WHAT FOLEY SAYS IS SO RIDICULOUS, IT'S ALL I can do to keep from snickering. But I stay quiet and stare right back at him.

The silence stretches while Foley eyes me. What is he expecting? That I'll crumble under his thousand-mile stare? He's a manipulator and, I suspect, a liar. I'm beginning to really dislike him.

"Wow, Foley, you're pretty good." I let sarcasm drip off each word. "Just the right amount of threat and concern. You've convinced me that I'm the danger to Max, not the vicious, murdering drug lord he's worked to bring down these last two years."

Foley's mask slips. The open, frank expression morphs into anger.

"Max has been in deep cover for years," I say. "He's put his life on the line every day getting close to one of Mexico's most dangerous men. And you tell me he's in trouble now because of me? Why on earth would I believe that?"

Foley comes back to the chair and sinks into it, holding up both hands as if offering up an apology. "You're right, of course. I shouldn't have said that."

"Then why did you? What do you think I know?"

Foley lifts one shoulder. "Where Max is, maybe. What he's doing. Why he's gone off on his own."

For once, it's nice not to have to lie. "I can't answer any of those questions."

His eyes narrow. "You're telling me you haven't had any contact with him?"

Define contact. We spent only a few moments together last night. Hardly qualifies as "contact." And I'm sure Max is long gone from Beso de la Muerte. I shake my head. "I can't help you, Foley. And I don't believe Max has gone off on his own. He's too much of a company man. If he hasn't been in contact for a while, there's a good reason."

I've risen from my chair. Foley stands up, too. He fishes in a jacket pocket and comes up with a card. He holds it out. "Call me if you hear from him."

I push the card away. "When Max shows up, he'll contact his superiors in the DEA. But if he does get in touch, I'll be sure to tell him a friend in the FBI was asking about him."

Again, there's a spark of dark anger that's smothered before it does more than tighten the corners of Foley's mouth. It's instantaneous and almost undetectable. If I weren't such a suspicious bitch, I would have missed it.

Foley realizes I caught his little display of temper, too.

He pushes the card back into his pocket, smiling now with smooth concern. "Have it your way, Ms. Strong. But remember what I said. Max is in trouble. You can believe it or not. I hope you won't have cause to regret refusing my help."

Help? What help?

He tries the stare again, but when I don't stutter my thanks or recant and beg him to stay, he takes his leave.

Williams is back almost before the door closes. His eyebrows lift. "What does the FBI want with Max?"

Good question. I wish I knew.

Williams' phone rings and he crosses the office to answer it, giving me the opportunity to slip away. I feel Williams' thoughts reach out to me, telling me to hang on a minute. I pretend not to get it. All I want to do is be alone to figure out what this "friend" of Max's was really after.

It doesn't make sense.

Not this minute. And not a few minutes later, when I'm sitting behind the wheel of my car, trying to decide what to do. I'm restless and antsy. As far as I know, David and I don't have any jobs today. If I go back to the office, Gloria and her love-struck minion will no doubt try to drag me into their plans for the big party. I need that like a stake through the heart.

My stomach rumbles in distress. Fisher's poison. What I do need is an infusion of good, clean, human blood to rid myself of it. I could head for Beso de la Muerte now, not wait for tonight. Also, Max was just there. I don't expect him to be there still, but maybe he told Culebra something that might point me in the right direction to find him.

Because the one thing I'm sure of is that Max needs to be warned that the FBI is on his tail.