Chapter 3

“What’s

your name?” The cabbie’s voice was a soft growl in the back of his throat.

“Eduardo

Mancini.”

“Spanish?”

“Excuse

me?”

The

cabbie frowned. “You’re Spanish?”

What? “No.”

“Yet

you have a Spanish name.”

Eduardo

tried bluster. “I hardly see why it’s any business of yours what my name is.”

“I

will need it for the police,” the cabbie said, quite coolly.

Eduardo

gaped. “You’re calling the police?”

“You

owe me my fare. I cannot allow passengers to cheat me.”

“I’m

not cheating you! I mean, I know I’m a little short of funds right at this

exact moment, but I assure you I can find you fair recompense if you give me a

little time.” Eduardo wondered why, when he needed to blush to order for a

particular role, he always found it so bloody difficult. Right now, he felt as

hot as if he’d stepped into the Sahara. Lawrence of Arabia, anyone? He

must salt this ghastly experience away for future reference on the stage.