Had he pricked the jealousy of some unimaginably wealthy industrialist who wanted her for himself? Yet Lisa implied she’d had liaisons with many men. Even so, what harm could there be in her meeting once or twice with some innocent, love-struck engineer from the Southwest?

Something didn’t add up. Several somethings. Usually such puzzles were glass to Eric, who amazed his friends at parties and gatherings with his uncanny ability to solve the most complex new game or riddle in minutes. A quirky talent useful only for amusing one’s friends and making life a little easier. It failed him now. He had no idea what was happening.

Is this what it feels like to be hunted?

He turned a corner and in the same movement slipped into a restaurant under the cover of the busy lunchtime crowd. Hunted … it sounded like something from a cheap opto. If anything, he still felt more confused than pursued. Take it one thing at a time, he told himself.

If they’d located his hotel, then it was likely they knew he’d visited Lisa. She didn’t know, he was certain, or she would have said something to him. Had she been trying to do that every time she’d told him to leave? He wasn’t sure.

He relaxed a little as he settled into a chair behind a back corner table. How much did she feel for him? He chose to believe what he’d seen in her eyes as they’d parted instead of what she’d said with her words. Love was possible. As long as he had that hope to cling to, no one and nothing was going to drive him out of this city.

Someone was standing in front of his table. Eric knew instantly it wasn’t one of the waiters.

The man was stocky and dark and of indeterminate age. He might be thirty-five … or fifty-five. His black hair was wavy and combed straight back from forehead and temples. The sideburns were cut short and peppered with white, as was the thin, heavily waxed moustache. Chubby cheeks and a round nose gave him the appearance of Santa Claus the morning after.

His accent was thick and vaguely Middle Eastern, each word accented as distinctively as its owner’s appearance. His attire was neat and inconspicuous.

“How do you do, Mr. Abbott? My name is Kemal Tarragon.” He nodded toward the empty chair opposite Eric. “May I please sit down?”

Customers and waiters swirled behind the intruder. Eric could not tell which, or how many, were genuine and which in the employ of this stranger. Evidently the man noticed his gaze.

“Not to worry, Mr. Abbott. I am alone. You could leave if you wished, but keep in mind that I found you here. It would be aggravating but not impossible to find you someplace else.”

Eric offered an ingenuous smile and wished he’d had more practice at this. “You must be mistaken. My name’s John Frazier.”

“I must be mistaken indeed. I thought it was James Lawson. Or was it James Frazier and John Lawson? Too many aliases can become an encumbrance and draw attention instead of diverting it.”

Eric kept one eye on the door and freedom. “Sorry. I’m new at all this.”

“Then accept my congratulations. For a novice you’ve done quite well.” Tarragon nodded toward the chair a second time. Eric waved absently at the air.

“Yes, sit down,” he said disgustedly. “How did you find me?”

“You can alter many things, Mr. Abbott. Your name, your credit card ident—” Eric started to rise and Tarragon put up a restraining hand. “Please relax. I have no intention of reporting that bit of naughtiness to the Nueva York authorities or to anyone else who might be interested.”

Eric frowned. “You’re not with the police, then?”

“No.” The man tried to smile ingratiatingly but his face wasn’t designed for it. “The one thing you can’t change, or rather didn’t change, is your face.”

“I’m fond of this face. It may not be much but it’s done all right by the rest of me.”

Tarragon nodded knowingly, as though listening to the replay of a conversation heard many times before.

“You made things difficult for us. Not because you’re good at it, but because you moved fast, very fast. What put us on to you in the first place was two badly damaged gentlemen who had the misfortune to try to strong-arm you back in Phoenix. I must say you don’t look like an expert in self-defense.”

“I’m not. I got lucky.”

“I’ll accept that. I’m not really interested in what happened. Clumsy, that pair. As soon as they’re recovered enough, I’m going to have them fired.”

“Those two work for you?” Eric said quickly.

“No, not really.”

“What the hell d’you mean, ‘not really’? Either they do or they don’t.”

“Not really,” said the man with maddening assurance. Eric let it pass.

“If you’re not a cop, who do you work for? And what do you want with me?”

“I don’t want anything with you, Mr. Abbott. Actually, I want as little to do with you as possible. Tell me, though. What is your interest in Lisa Tambor?”

Eric had hoped this question wouldn’t come up, desperately wished this man was interested in him for some other reason. It was no good. Logic had a way of catching up with you no matter how much you tried avoiding it. This Tarragon talked slowly but was about as dense as vacuum. Eric considered a number of possible fabrications and discarded them all. Why go to all that trouble? Since he couldn’t fool the man with aliases, why bother to try with more elaborate lies? Might as well tell him the truth.

“I’m in love with her.”

Tarragon sat and looked thoughtful. “That’s most interesting. I suspected it, you know, but you shouldn’t be.”

“Sorry. Life would be a lot simpler all around if I wasn’t.”

“Agreed. Aren’t you going to order?” He nudged a menu across the table. “My treat.”

“Thanks anyway. I’ve kind of lost my appetite.”

“Shame. This place isn’t bad if you stick to the sandwiches and avoid the main courses. Their baklava is junk, though.”

“Tarragon’s a funny name.”

“My family had a thing for spices. I have a sister named Cinnamon. My brothers and I were luckier. You can’t be in love with Lisa Tambor.”

“Funny. She told me the same thing.”

“She told you straight, then. You have my sympathy, Mr. Abbott. Now I must ask you to pack your things and go back to Phoenix and forget all about this.”

Everything Lisa had said, this stranger was repeating, Eric thought. At least there’d been no mention of the break-in and miraculous escape from the Harlem Towers. Perhaps they hadn’t connected him to that yet. They still might. The two security guards who’d surprised him in the Magdalena office had taken long looks at him before he’d fled. They should be able to identify him on sight.

That hinted that Tarragon was telling the truth about not being a cop. No mention had been made of arrest. Indeed, he’d disclaimed any interest in such matters. So far there’d been no threats. Only a mild ultimatum.

“Are you sure you’re telling me everything, Mr. Abbott? You came all the way from Phoenix to Nueva York because you fell in love with a glimpse of Lisa Tambor? That is a serious question, and this is a serious business. I am not ready to accept this as a simple case of postadolescent puppy love.”

“Don’t you think it’s serious to me?” Eric half shouted, a little self-righteous anger rising to the surface. “My whole life’s been disrupted, torn up.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve managed to disrupt a number of other lives as well. Important lives.”

“Good. Look, I still don’t understand what’s going on here. What’s so serious about my falling in love with Lisa Tambor? What’s so impossible about it?”

“It’s an aberration, Mr. Abbott.”

“Not to my way of thinking.”