Intimate Knowledge Read online

“No, I’m fine. It’s nothing like that. I just need the number of a cab company,” Penelope explained. “When Mateo and I drove through town earlier, we saw some sort of celebration near the square. I’m a little too wired to sleep, so I thought I might check it out.”

  Elena’s expression relaxed. “Ah, yes. La Celebración de las Dos Lunas. There’ll be music and dancing until all hours, and later on, a fireworks display over the sea. It’s really quite beautiful. You shouldn’t miss it, but there’s no need to call a cab. Mateo can drive you.”

  “I don’t want to disturb him. I feel as if I’ve already imposed too much as it is. Besides, I don’t know how long I’ll be, and I’d hate for him to have to wait or come back later to pick me up.”

  “Then why don’t you take one of Alex’s cars?” Elena suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Penelope said doubtfully, not relishing the idea of driving someone else’s vehicle. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  “Of course. Alex keeps one here especially for his guests. He’d be upset if you used a cab when the car is so handy. I’ll have Mateo bring it around to the front.”

  A few minutes later, Penelope was on her way. It took her a little while to get the feel of the vehicle, but she had no trouble following Elena’s directions into town. As Penelope carefully navigated the narrow streets, a parking spot miraculously opened up near the square, and she grabbed it, hoping the stroke of luck was a good sign.

  The parade was over by now, but the streets remained congested with both locals and tourists who were still in a party mood. Penelope, mindful of Elena’s warning not to stray too far from the square, strolled along Av. Mexico, telling herself that she had come into town to get a closer look at the masks and costumes—not to search for Simon’s double.

  And the masks were fascinating. They seemed to be everywhere, not just worn by the revelers in the street, but staring from shop windows and heaped carelessly on top of one another at open-air stalls.

  Penelope was amazed by the variety of materials used to create them and the extraordinary imagination that went into making them. It was evident that even the papier-mâché creations that could be purchased on any street corner weren’t simply souvenirs, but a vital, living part of the Mexican heritage.

  She’d become so lost in her musings that she failed to notice the man who had fallen into step beside her until he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward a darkened doorway. Penelope tried to fight him off and would have screamed had she not recognized him so quickly.

  “What are you doing?” she said on a breath.

  “Please,” Tonio Vargas said urgently. “I have to speak with you. Don’t make a scene. We don’t want to draw attention.”

  The first thought that flitted through Penelope’s mind was that he’d changed his mind about the collection, so she allowed him to draw her into the darkened doorway. Once they were secluded from the street, he turned to stare down at her, his expression dark and desperate.

  Penelope’s heart began to knock against her chest. Seeing his face, the fear in his eyes, she no longer believed this was about his father’s masks.

  “What is it?” she asked in alarm.

  His grasp tightened on her arms. “Listen to me. You’re in danger. We both are.”

  She caught her breath. “What are you talking about? What kind of danger?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. I can’t risk being seen with you.” He removed a linen handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead with a trembling hand. He was sweating profusely and his breathing was ragged, as if he’d been running a great distance.

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Penelope asked incredulously.

  “I’ve told you all you need to know. Just do as I say, and we both might get out of this alive.” Stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket, Tonio glanced toward the street, then stiffened, as if spotting something—or someone—that frightened him. He whipped back to Penelope, his expression sending tremors of fear up her spine. “You must get out of Mexico as quickly as possible. Tonight if you can. You have no idea what you’ve landed in the middle of here.”

  “Then tell me—”

  “I’ve warned you,” he said, in that same urgent tone. “The rest is up to you.” He spun away from her and began walking quickly toward the street.

  “Wait!” Penelope hurried to catch up with him, but he deliberately darted into the crowd to lose her.

  Penelope stood frozen, so stunned by his warning that, for a moment, she could do nothing but stare at the spot where he’d vanished.

  And then she saw him.

  The crowd had momentarily parted, and she caught a glimpse of him on the other side of the street.

  Not Tonio Vargas.

  But the man who looked exactly like Simon.

  If Penelope’s heart had been racing before, it pounded now, so painfully she had to struggle for breath. Almost against her will, she started across the street, but the crowd was too dense. Someone grabbed her arm and tried to pull her into the massive human chain that was now winding its way around the square.

  Tearing herself free of the stranger’s grasp, Penelope fought her way through the throng. But when she finally surfaced on the other side of the street, Simon’s double had also vanished.

  She turned, frantically scanning the street in both directions. And then she saw him again. Her pulse quickened, and her mouth went dry with fear, although she didn’t know why. He’d done nothing to warrant the premonition of terror that gripped the back of her neck and sent icy shivers down her spine. He’d done nothing…except look exactly like Simon.

  He stood perhaps twenty yards away in front of a wrought-iron entry that led back into a narrow alley. His focus lingered on Penelope for a moment, then he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

  Penelope hurried after him, but when she came to the gated entry, she told herself she would be crazy to pursue him. She would be asking for trouble if she followed any stranger down a darkened alley, but especially while in a foreign country. Especially after she’d just been warned that her life was in danger.

  “Looking for me?”

  He spoke from the darkness, and Penelope had to grab onto the iron gate as her knees threatened to fold. That voice! She knew it intimately.

  “I thought you must have seen me earlier,” he said in resignation.

  Clutching the spiked rods of the gate, Penelope peered into the darkness. She could hear him clearly, but she couldn’t see him at all. Where was he? Where was he—

  “Over here, Penny.”

  She gave a little cry as her hands tightened on the gate. No one but Simon had ever called her Penny.

  “Simon?” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice. It was whispery soft, almost pleading.

  He moved then so that light from the street slanted across features that she knew so well. The small scar above his mouth. The slightly crooked nose. Those blue, blue eyes…

  She put a trembling hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. Is it really you?”

  His expression darkened. “I know you have questions, but I don’t have time to explain. We have to hurry.”

  The gate swung open, and Penelope stepped through without hesitation. Simon took her hand, and together they ran down the darkened alley. Only when they emerged into a tiny moonlit courtyard did Penelope balk. Too many questions bubbled inside her. She had to know how Simon could be here, with her, when she had been told that he was still in a coma.

  But before she could turn, he moved up behind her and drew her against him—her back to his front—as he wrapped his arms around her. When his lips found her hair, Penelope’s breath came out on a sob.

  The moment was so surreal she thought she might be dreaming, but her senses were keenly alert. She could still hear muted laughter and music from the street and the nearer sound of a trickling fountain. She could smell and feel the night. It was heavy and intoxicating, the scent of danger and jasmine mingling with the tuberos
e she wore in her hair.

  When Simon’s arms tightened around her, Penelope wanted to resist. She wanted to demand how any of this could be real, but the feel of his body against hers was something she’d craved for far too long. She melted into him, letting the back of her head drop against his shoulder.

  He bent so that their cheeks were touching. It was such an intimate sensation. “How can this be?” she whispered. “I just talked to your father. He said—”

  “Shush.” Simon nuzzled her neck. “Don’t talk. I’ll explain everything as soon as I can, but for now there’s only time for this….”

  He cupped her chin and tilted her head for his kiss. The feel of his mouth against hers was familiar, but the way he kissed her was not. He kissed her as he’d never kissed her before. There was no hesitancy and only a hint of gentleness. One arm was still wrapped around her, cradling her breasts, while his other hand stroked her face.

  The kiss was searching and demanding, utterly devastating, but Penelope found herself responding with an abandon that took her by surprise. When Simon’s tongue slipped inside her mouth, she clung to him and shuddered.

  “Am I dreaming?” she whispered against his lips, her heart pounding.

  “Yes,” he murmured, his voice edged with an emotion Penelope couldn’t quite name. “Tonight never happened.”

  And then, before she could ask what he meant, he kissed her again, more tenderly this time, as if he were trying to assuage her fears.

  Something pricked her arm, and Penelope drew back in alarm. A blast sounded nearby. Fireworks, she thought dimly, as colors exploded overhead. Then almost immediately, her head began to spin and her legs turned to water. She reached out blindly for Simon.

  “Help me,” she whispered as she slid into nothing but darkness.

  Chapter Nine

  Penelope awakened the next morning with a pounding headache and a really bad taste in her mouth. With an effort, she lifted herself on her elbows as she realized someone was knocking on her bedroom door.

  “Who is it?” she called weakly.

  “It’s Elena. I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

  “Come in.” Penelope struggled into her robe as the door swung open, and Elena came in carrying a tray laden with goodies.

  She placed it on the bench at the end of the bed and then straightened. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” The sight and smell of the pastries—freshly baked, no doubt—did nothing for Penelope’s weak stomach, but she would kill for a cup of coffee. She rubbed a hand over her scratchy eyes. “What time did I get in last night?” she muttered.

  “It was just after midnight. I heard the car in the driveway.”

  Just after midnight? Why had she stayed out so late? Penelope wondered. What had she been doing all that time?

  Tying one on, if her pounding head was any indication.

  She kneaded her temples, trying to remember. The sunset cruise. The phone call to Simon’s father. The drive into Manzanillo… She remembered all of those things, and then everything faded to black.

  She glanced warily at Elena. “Did you see me last night? Did we speak?”

  Elena kept her eyes lowered as she bent to pour the coffee. “No. I didn’t come out of my room. When I didn’t hear the front door, I assumed you’d come in through the garden.”

  Penelope’s attention shot to the French doors. One of them was ajar, which seemed to confirm Elena’s assumption.

  But even if she had come in by way of the garden, that didn’t explain how she’d managed to drive herself home, put on her pajamas, climb into bed and not have a single memory of doing so.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Elena asked.

  “Yes, please.” Penelope accepted the cup, then lifted the steaming brew to her lips. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “A little after nine. I’m sorry to disturb you so early.” Elena placed a pastry on a delicate gold-rimmed plate. “But there is a man here to see you.”

  “To see me?” Penelope glanced up in surprise. “Who is it?”

  “A policeman.”

  The cup rattled against the saucer as Penelope stared at Elena in shock. “What does he want?”

  She fiddled with the tray, again avoiding Penelope’s eyes. “He didn’t say. Only that he wanted to ask you some questions. I told him that you would need some time to bathe and dress, but he insisted on waiting.”

  Icy dread surged through Penelope’s veins. Had she been involved in an accident last night? She’d never driven under the influence of alcohol in her life, but how else had she gotten home last night? How else to explain the hangover? The memory loss?

  She put a trembling hand to her mouth. What if she’d hurt someone last night? Killed someone?

  “He didn’t say anything else?” she asked hoarsely.

  Elena shook her head. “Only that he would wait for you.”

  Penelope drew a shaky breath. “I’d better go see what he wants.”

  “I wouldn’t rush.” Elena turned and headed for the door. “Finish your coffee. It won’t hurt him to wait a few minutes longer.”

  After she was gone, Penelope somehow managed to place the cup and saucer on the nightstand without scalding herself. Then she fell back against the pillows and squeezed her eyes closed. What had she done last night? Why couldn’t she remember?

  Think! Think!

  The cruise, the phone calls, the celebration in town. Then what?

  Something tantalized the fringes of her memory, but she couldn’t quite grasp it.

  Still trembling, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and as she stood, she put out her hands to steady her balance. The floor seemed to be moving beneath her.

  Gingerly, she made her way into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Then turning on the shower, she stripped and climbed into the stall, hoping the hot water would help clear her mind and settle her stomach.

  It did neither. When she emerged from her bedroom a few minutes later, fully dressed, she still felt shaky and sick.

  The policeman waited for her in the living room. He turned when he heard her approach, then bent to set the cup and saucer he’d been nursing on a nearby table. “Ms. Moon? I’m Sergeant Garcia.”

  “How do you do?” Penelope offered her hand, then realized too late how badly it still trembled.

  Garcia was a tall, good-looking man in his late thirties, with dark, gleaming eyes and a military bearing. Imposing was the first word that came to Penelope’s mind. Intimidating was the second.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

  “May I ask what this is about?” she hedged.

  He motioned to one of the elegant armchairs placed near the fireplace. “Perhaps you’d like to sit first.”

  “Will this take long?” she asked pointedly.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  His smile seemed a bit cool. “On your answers, of course.”

  Behind them, Elena cleared her throat, and Garcia’s gaze moved past Penelope to linger on the beautiful brunette.

  “Would you like coffee?” she asked.

  “No, thank you,” Penelope said, assuming the question was directed at her, since Garcia had barely touched his.

  Elena turned and quickly retreated down the hallway, as if not wanting to be a witness to whatever was about to transpire. Garcia watched until she was out of sight, then he addressed Penelope. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit?”

  Penelope didn’t want to give in to his suggestion, but she had little choice. Her knees wobbled so badly she couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t collapse if she remained standing.

  She took a seat, realizing at once that it put her at a disadvantage to Garcia, who loomed over her.

  “Look, what’s this about?” she asked again, trying her best to sound assertive.

  Instead of answering her, Garcia strode to the windows to glance out at the gardens. He waited several heart
beats, letting the tension mount in the room before he turned.

  “Do you know a man named Tonio Vargas?” he asked unexpectedly.

  “Tonio Vargas?” Penelope said in surprise. “Yes, he’s an acquaintance. I met him for the first time yesterday. We had a business meeting at the Las Hadas resort.”

  Garcia nodded slightly as if he’d anticipated her answer. “Would you mind telling me the nature of this…business meeting?”

  Penelope shrugged. “I work for a museum in Houston, Texas. We’ve made arrangements to exhibit Manuel Vargas’s collection of pre-Columbian dance and ceremonial masks. I was to deliver some papers to him yesterday, but he was feeling under the weather, so Tonio, his son, came instead.”

  “That was the extent of the meeting? You parted on amicable terms?”

  “Yes, of course. Well…” Penelope bit her lip. “There was one thing.”

  Garcia’s expression sharpened. “Yes?”

  “He expressed concern about letting the masks out of his father’s possession.”

  “And you argued about it?”

  Was that eagerness she heard in the sergeant’s voice? Penelope frowned. “Of course not. We each stated our positions, and then he left.”

  “That was the last time you saw him?”

  “I’m…not sure.”

  One brow lifted. “What do you mean, you are not sure?”

  Penelope clasped her hands together in her lap. “I think I saw him later on a yacht. It was getting dark, and he was some distance away…” And he’d been speaking with a man who was a dead ringer for her fiancé, but that was a can of worms she didn’t particularly want to open.

  “He was alone?” Garcia persisted.

  “No, there was someone with him. A man.”

  “Did you recognize this man?”

  Penelope glanced down at her hands. “I thought I did at first, but I was mistaken. I don’t know who he was. Like I said, I don’t even know for sure if the other man I saw was Tonio Vargas.” She hesitated, her gaze lifting to Garcia’s. The policeman’s eyes were cold, dark, fathomless. The only glimmer Penelope could detect seemed to be one of suspicion. She said anxiously, “I’m trying my best to cooperate, but I don’t understand why you’re asking me all these questions about Tonio Vargas. Is there a problem with our permits?”