Daniel Cooper, seated at a small round table in a corner of the lobby with a glass of Perrier before him, watched Tracy as she greeted her escort, and he felt a sense of enormous power: Justice is mine, sayeth the Lord, and I am His sword and his instrument of vengeance. My life is a penance, and you shall help me pay. I’m going to punish you.
Cooper knew that no police force in the world was clever enough to catch Tracy Whitney. But I am, Cooper thought. She belongs to me.
Tracy had become more than an assignment to Daniel Cooper: She had become an obsession. He carried her photographs and file with him everywhere, and at night before he went to sleep, he lovingly pored over them. He had arrived in Biarritz too late to catch her, and she had eluded him in Majorca, but now that Interpol had picked up her trail again, Cooper was determined not to lose it.
He dreamed about Tracy at night. She was in a giant cage, naked, pleading with him to set her free. I love you, he said, but I’ll never set you free.
The Jockey was a small, elegant restaurant on Amador de los Ríos.
“The food here is superb,” Jeff promised.
He was looking particularly handsome, Tracy thought. There was an inner excitement about him that matched Tracy’s, and she knew why: They were competing with each other, matching wits in a game for high stakes. But I’m going to win, Tracy thought. I’m going to find a way to steal that painting from the Prado before he does.
“There’s a strange rumor around,” Jeff was saying.
She focused her attention on him. “What kind of rumor?”
“Have you ever heard of Daniel Cooper? He’s an insurance investigator, very bright.”
“No. What about him?”
“Be careful. He’s dangerous. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Don’t worry.”
“But I have been, Tracy.”
She laughed. “About me? Why?”
He put a hand over hers and said lightly, “You’re very special. Life is more interesting with you around, my love.”
He’s so damned convincing, Tracy thought. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe him.
“Let’s order,” Tracy said. “I’m starved.”
In the days that followed, Jeff and Tracy explored Madrid. They were never alone. Two of Commandant Ramiro’s men followed them everywhere, accompanied by the strange American. Ramiro had given permission for Cooper to be a part of the surveillance team simply to keep the man out of his hair. The American was loco, convinced that the Whitney woman was somehow going to steal some great treasure from under the noses of the police. ¡Qué ridículo!
Tracy and Jeff dined at Madrid’s classic restaurants—Horcher, the Principe de Viana, and Casa Botín—but Jeff also knew the places undiscovered by tourists: Casa Paco and La Chuletta and El Lacón, where he and Tracy dined on delicious native stews like cocido madrileño and olla podrida, and then visited a small bar where they had delicious tapas.
Wherever they went, Daniel Cooper and the two detectives were never far behind.
Watching them from a careful distance, Daniel Cooper was puzzled by Jeff Stevens’s role in the drama that was being played out. Who was he? Tracy’s next victim? Or were they plotting something together?
Cooper talked to Commandant Ramiro. “What information do you have on Jeff Stevens?” Cooper asked.
“Nada. He has no criminal record and is registered as a tourist. I think he is just a companion the lady picked up.”
Cooper’s instincts told him differently. But it was not Jeff Stevens he was after. Tracy, he thought. I want you, Tracy.
When Tracy and Jeff returned to the Ritz at the end of a late evening, Jeff escorted Tracy to her door. “Why don’t I come in for a nightcap?” he suggested.
Tracy was almost tempted. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Think of me as your sister, Jeff.”
“What’s your position on incest?”
But she had closed the door.
A few minutes later he telephoned her from his room. “How would you like to spend tomorrow with me in Segovia? It’s a fascinating old city just a few hours outside of Madrid.”