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.Her friends, most of them married couples with meaningful jobs in advertising or insurance, no longer seemed to have anything in common with her.The rounds of barbecues, beach volleyball, and discos belonged to someone else, someone who lay buried in San Pablo with a childhood dream.She ran into Soledad by accident one day, on Rodeo Drive of all places, and for a moment they’d circled each other like wary dogs, sniffing for danger.Then Soledad’s darkly beautiful face broke into a smile, and she’d held out her slender arms and cried, “Give your stepmama a kiss, little one.” And to Maddy’s amazement, she had.Perhaps it was Soledad’s undisguised venom toward all and sundry that was so refreshing.Or her passionate devotion to sloth, high living, and clothes that had little to do with pretensions and everything to do with being a wealthy widow.Or perhaps it was just the fact that they’d both loved the same men.For there was no question that Soledad had been in love with Jake Murphy in her own, lackadaisical way, and the terrifying, grief-benumbed trip they’d shared from Puerta Pelota back to the U.S.had cemented their odd relationship.Soledad went through men at an amazing rate, yet there always seemed to be hordes waiting to take the last one’s place.They were all very young, very handsome, and, to Maddy’s amazement, very rich.Even in her hedonistic fervor Soledad had a head on her shoulders.“Let me arrange a little something for you, Maddy,” she’d suggested over cobb salad at the Rusty Pelican.“I know any number of handsome, inventive young men who would adore to make La Patronita forget her broken heart.”Maddy had shook her head, smiling.“Broken hearts take at least eight months to heal, mi madrastra.It’s only been six.”Soledad had acquiesced.“As you say.But in two months’ time expect a six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound present awaiting you on your doorstep in Hermosa Beach.”And during the sunlight and shadows of those six months of mourning, only one thing had the ability to frighten both of them: word of Carlos the Jackal’s reign of terror.There was no doubt that Morosa’s government would lie about the atrocities.No question but that they’d use propaganda, falsified photographs, lying witnesses, and altered documents to blacken the name of the man who was rapidly becoming one of the most well-known leaders of the Patronistas.But there was also no doubt that the hollow-eyed refugees who crowded through the offices of La Patronita would have no reason to lie.And Carlos the Jackal frightened them very much indeed.Soledad had simply shrugged her shapely shoulders when Maddy had questioned her about it.“That Carlos, he was always a little mad, yes? Jake kept him under control most of the time, but he never trusted him.The danger with Carlos, daughter, is that he’s a fanatic, just like your father.He doesn’t care about himself, about human life, about anything more than his bloody cause.And that’s the most dangerous man of all.Give me a bad, selfish man over a saint any day.” She fanned herself vigorously.“Well, he’s no longer any concern of ours,” Maddy had replied doubtfully.Soledad smiled.“Perhaps not, as long as he stays in San Pablo.”“Why would he leave?”“I have no idea.But then, I have never understood the working of Carlos’s mind.Let us hope for both our sakes that he stays put.I wouldn’t think he’d be pleased at our norteamericano lifestyle.He wasn’t able to make use of your father’s death.He might not be adverse to having one of us take his place.”Maddy shuddered.“Don’t even mention such a thing, mamacita.I have enough on my mind.” It had amused the two of them to call each other mother and daughter.Even though Soledad was actually two years younger than her tall, slim stepdaughter, it entertained her to watch people’s reactions when she introduced her.Maddy had no objections.She would have claimed anyone as her mother rather than Helen.Her house was cool and dark as she let herself in that afternoon, and the sea breeze brought a freshening to the dead air of late summer.Tossing the stack of letters on her glass-topped coffee table, Maddy headed straight for the refrigerator, kicking off her sandals as she went.A few minutes later she sank down on the sofa, her bare feet on the table in front of her, a can of Tab in her hand, as she flicked on the remote-control switch for the TV and began to delve through the bills, advertising, charity appeals, and circulars that comprised her mail.Dan Rather was off that night, and she paid little attention to his replacement, sorting through her mail with half a mind trying to decide whether to go for a walk before or after dinner, when a name caught her attention.“The latest delegation from San Pablo arrived in Washington today, headed by General Anastasio Ortega, to try to talk the U.S.Congress into reinstating military aid for that besieged country.This will be the fourth such mission …”Maddy stared at the TV, at the smiling, handsome face of Ortega, clad in his natty gray uniform glittering with medals and orders and not a weapon in sight, and her hands clenched into fists.He’d been the one in charge of the shelling of civilians in that aging hacienda, and now he was in Washington to bleat about the peaceful efforts of the Morosa government.He must have heard her thoughts.“I plan a great many things for this visit,” he said smoothly
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