Secure Location

by Beverly Long

  “Charlotte mentioned getting a nightcap. Can you join us?” Slater asked.

  “I’m sure the police are going to want to talk to her,” Charlotte said. “She can’t just go running out of here.”

  Charlotte was right. But it wasn’t as if Meg was the type to run away from her responsibilities.

  Meg didn’t seem to take offense, however. “You’re right, Charlotte,” she said. “Please, go without me. Who knows how long this will take?”

  * * *

  IT TOOK ANOTHER ninety minutes. By the time Meg finished giving the police her statement, the waitstaff had gone home. The tables were completely stripped with the exception of a few rogue salt shakers. Dirty linens were piled in one corner of the room and chairs stacked in the other.

  They’d had question after question but she hadn’t been able to tell them much. All she could remember was the panic. Hers. When she’d heard Cruz’s shout to get back, she’d turned her head, only to see him jump up onto the table to face a knife-wielding maniac.

  He hadn’t hesitated. Not for a second.

  He’d saved her life. And maybe others, too.

  “Thank you,” she said. It was inadequate but she felt compelled to say something once they finally got cleared to go. They waited for the elevator. It was the first time they’d been alone since the event had occurred.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was hoping this was over.”

  “Me, too.” The enormity of the situation had hit her hard about fifteen minutes earlier when Detective Myers, who had been called in, had confided that they weren’t confident that the attacker had anything to do with the threats she’d received or the damage to her car or house. The attacker had denied it and seemed to have an alibi that would hold up.

  Myers had explained that the man had hidden in the hotel for hours and during the confusion of everyone entering the ballroom, had come in through a side door. He’d taken a seat at a table that had an open chair and acted as if he had every right to be there.

  Cruz had listened to the detective’s explanation and his jaw had gotten so tight that she was surprised it hadn’t cracked. Now, he simply looked as if he were simmering, about to boil over.

  “Want to get a drink?” she asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. She understood. She hadn’t exactly been extending the olive branch lately. But the very last thing she wanted was to go back to her hotel room and go to bed, only to stare at the white ceiling and think about all of this for one more minute.

  She wanted to forget it. Forget everything. Just forget. “This hotel has a nice bar in the lower level.”

  “I guess I wouldn’t turn down a beer.”

  Five minutes later, they slid into a corner booth. The room was dark, a little noisy, offering just the right insulation from the rest of the world. She considered the wine list but ordered a margarita instead. It came in a pretty glass with salt on the rim and tasted so good. When she ordered her second, Cruz asked for some chips and salsa, too.

  Five minutes later, he pushed the chip bowl toward her and pulled her drink away. “You might want to slow down a little,” he said. She shook her head, reached for her drink and took another big swallow.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she said. Now she did reach for the chips. He couldn’t expect her to spill her guts if her mouth was full. If she didn’t want to think about it, then she sure as heck didn’t want to talk about it.

  The salsa was gone and almost all the chips by the time the waitress swung back around for the third time. Meg pointed to her glass and smiled.

  “We ought to go,” Cruz said.

  The waitress paused, looked from one to another.

  “Not yet,” Meg said.

  Cruz shook his head and motioned for another beer. “I hate to see a lady drink alone,” he said, just as soon as the waitress was out of hearing distance.

  By the time Meg finished her third margarita, her cheeks were feeling numb and she was pleasantly relaxed. And she wasn’t thinking of anything. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She was thinking of how handsome Cruz was. And nice. Patient.

  She wasn’t a drinker. He knew that. But he also seemed to understand that she needed to numb her mind. He wasn’t lecturing or chiding, he was simply sitting back, nursing his own beers.

  “I suppose we should go,” she said.

  “Okay.” He stood up. She did the same. When she swayed just a little, Cruz cupped her elbow with his hand. He motioned to the waitress who hurried over with the check. Cruz looked at it briefly, threw some bills on the table and guided her toward the door.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Sure you are,” he said. He held up an arm to flag down a cab. “We probably should walk it off but until this guy is caught, I don’t like the idea of you being in the open. Too many nooks and crannies for the crazies to hide in.”

  Meg slid into the cab and closed her eyes. She was so tired. It seemed as if she hadn’t slept in days. When they got to the front door of her hotel, she forced herself to perk up. Security watched the entrances 24/7 and she didn’t want it circulating through the break room that she’d dragged herself in, looking like death warmed over.

  The absurdity of it hit her, almost making her stumble. A man with a knife had almost attacked her. She had a right to be a little upset, didn’t she? But no. She wanted everyone to think she was just fine.

  Because she always wanted everyone to think everything was just fine.

  When nothing had really been fine for a long time.

  She stood in the empty hallway while Cruz quickly checked both their rooms. When he motioned that she could enter, she sank into a corner chair, dropping her purse next to her feet. She slipped off the heels that were starting to hurt.

  “You should get some sleep,” Cruz said. He remained near the door, his stance alert.

  “I want another drink,” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “I’m a big girl, Cruz. I can have another drink if I want it.” She knew she sounded childish.

  He didn’t respond. Just moved slowly over to the bed and sat down at the end. He removed his own shoes, his necktie and cummerbund and lay back. He folded his arms, propped them under his head like a pillow, and closed his eyes. “Drink away,” he said. “Just don’t leave the room.”

  There wasn’t much chance of that. She’d slept with Cruz for six years. The man could hear a pin drop. She’d turn the doorknob and he’d have her spread-eagle, smelling the carpet.

  “Not to worry,” she mumbled. She opened the minibar, peered at the contents, once again considered the red wine, but decided on a beer. She figured it would mix better with the margaritas. Instead of chips, there were peanuts.

  She sat back in her chair, nursed her beer, nibbled on the peanuts and studied Cruz.

  He was so darn handsome. He’d inherited his mother’s high cheekbones and her smooth, mocha skin tone. His thick, dark hair wasn’t silky—no that was too feminine of a word. It was...smooth, sensual. When they were open, his dark eyes were wise, having seen all kinds of bad and good in the world.

  She’d never meet anyone like him again. She’d never love anyone like she’d loved him.

  Pain squeezed her middle, making it hard to breathe.

  She’d given him up. Had walked away and tried not to look back. Had faced the knowledge that one day she’d stumble across him on Facebook, with one arm around his wife, the other cradling his children. And she’d think about sending him a message.

  So happy you moved on.

  Chapter Thirty-Two of the Big Lie.

  But fate had intervened and now he was lying on her bed. And she didn’t want to be reasonable or pragmatic or even kind.

  She wanted to be carefree and spontaneous and maybe even a little selfish. She set her unfinished beer on the floor and stood up. She unzipped her dress, slipped her arms out and let the gown fall to the floor.

  For several minutes
she stood perfectly still, in panties and a strapless bra, watching Cruz. He hadn’t moved. His breathing hadn’t changed.

  And she almost chickened out.

  But she wanted him with a desperation that bordered on insanity.

  She unsnapped her bra, took off her panties and stepped over her discarded clothes. She approached the bed and reached for the buckle on his belt.

  Chapter Nine

  Cruz grabbed her wrist and opened his eyes. Her face was pale, her eyes big and her sweet lips were pressed together in fierce concentration. “What the hell are you doing?” he snarled.

  He’d been a wreck since he’d heard her stand up and unzip her dress. He’d waited, expecting her to go to her room. Had been prepared to spend another night thinking about her, dreaming about what it would be like to hold her again, to slip inside her.

  Then he’d heard the soft sound of the material hitting the carpet and knew that she was almost naked.

  It was a miracle his own zipper had held up.

  She stared at him. “I want to have sex with you,” she said finally.

  Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. “You’ve had too much to drink, Meg. Go to bed.” He let go of her wrist and scooted farther up on the mattress, away from her.

  “I’m not drunk, Cruz. I know what I’m doing.”

  She straightened up and stood before him. And damn it, he looked. Like a condemned man staring at his last days of freedom, he drank in the sight.

  Breasts, firm yet so soft with pale pink nipples. High ribs, slim waist, narrow hips. So feminine with her long legs and pale skin that had freckles in the most interesting places.

  He felt hot and edgy and he clenched and unclenched his hand to release some of the tension. “This isn’t a game you’re playing, Meg.”

  She put a knee on the bed.

  “Look,” he said. “I appreciate the offer but—”

  Other knee on the bed. Less than a foot separated them. She was killing him.

  She reached out, letting her fingers dance across his thigh, then higher. Her fingers rested on the thin material of his tuxedo pants. Then she gently stroked the length of him.

  He wanted to push himself into her hand, her mouth. He wanted to roll her underneath him and not stop until one of them passed out.

  But he kept still. Somehow.

  “Please?” she asked.

  Damn. He’d never been able to refuse her anything. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to start tonight.

  He sat up, cupped one hand around the back of her head and pulled her close. And he kissed her. Softly, at first. Then she opened her mouth and drew him in.

  So familiar. So new.

  He shifted, pulling her down next to him. Her skin was warm and he could smell the sweet scent of her wanting him. “Last chance to walk away,” he whispered, his tone deliberately light.

  She shook her head. And when she reached for his belt this time, he didn’t stop her.

  * * *

  MEG WOKE UP when Cruz’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the clock next to the bed and was surprised to see that it was almost 9:00 a.m. She never slept that late, even on the weekends.

  She hadn’t gotten all that much sleep. She and Cruz had made love three times. The first time had been frenzied, both of them so needy that it seemed as if they would inhale each other. The second and third times had been different. No less passion, no smaller fireworks, but still calmer, more soothing, more sensual.

  There wasn’t a spot on her body that he hadn’t touched, kissed, loved. The man had always been an energetic lover but last night he’d seemed driven to take her to new heights.

  And she’d been happy to go there. Had been delighted to see his response to her touch, had felt the desire tear through her when she’d known his release was near.

  Now he had his big body curled around her, her back to his front. And by the feel of things, he was ready for round four.

  “Are you going to answer that?” she asked.

  He reached his arm out to the bedside table and picked up his cell phone to peer at the number. “It’s my sister,” he mumbled. “I’ll call her back.”

  She scooted away. “Take it. I have to pee anyway.”

  When she came back to the bed, he was still on the phone. He’d moved and was sitting up, a pen in his hand, a hotel notepad resting on the blanket that covered him. He was smiling, looking slightly amused.

  “Congratulations,” he said. “I always thought you were a pit bull. Those other sales reps didn’t have a chance.” He listened, then glanced at Meg. His voice got more serious. “I’m not exactly here on a vacation,” he said. “I’m...helping Meg.”

  She sat down on the bed. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “Hang on, sis.” He held the phone up against his chest. “My sister won a sales contest. It’s a trip to Las Vegas. It’s this weekend. Her husband is out of town on a business trip. She had a babysitter lined up but the woman has the flu. So she doesn’t have anybody to watch her little girl.”

  “Oh.” Meg could feel her heart rate accelerate. Elsa didn’t have any other family in Texas. “You should do it,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “We’re not any closer to finding the creep who’s been hassling you.”

  “Maybe because he’s not any closer to me. Maybe he’s had his fun and he’s moved on to his next victim.”

  He hesitated and then put the phone back to his ear. “As usual your big brother can bail you out. Drop off the rug rat anytime. I’ll have her tossing back shots by noon.”

  He listened, laughed and said goodbye. When he clicked the end button, he was shaking his head.

  “This should be fun,” he said. “Where should we take her for lunch?”

  We. Elsa’s little girl would be almost four, twice the age of Missy when she’d died.

  Meg could feel her chest pull even tighter. She felt light-headed, almost dizzy.

  She couldn’t help Cruz. She couldn’t watch over a child. She just couldn’t.

  “I...I have to work, Cruz. There’s no way I can help you.”

  He cocked his head. “You have to work all weekend?” he asked, his tone puzzled but still pleasant.

  “Yes. Yes, I do. Scott gave me a special project. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  She could see the muscles in Cruz’s jaw tighten. “I’m not trying to get in the way of your work, Meg. But I thought we might spend some time together. Especially after last night.”

  He sounded so wounded that she almost caved. But if he knew about the past, he’d realize that both he and his niece were better off without her.

  “Last night was...nice. But it didn’t change anything.”

  “Nice?” He threw off the blanket, grabbed his briefs off the floor and yanked them on. Then he started to pace around the room. “Are you kidding me?” He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. “Nice?” His voice was louder, harsher. “Thanks for the time in the sack, Cruz. I had an itch and you scratched it so very nicely. Now, I’m good to go for another year or so—” he threw her a look that could kill “—or until I get up close and friendly with my boss.”

  She felt stiff and old and so brittle that if she bumped into anything little pieces would fall off. With as much dignity as she could, given that she was still naked, she gathered up her discarded clothes from the night before and walked over to the connecting door. She paused, her back to him. Without turning she said, “For what it’s worth, Cruz, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Then she walked into her room, dumped her clothes in a pile, stepped into the shower and started to cry.

  Chapter Ten

  Cruz stood in the lobby of the hotel and drank his coffee. It was hot and strong, just the way he liked it. But there was nothing that could take away the bitter taste in his mouth.

  He’d been a damn idiot. Had opened up the playbook and read something into last night that wasn’t on the page. All Meg had been looking
for was a few hours of hot sex. She’d tried to drink her way to oblivion but when that didn’t work, she’d decided to screw her way to it.

  He crushed his now-empty paper cup. He wanted to hate her for it. At the very least, he wanted to be able to walk away from her.

  But he couldn’t do either. It wasn’t her fault that he’d made it more than it was. She hadn’t promised anything. Certainly hadn’t pledged her love. Had simply gone for his belt buckle and he’d been happy to let her nimble fingers and other equally pliant parts do their thing.

  Just sex. That’s all it was.

  Amazing sex. So good that after she went to her room to shower, he’d gone from being so angry that the top of his head might blow off to thinking that maybe once a year was enough. He’d finished getting dressed, then stepped out into the empty hallway to wait for in-house security to arrive. All the while debating the merits of an arrangement where they would meet at an off-the-grid spot, screw each other blind and go about their merry way until the next year.

  He thought he’d seen an old movie with a similar story line. But damned if he could remember if there’d been a happy ending.

  When Tim Burtiss had gotten off the elevator, Cruz had filled him in quickly. While Meg wasn’t necessarily in any more danger than she had been the night before, the attack at the dinner was too fresh in his mind. It appeared to be absolutely unrelated but in his gut he felt as if things were close to coming to a head.

  He’d advised the security guard that Meg was getting dressed and intended to go to her office. The young man promised to stick with her until she returned to the room at the end of the day.

  Now Cruz dropped his mangled coffee cup into the fancy trash container and was considering buying another cup when he saw his sister pull up. He went outside to help her with Jana.

  “Morning, Cruz,” Elsa said, giving him a hard hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey, sis. You’re looking good,” he added.

  “Oh, thanks. This is my ‘harried mother, forgot her favorite book’ look.”