“Harping? I don’t harp. It’s called, I’m-your-sister-and-I-have-a-right-to-be-concerned.” In a visible huff, she planted her butt in the chair opposite her husband and crossed her long legs.

Blu gestured toward Ry. “I was hoping once you married him, Chili, he’d take up all your worrying time.”

His pet nickname for his sister didn’t soften her. “I have plenty of ‘worrying time’ for all of my family. But in your case—”

“Easy, baby,” Ry warned.

Margo brushed her black hair off her shoulders, her gaze locked on Blu as she talked to her husband. “I can’t help it, Ry. He promised me he would take better care of himself after nearly getting killed last year. And as far as I can see, he doesn’t look like he’s keeping his promise. I’ll just bet Patch Pollaro is behind this.”

“I told you, I quit him. Go down to the Red Lizard and ask Patch if he’s seen me lately. He’ll tell you he hasn’t laid eyes on me in a year. I’m officially retired. I’m no longer breaking arms or fingers at a hundred dollars a pop.”

Blu watched his sister squeeze her eyes shut in disgust.

“Don’t talk about it.”

“You brought it up.”

“Then let’s drop it.”

Blu was about to agree when his stomach growled.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t eaten yet today? A shrimper who goes hungry.” Margo shook her head. “Honestly, Blu, it’s not like food is hard to come by. You just throw the nets out and—”

Blu threw up his hands and looked to Ry for help. “Now she’s attacking the way I eat. And this is the woman you chose to wake up next to for the rest of your life?”

“And they say men don’t whine.” Margo stood and gave Ry her full attention. “I guess I’m off to feed him. Do you want— What’s that on your shirt, honey?”

“Coffee.”

“Coffee? Ry, coffee stains. I just bought you that shirt. Last night it was butter. This morning it’s coffee. Do you think I should make an eye appointment for you?”

Ry scowled at his wife. “Because your old man’s eyesight is failing?”

The mischief in Margo duFray ran deep. And, like her brother, if she chose to remain stone sober a crow-bar couldn’t make her crack a smile. “It’s not my fault you’re cresting the hill, honey. If you need glasses—”

“I can still pick a lock, can’t I?”

“Yes. Last night you actually—”

“This is sweet,” Blu interjected, “but could we—”

Margo rounded on her brother. “How would you know anything about sweet? Who have you been practicing on lately?”

“No one. I don’t date, remember?”

“No, but you should. There’s this new waitress at the Toucan who—”

“Is very nice,” Blu finished. “Forget it.”

“What’s wrong with nice?”

“Nothing.”

“So you never plan on bringing anyone to Sunday dinner? Never?”

“Never isn’t a word I feel comfortable using, but it probably fits in this instance.”

Blu knew Margo’s concern for him was genuine. She had sacrificed a great deal for him last year. She’d taken a bullet in her arm, a bullet that had been meant for him. She’d survived the ordeal, and now that she’d been reunited with the only man she’d ever loved, her current mission was to find her outlaw brother a nice wife.

Blu’s stomach growled again.

“I heard that. Come on. While I’m feeding you, I’ll tell you about Sharon.”

“Sharon?”

“The nice girl at the Toucan.”

As Margo passed through the door, Blu hung back. “Thanks for your time, Ry. Tell Jackson I’ll be anxious to hear anything he finds out. Oh, and make sure you take care of my sister in Texas. She’s hard to live with most days, but I wouldn’t want to have to try living without her.”

The devil’s lair was a pigsty. Kristen crept inside the desecrated apartment, her eyes wide with disbelief. How could anyone live in such a depressing place, she thought, as she scaled the stairs and entered the apartment at the top of the landing.

The air smelled old and damp, and she wrinkled her nose, unconsciously wiped her hands on her jeans-clad thighs. There was no place to cook a meal, no chairs or table. Nothing but an old mattress lay in the far corner.

The bathroom—Kristen stuck her head inside a small archway and found a dingy yellowed sink, a toilet in worse condition, and a shower stall rimmed on all sides with rust. Suddenly she felt lucky that she had found the women’s shelter on Carmel Avenue. She couldn’t afford to stay in a motel, and an apartment such as this would have been no place for Amanda. The shelter was clean, and the food tasty and regular. And there was this wonderful nun named Sister Marian who had befriended them. That’s who had lent her the black habit yesterday, and who had agreed to baby-sit Amanda today while she was out.

Kristen released a defeated sigh. Yesterday she had hoped that the Blu Devil would recognize her, and when he hadn’t… Well, maybe he didn’t know her, but he certainly knew Salva. That’s why she was in his apartment—to find evidence he had lied. Evidence that might give her another clue as to who she was and where she belonged.

She had stared at his photo a number of times on the sailboat, then on the airplane. As wary as she was of the man and his possible connection to Salva, she’d started hoping he was her brother, or maybe a mean cousin who valued family. She’d imagined him seeing through her nun’s disguise and telling her that he was thrilled she was alive and well. Then he’d call her by name and take her home to meet the rest of her family—all ten brothers who looked as tough and solid as he did.

Fairy-tale garbage, is what it all was. The Blu Devil couldn’t possibly be related to her. Kristen glanced around the room and shuddered. No, she couldn’t be related to anyone who lived like this.

Exhausted, she admitted her bravado was slipping. She was confused and afraid. She wanted to go home, but the only home she remembered was the one on the island and she didn’t intend to go back there. Not ever.

Salva would be searching for her by now, and just thinking about how he would punish her if he ever found her made her sick to her stomach. He had contacts all over the country. Once he’d turned Belize upside down, she was sure he would dissect the coastal towns one by one.

She would have gone to the police if she hadn’t been so afraid that Salva was telling the truth about her fugitive status. She didn’t feel like a criminal, but she couldn’t take the chance. Not with Amanda’s future hanging in the balance.

But all was not lost. At least, not yet anyway. Yesterday when she’d asked to see the Blu Devil’s hand and it was free of Salva’s mark, she had actually felt momentarily dizzy with relief. The Blu Devil was not one of them—he didn’t carry the Maland dagger insignia tattooed into the palm of his left hand. And if he wasn’t one of them, then it was quite possible he was Salva’s enemy. That would explain the picture—her husband was big on vendettas. Once he’d had a statue constructed in a man’s likeness just so he could destroy it piece by piece over a week’s time.

Kristen had watched the Blu Devil for three days before she’d approached him. What she’d learned wasn’t anything concrete, but she had come to realize that, physically, he was an iron man. That his fleet of shrimpers docked full daily, and that he was always the last man to leave the wharf at the end of the day.

In the midst of her musing, Kristen heard footsteps on the stairs. Jerked back to the present, she sucked in her breath. Was it him? Had the Blu Devil come home? No, it couldn’t be him. What would he be doing here at this time of day?

She glanced around, knowing there was no place to hide—she couldn’t even crawl under the bed.

Filled with a sudden urgency, Kristen dashed for the door and flung it open. Bolting into the hall, she knew she had only a few seconds before whoever was climbing the stairs reached the landing. With no time to lose, she grabbed for the first doorknob she came to and nearly stumbled over her own feet to get inside. Heart pounding, she eased the door closed, hoping she hadn’t made too much noise. Her gaze took in the room in one quick glance. The rundown apartment was no better than the one she’d just vacated. In fact, it was exactly the same—bare of furniture, with only a mattress in the corner.