by Style, Linda
Hell, she was used to wild and crazy—at least when her survival depended on it.
But the urges she was having now had little to do with survival. They had to do with desire and the longtime absence of a physical relationship with a man.
She had a few platonic relationships with men…like Keith, her best hairstylist, and a couple of local businessmen who worked near the First Mane Event and with whom she’d become friends. She was comfortable with that.
But her feelings for Adam were definitely not platonic. So why not take Dana’s suggestion? Why not indulge herself? Have a fling.
Because a fling is all it could ever be with a man like Adam, who believed marriage and family weren’t for him. A man who lived two thousand miles from her, for God’s sake! Talk about geographically undesirable.
But since she understood all that and was okay with it…why not?
Provided, of course, he was interested.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ADAM KEPT A VIGILANT eye on the car, ultra aware of the need for caution. In the past, the area between Puerto Viejo de Talamanca and Cahuita had been a major port for drug runners from Latin America smuggling cocaine into the U.S. It was also one of the routes for smuggling black heroin, which was likely the reason Jack Sullivan had chosen a town nearby for his place of residence.
According to the man who’d rented Adam the car, the area was now rife with bandits and kidnappers looking for rich American tourists whose families might pay exorbitant ransoms to get their loved ones back. Another reason for taking the tackiest car the guy had—he’d never be mistaken for a rich tourist. The rental man had also recommended traveling only during the day, since night travel was especially dangerous.
“Ah, here’s the food.” Adam watched Jillian as their server placed the soup in front of her. When she snatched up her spoon with a ravenous look in her eyes, he said, “Remember, if you don’t eat it, he’ll be insulted.”
“Well, I’m starving, so there’s no need to worry. What’s in it? Do you know?”
“Tripe.”
The spoon slipped from her fingers into the bowl. “Like real tripe?”
He nodded. “Ever had Menudo?”
She shook her head.
“Really? I’m surprised since you lived in California. Menudo is the Mexican version of that—” he pointed to her bowl “—and it’s great for a hangover.”
Adam heard the murmur of voices, male and female, coming from behind the curtain. He couldn’t make out much of what they were saying, but heard the name Corita. He reached into his pocket for the photos. Maybe someone could identify Corita Sullivan from the photo.
A dark-haired, middle-aged woman stepped into the room from behind the curtain. Adam got to his feet and walked over to her.
“Buenas noches,” Adam said, and quickly explained to the woman that Corita Sullivan had written him a letter because she was ill and needed someone to take care of her son. If he could find her, Adam said, he could help. He showed the woman the photos.
The woman shook her head, then asked who Jillian was. Hoping to avoid further explanation about either of them, he said Jillian was the boy’s aunt and was there to help. It worked, because the woman said she didn’t know about the boy but told them where the hospital was located.
Adam thanked her profusely and returned to the table with Jillian again. “Well, you were right. We’re about six miles or so from Mirador. That’s where the hospital is, but apparently, it isn’t open to visitors after seven. We can stay in the city tonight and check with the hospital in the morning.”
“Fine with me. I wouldn’t mind a shower and a nice clean bed.”
“How was the soup?”
She waggled her hand in a so-so gesture. “I think it’s one of those things that you like if you grew up with it, but otherwise…” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose.
He reached for his soup and took a spoonful.
“Maybe the woman will still be at the hospital,” Jillian said. “And tonight at the hotel, we can check the directory for addresses, too.”
“Right.” Though, he was sure finding Sullivan was going to be a bit more difficult than that. “I doubt we’re going to find anything fancy. It’s a small town not even close to any tourist area.”
But it didn’t matter. They were getting closer to finding Jack Sullivan and that’s what mattered. Then it wouldn’t be long before, he’d head back to L.A., and Jillian would go back to Chicago where she belonged.
“As long as it’s a place to shower and sleep, I don’t care what it looks like or how big it is,” Jillian said.
He felt a stab of regret. As much as he hated to admit it, he liked being with her. She was an easy woman to be around. Never complained. In fact, just the opposite, sometimes irritatingly so.
He doubted she’d be that cheery once they found Sullivan, though. She’d soon realize her husband wasn’t the saint she thought he was, and she’d be crushed. The thought grated.
He didn’t like to see anyone get hurt, and he especially didn’t want to see it happen to Jillian. But he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
When they finished, Adam left some colones on the table to pay for their food, and then they were on the road again. Six miles later, they rolled into Mirador. A quaint town with narrow cobblestone streets, sidewalk stores, and cafés. He glanced at Jillian … her hair frizzy and her face flushed from the heat. She looked tired. And beautiful.
She yawned. “I hope we can find a place to stay. I’d hate to have to sleep in—” Suddenly her eyes sparkled with excitement and she smiled. “Listen!”
Marimba music played somewhere nearby.
She straightened. “Oh, and look!” As she pointed to some brightly colored pottery, baskets and rugs on display in front of several small stores, her excitement bubbled up like a kid in Disneyland. He smiled, too.
As they drove farther into town, the streets came alive with people walking, shopping, chatting. Some locals stared at them in the beat-up VW, and others ignored them completely. Adam had to swerve to miss a pair of dogs so skinny their ribs showed. But he didn’t see any places to stay. There had to be a pensión of some kind.
“I don’t see any hotels or motels, do you?” Jillian leaned forward to look out the front window.
He was tempted to say she should’ve stayed in San José as he’d suggested, but looking at her, she was probably thinking the same thing. It was too late for that anyway. He couldn’t take her back now even if he wanted to. They were too close.
Close to finding the man responsible for Bryce’s death.
He took a breath and another glance at Jillian, all expectant and eager to prove him wrong. She truly believed the man she married would never betray her.
His gut knotted every time he thought about it. Even though marriage wasn’t for him, he respected the institution. If a man entered in to it, he had a responsibility to make it work. If he was married to a woman like Jillian…
Hell, he didn’t want to think about that, either.
Irritated at himself for finding her so appealing, he wheeled into a spot along the street and parked. He should’ve learned his lesson with Kate.
His relationship with Kate had affected his judgment and he wasn’t about to let that happen again, especially not with a woman whose husband he planned to take out of commission for the rest of his life.
He climbed from the car. “Stay here with our supplies,” he said, his words sharper than he’d intended. “I’m going to ask if anyone knows where there’s a place to stay.”
***
“There’s the sign. Pensión. Right?” Jillian peered out the window. The place they’d been looking for was two blocks off the main drag, and it looked like someone’s private home.
Adam parked in front of the small white structure. “Let’s check it out.”
They exited the car, locked it and walked to the door together. Greeted by a cheerful man by the name of Alfredo with silver-gray hair and d
eep crinkles around his eyes, they discovered that, yes, he rented out rooms, and they were cheap, too.
Adam paid Alfredo, who handed him a key and said, “Gracias, Señor Ramsey.” He nodded to Jillian. “Señora Ramsey.”
Jillian was about to set him straight, but Adam quickly took her by the arm and led her outside to the car.
“You told him we’re married?”
“All he has is one room, and I didn’t want to take the chance that he wouldn’t rent it to us if we weren’t married. I don’t want to spend the night hunting for other accommodations and maybe end up having to sleep in the car.”
She didn’t like the alternatives, either. Her legs ached, her mouth felt like she’d eaten a bag of cotton balls, and she was sweaty and probably smelled like she’d just run the Boston Marathon. “Okay. Where do we go? Where’s the room?”
“In the back. It has running water, a toilet and a bed. That’s all I know.” As he spoke, he guided her around the building.
She swatted at the insects buzzing her face. “That’s good enough for me. Can we get something to drink, too?”
“The owner is bringing towels and drinks.”
The room was a tiny separate building about ten yards behind the man’s own home. It was smaller than a single-car garage, but had running water, a place to sleep and a bathroom. What more could she want?
They went inside and flicked on the light—a low-wattage bulb hanging in one corner by the bed. Jillian quickly shut the door so the bugs wouldn’t get in.
The bed was supposed to be a double, but looked more like a twin. Hanging above it was a cheesecloth-like contraption dangling from a hook in the ceiling—mosquito netting, Adam said—and beside the bed, a nightstand. The only thing separating the toilet and shower from the bedroom was a thin curtain. There was little room to even turn around in, much less change clothes.
Standing at the end of the bed, she crossed her arms and stared at him. There was no way they could shower and change and be in the same room.
He shrugged. “Hey, I warned you that you’d be better off staying in San José.”
She bit her bottom lip and eyed the narrow bed again. “I didn’t say a thing. I think it’s fine.” She waited a beat before she said, “So. Where are you going to sleep?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he pointed to the side of the bed nearest the door. “Right there, lady.” He walked to one of the windows and threw open the shutters. “Good, there’s a screen. That means we’ll have a little air.” He repeated the process with the other window. “Ah, cross ventilation. Perfect. Provided there’s a breeze.”
O-kay. She took another look around. It wasn’t that bad. She could adjust. She’d certainly done her share of adjusting in her thirty-two years.
She’d managed fine with the less-than-stellar room in San José, the wreck of a car they were driving, the bad roads, the nasty insects, jungle cats and the mondo…mondo—whatever you call it—tripe soup. Primitive accommodations for one night would be no big deal. A shower would be heaven.
It was sleeping with the enemy that bothered her.
Or was he the enemy? His desire to solve her husband’s murder didn’t bother her, of course. But his belief that her husband was guilty of something illegal did. Then again, she couldn’t really blame him. He didn’t know Rob. He only knew what he’d read in the police files, and then he’d seen the photos the woman had sent. He had no reason to believe anything different.
But she knew Rob, and Adam would know soon enough. He’d see he was wrong and she was right. She had to be right.
“Okay. Here’s the plan,” Adam said as he tossed a small duffel bag onto the bed. “I’m going to pull the car around and bring in the rest of the luggage. You can shower or do whatever you need to do while I’m gone.”
She said she’d need ten minutes, so he could come back then. As soon as he left, she undressed and stepped into the coffin-size shower. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe with the closeness of it. Still, the cool water was like a caress, and if she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was under a tropical waterfall somewhere—and that Adam was there with her.
She smiled at the thought, no longer surprised she flirted with such ideas. She couldn’t help but notice his finely honed muscles, and for a big guy, how gracefully he moved.
Abruptly she realized her shampoo was with the rest of her gear in the car, so she quickly scrubbed off using the bar of soap for both body and hair. She’d have a tangled mess when it dried, but so what. Her ten minutes were about done, but the water felt so good, she didn’t want to get out.
She heard a knock. Adam. “I’ll be out in a minute,” she called, turning off the faucets.
Though he hadn’t answered her, she heard rustling in the room and knew he was there. Seeing no towel, she pulled back the wall curtain just a hair to ask for a towel. Seeing a man leaning over the bed rummaging through her small backpack, her breath caught. It wasn’t Adam.
Omigod! She stopped breathing completely, because if this burglar heard her, who knows what he might do. He tossed her backpack aside and grabbed the small duffel bag Adam had left on the bed.
Her heart crashing against her ribs, she silently lowered the curtain and flattened herself against the wall beside the commode. What if he had a gun? Or a knife? Jeez. Where was Adam? Had the burglar knocked him out? Or… Oh, God. She couldn’t even think it. She held her breath and closed her eyes, hoping against hope that the intruder would simply take what he wanted and go. Nothing she owned was important enough to leave her daughter orphaned.
But what if he came into the bathroom? She glanced around, searching for a weapon of some kind. Nothing. Except a large piece of pottery with plastic flowers on the small table next to the sink. She snatched up the vase. Better than nothing.
Chest heaving, and long moments later, she heard a click and then a door closing. After what seemed eons, she craned her neck to peer out the side of the curtain again. The burglar was gone. She was about to heave a sigh of relief when the door flew open.
Adam bounded inside with their two suitcases and dropped them to the floor with a thunk. Heart still hammering, she blurted, “Did you see that man?”
He spun to face her. “Man? You mean Alfredo?” His gaze traveled from her dripping wet hair to her toes. She clutched the curtain tighter.
“No…no,” she sputtered. “A man, a stranger, was in here and he went through our stuff. My backpack. God only knows what he took.”
“When?”
“Just seconds before you returned. You must’ve seen him!”
Almost before the words left her lips, Adam was out the door, but just as quickly he came back and tossed her a towel. “Lock the door after me.”
She caught the towel to her chest.
“You should’ve locked it the first time,” he barked on his way out.
He was right. Wrapping the towel around her, she did as asked. Minutes later, Adam was back again.
“No one’s out there. Whoever it was knows the area and knows where and how to disappear. He probably does this all the time.”
She moved to the bed. “I was just going to see what he took.”
He closed and locked the door and stood with his back against it. “So, check.” Once again his gaze flicked over her.
She hiked up the towel and sidled toward the bed. Not wanting to bend over, she sat on the bed by her backpack and what used to be its contents. “Should we get Alfredo to call the police?”
“Not until we know why we’re calling.”
She checked her wallet and found her identification, money, business cards and passport were still there. “Odd. Nothing’s missing.” She looked up.
He frowned, then sat next to her and started going through his duffel bag.
“You sure?”
“Uh-huh. Did he take anything of yours?”
He pulled some small metallic thing from his bag and gripped it tightly in his hand, his shoulders relaxing. “Nop
e. Everything’s here.”
His leg touched hers and her pulse quickened. From fear or his nearness she didn’t know which. “What do you suppose he was looking for? Drugs?”
“I doubt it. If he was, he’d certainly have taken the money.”
He leaned behind her to reexamine the pile of personal items on the bed, his movement such that he had to place a hand on her upper arm for balance. His hand was warm, and feeling it sent a jolt of electricity through her. He stopped midway, his head next to hers, his mouth near her ear. She heard him draw in a deep breath, as if savoring the scent of her.
She closed her eyes. She wanted him to kiss her.
“Did he see you?” he asked softly.
She opened her eyes. “No, I was in the shower when he came in, so I guess he thought I wouldn’t hear him.
Another knock startled both of them. “Who’s there?” Adam almost growled.
“Alfredo.” Then he rattled off something in Spanish.
“Uno momento,” Adam said. Jamming a hand through his hair, he got up and went to the door. Alfredo was carrying a tray with two glasses filled with a red liquid of some kind.
He saw Jillian’s state of undress and averted his gaze. Then she saw him raise his eyebrows and smile knowingly at Adam as he placed the tray on the nightstand. Adam handed him some colones and he left.
“You didn’t ask him about the burglar.”
“The guy didn’t take anything, so it’s no big deal,” Adam said, his tone sharp.
Self-conscious sitting there in a towel and irritated that she was so easily affected by him, she said, more firmly than she’d wanted, “I don’t agree. Maybe having someone rummage through your things is an everyday occurrence, but it isn’t for me.”
“So what would you like me to do? If I bring it to Alfredo’s attention and he calls the police, we’ll have to wait for them. They won’t come till tomorrow, and we won’t get started when we want to in the morning. In addition, there was no breakin, no robbery. Nothing can be done—believe me, I know.”
“But wouldn’t Alfredo want to know? What if this happens to others and it’s not so innocent?”
