Vicente reached for the door but stopped. “Where’s your phone?” he asked.
“In my backpack.”
“Give it to me.” He held out his hand.
She hesitated.
“Give it to me!” The firmness in his voice didn’t allow for arguing.
She took out the phone and handed it over. Vicente removed the SIM card and tossed the phone against the far wall, like it was trash.
“My phone!”
He then crushed the SIM card with the heel of his shoe.
“What are you doing?”
He ignored her protests and opened the door, scanning the area before motioning for her to follow. As they moved down the walkway, Shanice’s eyes darted around the neighborhood. A neighbor across the street was peeping around the curtains.
Vicente stopped suddenly, and she bumped into him from behind. The man was pure muscle—hard and coiled muscle. He was staring at the house across the street—the one where the tech guy lived. The front door was wide open and all the windows dark. It looked eerily empty.
“Hurry,” he said.
Shanice scrambled into the car and Vicente rushed around to the driver side. This wasn’t the gray Nissan he’d brought her home in. This was a black, older model Ford Mustang and better fit this man who had fought off a series of assailants.
He slotted the gun into a black metal holster mounted below the steering column, and the magnetic pull snapped the weapon into place. With the barrel pointed at the floor, it would be easy for him to yank out the gun and start firing if necessary.
“Hang on.”
Shanice gripped the roof handle as he pressed the accelerator to the floor. He swung a hard left into the street, tires squealing as the tread skidded on the road’s surface to gain traction. Suddenly, a shot cracked through the air, and the back passenger window disintegrated into pieces. Shanice cried out and ducked. Shards of glass scattered across the back seat and nicked the arm holding onto the handle. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man dressed in all black come running from the house.
“Get down!” Vicente growled.
He grabbed her neck and pushed her lower in the car. Whimpering, Shanice squeezed her eyes shut. The shivers started again, fear beating relentlessly in her skull and causing crippling terror and anxiety.
Police sirens sounded in the distance. She was partially relieved, but how the hell would they explain everything that had happened here tonight?
Five dead men, Beatrice’s house wrecked and riddled with bullet holes, and broken glass all over the kitchen floor. Now this—more gunshots in the middle of the street!
Vicente slammed on the brakes, and her head lightly bumped the glove compartment. Opening one eye, Shanice saw him glare at the rear-view mirror. The shots had stopped.
What was he doing? They could get away. All he had to do was drive. Vicente shoved the gear into reverse and propelled the car backward.
Shanice shut her eye again. No, no, no.
More shots rang out. Vicente propelled the vehicle backward at a breakneck speed. She felt a right turn and then…thump. The Mustang hit something—or rather, someone. The man must have tried to get out of the way, but Vicente turned and hit him anyway.
She heard the body roll over the top and down across the hood. Vicente slammed on the brakes again, and they jerked to a stop.
“Hang on.”
He pulled off and ran over the man a second time! The car bounced over the body in a bumpy ride, like traveling over rough, unpaved terrain.
“Oh my god,” she squeaked.
Once again on the smooth surface of the street, Shanice slowly lifted her head. The sirens were coming closer, from the west. Vicente drove faster and hung a hard left, going east. They careened away from the approaching police and headed in the opposite direction.
Shanice gripped the door handle so hard her fingers ached. She glanced at the man beside her. He seemed bigger now with the torn off sleeves and exposed muscle, and clearly a killing machine.
She swallowed hard but remained silent as they drove through the streets. He slowed down when they hit the highway and drove more in line with the rest of the cars. No doubt to keep from attracting too much attention. After a few minutes, they pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket.
“I’ll be right back.”
Shanice simply nodded. Where the hell was she going to go? She was scared shitless. If he hadn’t shown up, she could have died tonight. But was she safe with him?
She watched him walk away, his steps more self-assured than the man she’d originally met. His voice was different, too. He not only sounded more confident, his voice was deeper. Everything about him had been fake.
Vicente pulled up beside her in another car, a black Toyota sedan.
He got out and yanked open her door. “Get in.”
Too numb to do anything but exactly what he said, Shanice clutched her backpack to her chest and climbed into the passenger side of the car. She sank into the soft gray seat and inhaled deeply of the pine air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror. The car seemed completely normal, and she could almost be lulled into believing that what she’d experienced tonight was not so bad and stealing someone else’s transportation was an excusable offense, considering they were on the run from killers. But her mind couldn’t quite make the leap, no matter how comfy the seats or normal the scent of air freshener in the vehicle.
Vicente took items from inside the Mustang and dumped them into a duffle bag he pulled from the trunk. He swapped the license plates, tossed the bag into the back seat of the Toyota, and climbed behind the steering wheel. Then they were off.
Knots tortured Shanice’s stomach. She didn’t know what to think. What the hell was happening?
She shrank against the door, clutching the backpack to her bosom. Outside the window, Miami went by in a stream of cars and lights.
Yesterday she’d eaten dinner in a fine dining restaurant and kissed this man outside her house—her body still tingling long after he’d left and she lay in bed alone. Their budding relationship had seemed so romantic and wonderful, but now she imagined the worst.
To think, she’d fantasized about having sex with this man, after meeting him ten days ago and going on one date.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He glanced at her but didn’t respond.
“You’re not an accountant…are you?”
He briefly looked at her again, the lights of oncoming vehicles trailing across his crooked nose and high cheekbones. He still didn’t answer the question. He simply returned his gaze to the road.
Shanice hugged herself and prayed that everything would be okay.
Who was Vicente Diaz, and what had she gotten herself into this time?
11
“You’ll be safe here.”
Cruz dropped his duffle bag and other items on the floor and locked the door from the inside using a key. They’d dumped the car a couple of blocks back and walked to this studio apartment in North Miami, on the second floor of a mostly empty three-story building. A king bed dominated much of the space, and there was a kitchenette, and a blinds-covered window that looked onto the alley below let in a little light.
The apartment was smaller and darker than the place Miles had set up under the Vicente alias. Cruz hadn’t been here in a long time, but he liked the neighborhood because it was in a high-crime area where everyone minded their own business.
Shanice stared at him from the doorway, backpack on her shoulder and arms crossed over her torso in a protective gesture. He knew she must have a slew of questions to ask.
“Are you going to explain what’s going on?” she asked.
“Yes, but you need to sit down first.”
“I don’t need to sit down first! Who are you?” she demanded. “Because there’s no way the average accountant has the ability to kill a bunch of men, steal a car, and have a secret hideout in one of the roughest neighborhoods in the city.”
Even with the scared expression on her face, she was still a beautiful woman.
“If I didn’t kill them, they would have killed you.”
“And how exactly did you know I was in danger? How did you know to show up?”
He hesitated, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. “I planted listening devices in your home. I’d followed you from work and was nearby and listening when I heard you were in trouble.”
Her eyes opened to the size of dinner plates. “What? You were spying on me? What the hell is going on!” She was shaking, on the verge of hyperventilating.
He took a cautious step toward her. “Shanice, calm down.”
“I will not calm down.”
She started breathing very fast. With the adrenaline gone, the stress of the past hour was hitting her. She dropped the backpack to the floor and clutched her chest.
Vicente rushed over, and she lifted a hand to fend him off, but he scooped her up in his arms and strode over to the bed. He set her down and crouched before her.
“Cup your hands and breathe into them. Slowly… Yes, like that.”
She repeated the breathing technique, and after a couple of minutes her breathing was back to normal.
He looked into her eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“You’ve been spying on me, and after what I saw tonight, I’m not so sure.” She swallowed. “What do you want?”
“What makes you think I want something?”
She laughed bitterly. “Because the first man you killed wanted something, and if you were listening, I have to assume you want the same thing. I’m sure you heard him.”
“I did. Do you have it?”
“Have what?”
“The data.”
“If you were listening, you heard my answer.” She stared angrily at him then ducked her gaze.
“This isn’t a game, Shanice,” Vicente said with a thread of steel in his voice. “It’s a matter of national security. People’s lives are at risk.”
She looked at him again. “Who are you? FBI?”
“No, but I can’t tell you who I’m working for.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about any data,” she snapped.
“We both know that’s not true.”
“No, we don’t. I—” She paused, a frown wrinkling her brow. “Wait a minute, is that why you started dating me?”
Cruz didn’t reply.
Her mouth fell open. “I’m right, aren’t I? You asked me out, pretended to like me, even kissed me, because you thought I had something you wanted. How far were you going to go? Were you going to fuck me, too?”
Her lower lip trembled and the hurt in her eyes indicted him for his dishonesty. Mierda.
Jaw tightening, she lifted her head higher. “Well you wasted your precious time taking me to dinner and pretending to like poetry to get close to me. All that work, and you’ll have nothing to show for your fake attention.”
He’d enjoyed talking books and poetry with her on their only date. None of that had been fake. Neither had his feelings been fake. He did like her and he liked kissing her—a lot.
“I wasn’t faking.”
Eyes blazing with fury, she pointed a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare pretend that you felt anything more than you did. You’re a liar and a fraud. Your name isn’t even Vicente, is it? Everything has been a lie. You wanted something from me and did whatever you needed to, to get it. And I was too foolish to figure it out. Goodness, you’re good. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have what you’re looking for.”
Underneath the anger, he heard the pain his ruse had caused. Despite what she believed, he had never meant to hurt her. But this was not the time to get sentimental. He had a mission to accomplish, and love and affection did not go hand-in-hand with death and espionage.
“I’m not the only one lying.”
“I am not lying!” She jumped up from the bed. “I don’t know anything. Can I go now?”
He stood too, towering over her. “No.”
“I’ll scream.”
“Scream all you want. No one will hear you, and if they did, they wouldn’t care.” He decided to try another tactic. “It’s late, and you’ve been through a lot. We should get some sleep and talk in the morning.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Well, I am. Killing all those men took a lot out of me,” he said sarcastically.
Her eyes traveled over him, taking in the blood-spattered white shirt and the blood on his hands. He suffered some bruises and had gotten a few nicks from rolling in glass, but otherwise he was in good shape. Nothing a few hours’ rest wouldn’t fix.
“There’s only one bed,” she said in a thick voice.
“That’s right. We’ll be sharing it.”
“I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
He shrugged. “You can sleep on the floor, if you like. Or sit up all night in that chair.” He pointed to the rolling chair pushed under the desk against the wall.
“I’m the guest. You should let me have the bed.”
“Not tonight, mami.”
Sharing a bed with her was not his best idea. He’d probably be hard as a rock within minutes of lying next to her, but that was the only option tonight because he intended to get a good night’s rest, on a mattress.
She hugged herself and watched as he took an extra pillow from the closet and kicked off his shoes.
“I have to pee,” she announced.
Vicente pointed to the right of the bed. “Bathroom is through that door.”
“I want to take a shower, too. I feel…icky. I always take a shower at night. But you probably already know that, since you’ve been spying on me.”
He was two seconds away from throttling her. He shot her a tight smile. “There’s soap and towels in the bathroom.”
Shanice picked up her backpack.
“Where are you going with that?” Vicente asked.
“My toothbrush and toiletries are in here.” She walked toward the bathroom.
“Don’t take forever. I need to wash up, too.”
She closed the door and he heard the lock engage.
Shanice rested her forehead against the door. What a freaking night! Vicente wasn’t who he said he was, and someone had sent a team to kill her. How did they find her? Was it possible she couldn’t even trust the FBI?
She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath.
Now she was in an even worse situation than before because she didn’t have a phone or a safe home. Being with Vicente didn’t make her feel truly safe because she didn’t know him. She cringed as she remembered last night’s kiss and how much she’d ached for him to make love to her. What a fool she’d been.
She needed to bide her time until the right moment to get away because she didn’t trust him. He knew about the list and said he wasn’t FBI, yet he couldn’t tell her who he worked for. Well, that wasn’t good enough.
She turned away from the door and examined the interior of the bathroom. It was small, with a frosted window next to the commode. Wondering if it led to the alley they accessed to enter the building, she pushed to lift it up. Fortunately, it wasn’t painted shut. It squeaked a little bit, so she raised it up very slowly to limit the noise. At the same time, she listened for movement from Vicente.
Standing on tiptoe, she peered out. The alley was right there, one floor below, and a main street ran perpendicular to it. In the dim light, she saw a dumpster, and if she landed on that, the drop wouldn’t be too bad. Then she could get away. This might be her way out.
With a burst of excitement, Shanice grabbed her backpack.
Vicente rapped on the door and she jumped. “Are you all right in there?” he called.
“Yes, I’m fine. Can I have a little time alone, please?”
“Just checking on you.”
“I’m about to get in the shower.”
She turned on the water and then climbed onto the lid of the toilet. W
ith her backpack over one arm, since she couldn’t put it on her back if she wanted to fit through the window, she hoisted herself up.
She didn’t have a whole lot of time and didn’t want to be in there too long because Vicente would become suspicious. She climbed out and onto the ledge created from a joint where Vicente’s apartment connected with the one below. Very carefully, keeping her chest pressed to the dirty brick wall, Shanice shifted the bag onto her back and prepared for the next step. She had to be very, very careful.
Balancing precariously, she lay flat on the narrow ledge and then slid sideways so her feet dangled over the edge.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down, she told herself repeatedly.
With a quick prayer in the hope she wouldn’t injure herself, she shifted the rest of her body over the ledge. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the upper body strength needed to hold on. Her fingers slipped and she grappled not to lose her grip. With a small cry, she dropped onto the dumpster with a loud thump.
Out of breath, on her sore bottom, and with bruised fingertips, she wiggled her hands and feet and realized she hadn’t been badly hurt. Her pride had taken the worst beating.
Grinning, she looked up at the window and shook her head. One of these days, she’d go back to her normal, easy-going life. Until then, she had to find a new hiding place and figure out what to do next.
Shanice climbed off the dumpster and dusted off her clothes. With a brisk walk, she took off for the street that crossed the alley…and came to an abrupt halt. Fear jumped into her throat.
Vicente stood in the doorway where they’d entered earlier. He looked completely at ease, arms crossed over his massive chest, umber eyes flinty and filled with accusation.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
Until Now (Plan B Book 1) Page 7
