“Sit with me!” Letty glanced at her watch as she stood. Seven-oh-five. Fifty-five minutes until her rendezvous with Javier at the east end of the island. She grabbed one of her wineglasses and Fitch’s. He was already tugging the cork out of the bottle as she walked over. Letty said, “Here you go and leave, and I was just on the verge of making a beautiful toast.” She tried to hand Fitch his wineglass. “We’ll toast with this instead,” he said, showing her the bottle—Macallan 1926. “Oh, I’m not too much of a scotch girl.” “I understand, but this is really something. You couldn’t not love this.” “Now I’m losing my nerve.” She thought she registered a flash of something behind his eyes—rage? But they quickly softened.
