Postcards From Buenos Aires: The Playboy of Argentina / Kept at the Argentine's Command / One Night, Twin Consequences. Lucy Ellis

Martinez? He was still trying. It was all he had left.

      And as soon as Dante came over, after they’d talked through in detail what he had and hadn’t found, he’d be back on it—like the relentless bloodhound he was.

      Although, he thought as he lifted the whiskey tumbler and made his way through to the kitchen, the hunt for the Martinez brothers was something he’d be keeping to himself. The contacts he’d had to establish, the risks he’d taken to scratch the underbelly of the world they existed in, to breathe that stench again—there was no way he wanted to share any of that with Frankie. He barely wanted Dante to be involved. He didn’t want her exposed to it and, crucially, he didn’t want to increase the risk by widening the circle of knowledge.

      No, he’d shared more than enough with her already.

      He put the glass in the gleaming empty dishwasher, turned to the coffee machine and started it up. There was no point in trying to claw back what had gone. All he could do now was keep a lid on the rest. And, yes, he’d asked her to stay on here—but after the events of last night maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. Not while Dante was due and the chase was still on. Not when he seemed to be in the habit of opening up and blabbing about stuff that no one should have to carry apart from him.

      He shook his head again. What was it about her that she had got him to open up like that? He’d never even come close to it before. Totally uncharacteristic behaviour. He had quite knowingly left Lodo’s picture out in the bedroom, even after she’d asked him about it. With every other woman that picture had been tucked away. He did not sow the seeds of pity—he did not want to harvest their emotions. If he had any sense at all he’d shut his mouth and shut down this obsession that seemed less and less like unfinished business and more and more like an unsolvable problem.