The secondary card. The one Linda carried in her purse “for emergencies.” The one she was currently using to buy Mai Tais and duty-free perfume.
She had hit the daily limit. She had drained the checking account before I could freeze it.
I smiled. It was a dark, grim smile.
If my card was declining, that meant her card—the plastic lifeline she was holding in the middle of the Caribbean—was dead too.
