. “Listen, I need to—” He pointed to the shower. “I need to get cleaned up and changed before I talk to the press.”
    “Yes, certainly. Go ahead. May we leave together, when you’re done? I would like very much for you to hold my hand to my car. The city can be very scary at night.”
    “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
    “Me, too.”
    He went to the bathroom, and right before he closed the door, he saw her standing there, still holding her phone, wearing nothing but a smile, giving him a cute little wave.
    He pulled the door closed, feeling like the king of the world.
     
     
    As the bathroom door closed, Pilar Soledad let the playfulness and the encouraging smile that were the hallmarks of her Monica Rivas disguise fall away.
    Her expression blank, she stared at the door, waiting,