by Beverly Long
“They finally did it, huh?” she asked before she could think better of it. His sister Elsa had been the sister that Meg had never had. And always wanted. Her husband had been transferred from Chicago to Texas a few years after Meg and Cruz had married. “You know, I thought about calling your sister after I moved here. But I wasn’t sure anybody in your family wanted to hear from me,” she admitted.
Cruz shrugged. “The two of you were friends. Just because we’re no longer married, that doesn’t have to change.”
He was wrong. Everything changed when you got divorced. Family banded together and friends had to pick sides. At least she hadn’t stayed in the same town. Their friends hadn’t had to choose whether it would be him or her that got invited to the next dinner party.
She wondered how many invitations he’d accepted. He was too good-looking, too nice, to be alone for long.
“Really, Cruz,” she said, her voice sounding loud in the small car. “I insist. It’s too much for me to ask. You should go home.”
“I’m staying,” he repeated.
He’s staying. Part of her wanted to get down and kiss the hard, sunbaked ground. Cruz was a good cop. Even when he’d been young and fresh out of the academy and his friends were still idiots on Friday nights, he’d taken his responsibilities to serve and protect seriously.
Don’t you dare lie to me. His buddies on the force used to tease him after a few beers. It was well-known that whenever Cruz interrogated a witness or a suspect and hissed those words, that he was dead serious. The man hated being lied to. And given that her entire life was one big lie, she was the absolute worst person for him to fall in love with.
She’d loved him since their third date. He’d taken her to Wrigley Field, bought her hot dogs and cold beer, and broken the third finger on his left hand protecting her face from a fly ball. They spent an hour in the emergency room and another twelve in his bed. She’d married him that Christmas and six years later they were still on the road to happily ever after. She’d actually begun to believe that her past didn’t matter, that maybe it was possible to put it all behind her.
He didn’t want children. She’d assumed it had something to do with growing up poor and having had the responsibility of helping raise his younger brothers and sisters. He told her on their second date that he’d changed all the dirty diapers he intended to ever change. No procreation for him.
It was perfect. And it stayed that way for a long time.
Then his brother’s wife had gotten pregnant. Then his sister. Another sister-in-law. It was an avalanche of babies. And he’d suddenly started hinting around that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they had a little Montoya of their own.
She’d had no alternative but to leave. She couldn’t tell him the truth. She’d spent a lifetime weaving a series of lies so tight that no one would have ever guessed the havoc she’d wreaked. It had been a wide path of destruction. Broken marriages, families fleeing their houses in the dark of the night and a thing so horrible she never said the words out loud.
If he knew the truth, he’d have never trusted her with any child and definitely not his child.
“What are you going to do about clothes?” he asked, whipping her back to the present. “I don’t think there was much in your closet that wasn’t sprayed with paint.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got some suits at the dry cleaners. I keep an extra pair of shoes at work, too. I can pick up the rest of what I’ll need in the short-term.”
“You’re being pretty calm about this,” he said.
She wasn’t calm. She felt exposed and dirty and it was a terrible thing to believe that somebody wanted to deliberately hurt her. When the threats had started, she’d been shaken. Who wouldn’t have been? She’d picked up her voice mail only to hear some distorted voice ramble on about killing her. Then she’d gotten a letter in the mail. Words cut out of a magazine and pasted on a page, just like in the movies. The message had been short but not sweet. You need to pay for what you did.
She’d wanted to tear up the letter and pretend that it had never come. But Charlotte had seen the mail—there was no going backward. Meg had shown Scott the letter and told him about the telephone message. Together, they’d called the police. When Detective Myers probed about possible suspects, she’d told him the truth. She had no idea.
She’d never suspected Cruz. Certainly hadn’t given Scott any reason to think that Cruz could be involved. But now he was caught up in it.
He deserved better. He’d always deserved better than her. The only solution was to get him to leave San Antonio.
“I need to see Scott,” she said, as he pulled the rental car into a stall in the parking deck. She could see the tightening of his jaw muscles.
“Do whatever you need to do,” he said, his voice stiff. “I’m going to get a room.”
She put a hand out, grabbing his bare arm. His skin was cold from the blasting air-conditioning and the muscles in his forearms were tight. It brought back sudden memories of cool naked skin and him balanced over her, weight on his arms, just before he took her.
She jerked her hand away. “Our rooms are really expensive,” she warned, her voice cracking.
He raised his eyebrows. “You think I couldn’t tell that from the lobby? I can afford it, Meg. I haven’t had much else to spend my money on this last year.”
She’d hurt him badly. It made her ache. “Well, you shouldn’t spend what you have here. Detective Myers seems very capable.” She got out of the car, shut the door hard, and quickly walked toward the garage elevator. He caught up with her in just a few strides.
“Why the hell don’t you want me here?” he demanded.
She whirled on him. “I hurt you, Cruz. I know that. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But we both need to move on. And neither one of us can do that if you’re here.”
She could see the rapid beat of his heart in the hollow of his neck. “I won’t leave knowing that you’re in danger. I’m a good cop, Meg. I can help Myers. Let me start with the list of people who’ve been fired from this hotel in the last year.”
“That’s confidential information.”
“I don’t care. You’ve got an in with the boss,” he said, his voice getting loud. “He’s got the authority to give me the names. Ask him. Or I will.”
She let out a big huff of breath. Then she raised her index finger and pointed toward the lobby. “Fine.”
“I’m not sure what Myers asked for but I want name, address, phone, emergency contact information, title, dates of employment and reason they were let go. I imagine you’ve got all that in some database.”
They did. She nodded.
“Pictures, too,” he said.
“We don’t keep that in the human resources system.”
“Yeah, but I bet you do in your security system. Every time somebody gets their picture taken for a swipe card, a copy is probably stored in your system.”
“I’ll have to check. Detective Myers didn’t ask for them.”
“He should have,” Cruz said, shaking his head.
“He seems competent,” she said, not knowing exactly why she felt compelled to defend the detective. Maybe because she hadn’t been married to him and he didn’t have the ability to make her want the things she couldn’t have. “I’ll talk to Scott about the list.”
“Thank you.” His voice was softer now. “When you find out what room you’re staying in, I want the one next to it. Make sure there are interior connecting doors.”
She started to protest but he held up a hand. “It’s not going to do me much good if something happens and I’m sixteen floors away.”
Meg resisted the urge to scream in frustration and went to find Scott. He was talking on the telephone but he waved her into the room and motioned for her to take a chair.
Scott Slater was a nice man. He worked hard, treated his employees fairly. They’d been peers in Chicago and she’d been genuinely happy for him when he’d gotten the pr
omotion and a chance to run a hotel in San Antonio. When she’d had to suddenly leave Chicago just months later, he’d been a godsend. She’d called and inquired and he’d offered her a job without asking any questions.
In the past year, they’d worked hard to build the infrastructure that it took to keep a six-hundred-room hotel operating smoothly. In the past three months, they’d had dinner a few times. They’d talked about work, mostly.
It had been fine. And wasn’t that enough? She’d had a great love. Now what she needed was companionship. Common interests. Strong regard.
Ugh.
Maybe she should get a dog.
Scott hung up the phone. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“My condo was vandalized. Really wrecked, actually.” She said it calmly, as if she were reporting on the monthly financials. Nobody needed to know that her insides were churning and every time she closed her eyes she could see the cascade of broken cutlery strewn across the kitchen counter. “I’m going to need a place to stay. I was hoping I could have a room here.”
He stood up and came around the front of the desk. He stood close. “Of course. I’ll give you one of the executive suites. But, Meg, this is getting ridiculous. First your car, then your apartment. What do the police think?”
“They don’t know what to think.”
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “You know that...I care about you.”
She did. On their last date, two months ago, they’d gone to one of the new Japanese restaurants. When he’d taken her home and tried to kiss her, she’d tensed up like a board. Embarrassed, she’d mumbled something about needing more time and he’d backed off.
They hadn’t been out again and Scott had never mentioned it. When they were in public, he was always absolutely appropriate. But when they were alone, his glances lingered, his smile was more intimate.
He was being a gentleman, biding his time.
It made her feel even worse that she’d let him be the fall guy when she’d needed an excuse to leave Cruz. During their marriage, Cruz had mentioned a couple times that he thought Scott was interested in more than her work ethic. So he’d readily believed her when she’d told him that Scott had asked her to be with him in San Antonio. Had let Cruz believe the worst.
She was going to be walking a tightrope with both of them in the same city.
“I mentioned Cruz to the police,” Scott admitted. “I know you were adamant that he couldn’t have had anything to do with the threats but I couldn’t be as sure.”
“I understand. It’s okay. He thinks he might be able to help. He’d like the room next to mine. Just in case, you know.”
Scott drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, now I’m a little sorry I offered up his name.”
She nodded. That made two of them. “He’ll be here a few days at the most,” she said.
Scott picked up his phone and arranged for Meg’s and Cruz’s rooms. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.
“Can I share the list of terminated employees with Cruz?”
Scott nodded. “Give him whatever you think will be helpful. I want this to be over. And I want him back in Chicago,” he added wryly.
“Me, too,” she said. She turned and walked out of the office. Cruz Montoya had been the first man she’d loved. She suspected he would be the only man she’d ever love. And Scott deserved better than that. Once this craziness was over and Cruz was back in Chicago, she was going to tell him so. Maybe it would mean the end of their working relationship. If so, she’d have to deal with that.
As she walked down the hallway, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She was surprised when Charlotte picked up.
“Hey, what are you still doing there?” Meg asked. “I was going to leave a message for tomorrow.”
“Just finishing up some things. I checked your speech for tomorrow night, made sure the changes were there. Then I ran the financials that you’ll need next week.”
Meg was insanely glad to be talking about work. Where she felt in control. Competent. Energized.
Or she used to, anyway. Someone was intent upon spoiling the salvation she’d clung to for the past year.
“Thank you so much,” she said. Charlotte was amazing. If Meg worked a twelve-hour day, Charlotte stayed for thirteen. “Well, go home soon,” Meg ordered lightly. “Your mom will be worried.”
“I promise. She won’t call you again.”
“You know I didn’t think anything of that,” Meg said. “She’s sweet.”
“Maybe,” Charlotte said, her tone noncommittal. “That’s what I get for letting her move in. Anyway, what’s with the salad on the desk?”
Meg had forgotten about that. “I’ll get it in the morning,” she said.
“Already done,” Charlotte assured her. “Everything okay? I heard about your car.”
That hit a nerve. She hated it when people talked about her. “From?”
“Sanjoi in Security. I think he figured I knew.”
She said it casually but Meg caught the inference. I should have known.
Charlotte liked to be in the know. And in control. The woman was practically a machine when it came to running the office—details didn’t get missed, appointments didn’t get forgotten, reports were never late. Well, sometimes she did forget to tell Meg that Scott had called but the woman handled a frightening amount of work with relative ease.
“Do the police think it has anything to do with that letter you received?” Charlotte asked.
“Perhaps. They’re investigating. In fact, that’s why I’m calling. Can you run me a report? I need...”
Meg gave her the details, including the need for pictures from the security system. Charlotte assured her that she’d get the information right away and put it on Meg’s desk.
Meg ended the conversation without telling Charlotte that she was staying at the hotel, with her ex-husband a mere doorway away. She’d have to tell her eventually but after the day she’d had, she just didn’t have the strength to stand up to Charlotte’s inevitable questions.
She took the elevator back to the lobby, turned the corner and saw Cruz standing to the left of the gleaming wood and marble registration counter, feet spread hip-distance apart, arms crossed over his chest. Six feet of hard muscle and grim determination watching everybody and everything that was going on. His medium-sized duffel bag was sitting next to him. She suspected it was filled with more T-shirts and cargo shorts.
“Everything settled?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ll get your room key and you can get unpacked. If you’re hungry, the restaurant in the hotel has pretty good food or there are all kinds of places along the River Walk.”
He studied her. “What are your plans?”
“Well, I guess my first stop is the dry cleaner. I want to get there before they close. Then I’ll swing by my office, do some work for a while, and pick up the list you requested. I’ll slide it under your door.”
“I’m going with you,” he said. “Dry cleaner, then dinner. Together.”
Didn’t he understand? She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of slipping back, even an inch, into the past—to when things had been easy between the two of them. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“Come on, Meg. Cut me some slack. And yourself, too. I’ve been traveling since early morning. I missed lunch and you didn’t eat much of your salad. Can’t we just run the errands and have dinner? Can we keep this simple just for tonight?”
She wanted to say no. But what he said made sense. And she didn’t want to stand in the lobby arguing about it. A couple of the registration representatives were already craning their necks, hoping to get a better view. The grapevine was alive and blooming and the story would grow exponentially by morning, until the truth was unrecognizable. Meg Montoya had a fight with a guest. She pushed him, he fell backward, hit his head and now the hotel is getting sued. Or some version of that.
“Oh, fine. But don’t expect me to give in this e
asy every time.”
Chapter Three
Outside Meg’s room, Cruz took her key card and unlocked the door. He pushed it open with his foot and scanned the room. Larger than he expected but then again, it appeared she was a big deal. Sr. Vice President. She’d been a director in Chicago.
Obviously, Slater had offered more than just a warm bed.
The room had blond wood floors, lots of blues and greens, and a king-size bed. One step down there was a sitting area with a couch and a big flat-screen television. The sliding glass door at the far end was closed but the vertical blinds had been tilted just enough to let the late-afternoon sunshine spill in and dance across the glossy floor. He glanced into the bathroom. Big shower, plenty of towels and one of those stupid sinks that sat on the counter.
He hadn’t been in a room this nice since...hell, since he and Meg had celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary on Mackinaw Island in Michigan. They’d made the reservation at the Grand Hotel and had joked that this time, they would manage to see the island, something they hadn’t accomplished on their honeymoon when their focus had been on indoor activities.
They’d been wrong. The bike shorts had never even come out of the suitcase. And most of the meals had been delivered by room service. Cruz had gone back to work a very happy man.
He’d never dreamed that it would all fall apart a year later. He looked at Meg, wondering if she was remembering. But her face was blank and she was looking at her watch.
He crossed the room, checked to make sure the slider had a safety bar at the bottom, and then stepped toward the door that connected the two rooms. He flipped the bolt. “Keep this unlocked,” he said. She nodded, still clearly not happy that he was staying.
Tough. She’d probably be unhappier if she were dead.
He didn’t intend to let the son of a bitch who’d trashed her car and apartment anywhere near her. He might not have Slater’s ability to kiss corporate ass but he was good at his job. Really good. He would keep her safe. And he would make sure that the person responsible for terrorizing her and putting the fear into her eyes was strung up and left swinging in the wind.
