My skin burns from the feel of her palm.

“You think you can do anything, be anything, that you can defy your family with no repercussions. My parents wanted me to marry your father, and I did. I did it because I would never have threatened my family’s reputation as you have, would never have considered defying my parents’ wishes the way you constantly defy ours. You will go to stay with my cousin in Madrid.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you will walk out of this house with the clothes on your back and nothing more.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“So you’ve whored yourself out for that man.”

I don’t bother correcting her.

“Father would never let you throw me out.”

“You’ve gone too far this time. The Preston family is powerful. Senator Preston’s fiancée’s family is equally so. They can ruin everything your father has worked so hard to build. Ruin your sisters’ futures. You can go stay with my cousin, or you can leave.”

“Elisa would never cut me off.”

“Perhaps she wouldn’t. But Maria doesn’t have a choice. And Isabel is just as angry with you as I am. I won’t have you bring this family down. Not after everything we’ve already been through.”

I want to leave. I want to storm out of here, and find Nick, and take back everything I said, tell him I’ll be his mistress, want to wait for him to return to Palm Beach when he can sneak away from Washington—when he can sneak away from his wife.

It would be easier.

It would be easier, and it would be wrong.

I can’t be that woman.

I don’t know what I’ll do in Spain, but at the moment, I’m all out of plans for my future, and the urge to outrun my problems is irresistible.

“Fine. You win. When do I leave?”

* * *

? ? ?

I sit in the Palm Beach airport, waiting for my flight to Spain. My mother was correct; my father put up no protest when he learned I would be joining my mother’s cousin, the relief in his eyes palpable. I mailed a letter to Mr. Dwyer, but I’ve heard nothing back, my departure a rapid one. Elisa and Maria were sad when I told them the news, but I spun it as an adventure abroad. Isabel was more reticent; the guilt in her eyes did nothing to lessen my anger with her.

Does Nick know I’m leaving?

I’ve heard nothing from him since we last parted, and when I took my final walk down the beach, the Palm Beach house looked shuttered now that the season has ended.

The airport is certainly quieter than it was when President Kennedy was in town.

Someone sits next to me in the waiting area near the gate, and I shift in my seat, an arm pressing against mine.

“Where are you headed?”

I jolt at the familiar voice and come face-to-face with Mr. Dwyer.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask.

He smiles. “By now you should realize there’s little I don’t know.”

“Did you receive my letter?”

“No. I heard the whispers. Madrid, is it?”

“I’m sorry. I know you had plans for me, for the Hialeah group.”

Dwyer shrugs. “We’ll just send someone else in. You were right—they aren’t as useful as I’d hoped they’d be, their connection to Fidel far too tenuous.” He glances at his watch. “You still have a bit of time before your flight. Are you here by yourself? No family to see you off?”

Maria is in school, Elisa busy with Miguel. They are the only ones I would have wanted here.

“It’s just me.”

“Good, then have a drink with me.”

I hesitate, Nick’s earlier warnings about Dwyer and the CIA coming back to me again. And still, I’m in this deep already—I agree and follow him to a restaurant. We both order martinis and then the waitress leaves us alone.

“Eduardo is alive,” Dwyer says.

Relief floods me. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. He’s in prison—La Caba?a. Fidel will negotiate his release along with the rest of the prisoners.”

“Was he injured in the invasion?”

“His leg, I believe. But he is very much alive, and all things considered, doing well.”

“Thank you for telling me. I was worried about him. We didn’t know what had happened.”

“I know you’re close, and I thought you would like to know.”

“There are those who say the CIA is responsible for what happened at the Bay of Pigs. Who would lay the blame at your feet.”

“I am sure there are some who would say that.”

“What happened?”

He takes a sip of his martini. “I wish I had the answer to that. It is not nearly as nefarious as some would have you believe. We made a plan. It wasn’t adequate. And more than that, Fidel knew about our plan. Knew we were coming and was prepared.”

“You have a spy in your midst.”

He laughs. “Likely more than one. But how do you root out the spy? It is difficult when you have so many men and women working for you. It could be anyone.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because this doesn’t have to be the end of our relationship.”

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles. “I didn’t mean it like that. Please, Miss Perez, believe it or not, not every man is enraptured by your beauty.”

“I didn’t presume.”

“I’m sure. What I meant was there are other opportunities for a woman like you within the Agency: smart, well-connected, and yes, beautiful.”

“Such as?”

“At the moment, our plan to send you to Cuba is on hold. The timing is not good, the optics are not good, and quite frankly, the president is not pleased with the Agency. Besides, I have some business to take care of in the Dominican Republic.”

“Trujillo?”

The Dominican president gave former Cuban president Batista a temporary safe haven when he fled the country in ’59.

“It is a difficult time to be a dictator in the Caribbean,” Dwyer replies, his expression bland. “Turns out they have short life expectancies.”

I’m more impressed than horrified.

“But have no fear; Castro is still very much a priority. He has decreed that Cuba is to have a socialist government now. He’s abolished elections.”

“I heard.”

“They’re imprisoning rebels,” Dwyer adds. “Executing hundreds. He still hopes to inspire others, to export his brand of revolution to other countries in Latin America. To that end, I have a proposal for you.”

“And what would this proposal entail?”

He takes something out of his pocket and slides it across the table to me.

An airplane ticket.

I scan the details.

“Why London?”

“You once asked me who Claudia was.”

Claudia was the name that got me into the meetings in Hialeah.

“The Cubans are ramping up their intelligence operations—there are rumors that they are establishing a new intelligence section designed to spawn communist fervor around the world,” Dwyer explains. “Idealistic presidents, Congress, and the like don’t hamper them. And don’t think they’re doing it alone. We’re not just fighting the Cubans. We’re fighting the damned Soviets, too.”

“And Claudia?” I ask.

“Claudia worked for Cuban intelligence. Claudia became one of mine. Worked as a double agent of ours. Someone killed her for it.” Dwyer is silent for a beat. “She was young, like you. From a good family—not as prestigious as yours, but still. She was a good agent for us. Her father was murdered by Batista. She believed in the revolution, but Fidel betrayed those beliefs.”

He slides a photograph across the table.

I recognize the woman instantly.

“She was there that night in Harlem.” The sensual brunette. “She warned me off Fidel.”

He smiles fondly. “You were younger then. New to the game. I had to have someone there to keep an eye on you, make sure you didn’t deviate from the plan, make sure you weren’t impulsive.

“She liked you. Thought you had promise.”

“When was she killed?”

“A week ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s always hard to lose assets. But I’m also worried about Claudia’s work for us being compromised, her sources at risk. It’s never just one agent—it’s all the people they were in contact with that you stand to lose as well.”

“What do you want me to do? Why London?”

“Claudia’s former boyfriend is there. His name is Ramon Martinez. He’s a graduate student. He was a double agent for us as well, but his intelligence has been far less impressive, far less reliable.”

“You think he’s a mole; you think he turned her in.”

“I do. At the moment, though, I don’t have proof, and we have to be careful with these agents. We can’t risk burning bridges. We need them to turn against Castro and spy for us. At the same time, someone is feeding intelligence to Fidel. The sort of intelligence that caused the disaster at the Bay of Pigs. I need to know who I can trust.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“We want you to set up a life as a student in London. To cross paths with Ramon. Catch his interest. See if you can discern where his loyalties lie.”

“I would go to university for real.”

“You would. I imagined you would like to study politics.”

“And my living expenses?”