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"Actually," Conor said softly, "I've been thinking about what he'll say when he finds out the wife of his ambassador-designate used to earn her living as a whore."
There was an instant of electric silence and then Eva flew at him, her fingers curved so that her blood-red fingernails flashed like talons. Conor grabbed her by the wrists and forced her further into the library.
"Condenado," she screeched, "hijo de puta!" She pulled free and wrapped her arms around her middle. Terror and rage flashed in her eyes. "You son of a bitch! I knew you were going to ruin everything from the second I laid eyes on you."
"Who's blackmailing you, Eva? Tell me what's going on and maybe I can get you out of this mess."
"I will tell you nothing. Not a word, do you hear me?"
"Have you told Hoyt?" His question made her breath hitch. "I thought not." Conor's expression hardened. "Give me what I want and the information will never leave this room."
Her eyes were fixed on his, her body as taut as a stretched wire. The air almost vibrated with tension. She was hanging on to his every word.
This was the moment he'd been waiting for.
"I want to know why de Lasserre's after Miranda."
"How would I—"
She stumbled back as Conor moved towards her.
"You fuck with me," he said, "so help me God, I'll toss you to the wolves."
Eva stared at his face. His eyes were cold and flat. She had seen eyes like those in what she'd begun to think of as a life that had belonged to somebody else. But it wasn't somebody else's life, it was hers, and it had caught up to her, as she'd always feared it would.
"All right," she whispered. She folded her arms around herself again, as if to let go would mean she'd break into a dozen pieces. "First, you have to promise me that no one else will ever learn what I tell you—and that Edouard de Lasserre will never bother me again."
Considering what he had in mind for the son of a bitch, it was an easy promise to make.
"Done." Conor sat down on the arm of one of the silk chairs that flanked the fireplace. "Now, let's hear it."
Eva took a deep breath. "Very well." Her accent, always before barely noticeable, had grown stronger during the past minutes, as if she were giving up not just the truth but herself. She looked straight at Conor and though her face was flushed, her gaze was steady. "I was born to a mother who was a factory girl." She smiled bitterly. "I had many tios, uncles, who would stay with my mother for a week, a month..." She shrugged and drew a deep breath. "One day, when I was perhaps twelve, one of the 'uncles' had business in a town called Santa Teresa. He took us with him."
"Drug business?"
Eva laughed. "That is the business in Santa Teresa, Mr. O'Neil." Her smile faded. She shivered and rubbed her arms briskly with her hands. "I don't know what happened between them, only that they quarreled and he left us there. My mother had no money and so she sold herself at El Gato Negro, so that we could eat."
"And she stayed on," Conor said, when Eva fell silent.
She nodded. "She died in a drunken fight when I was almost thirteen." Her eyes flashed. "I make no apologies for what I did then, Mr. O'Neil. What other work is there for
the daughter of a puta? Yes, I worked at El Gato Negro until I'd saved enough money to go to Bogota—and then I met my soldier."
"Beckman."
"Yes. He was very young and very innocent, and when I told him he had taken my virginity and that I was pregnant with his child..." Eva's hand slashed through the air. "He married me and brought me to this country."
"Why did you lie about your birthplace?"
She shrugged. "I wanted to bury my past. Buying a phony passport was easy enough, and Beckman was stupid. He believed whatever I told him."
"Even that Miranda was his," Conor said softly.
"It would have been better if she had been born dead," Eva said bitterly.
"Jesus Christ, do you hear what you're saying? She's your daughter!"
"She is no good."
