The house in Zapopan grew cold after nine o’clock, the high plaster ceilings holding the chill of the early spring rain.

I sat at the small walnut desk in the corner of the library, lit only by the green glass shade of a desk lamp.

Spread across the blotter were carbon copies of the commercial lease deeds Samuel had given me.

Something vibrated softly in my skirt pocket.

I took out my second phone, the private number only Samuel knew.

I pressed the phone to my ear.

“Yes, Samuel?”