“Was your mother-in-law home last night when we were making our rounds?” Paulo asked.
“Yes. But she never answers the door. Talking to strangers makes her nervous.” Kristin hesitated, then added almost apologetically, “She doesn’t speak very much English.”
“Where’s she from?” Donovan asked.
“Mexico.” Kristin glanced at Paulo. “I’m hoping you speak Spanish, Detective Sanchez. I’m learning, but I still have a long way to go. Oh, here she is now,” she said, rising from her chair as a petite, middle-aged Hispanic woman wearing a floral-print housedress and slippers shuffled quietly into the room.
Paulo and Donovan rose and shook the woman’s hand as Kristin performed the introductions. When Paulo addressed Isadora Ramirez in Spanish, her dark eyes lit up with pleasure.
Without releasing his hand, she said warmly, “So handsome! You look like one of my sons. Te pareces a mi hijo. Está casado?”
“Mama Ramirez!” Kristin gasped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She smiled ruefully at Paulo. “I’m so sorry about that, Detective. She’s not usually so, ah, straightforward.”
Paulo chuckled. “It’s all right. My grandmother’s the same way.” To Isadora Ramirez, he replied in Spanish, “I’m not married, señora. But if you’re offering your hand…”
The woman giggled like a schoolgirl and reached up to pat his cheek. From the corner of his eye, Paulo saw Donovan shake his head and roll his eyes toward the ceiling.
Once they were all seated again, Paulo got right down to business. “Tell me everything you know, Señora Ramirez. Di me todo lo que sabes.”
Responding in Spanish, Isadora Ramirez explained, “I was putting the trash outside yesterday morning. It was around five o’clock. As I was walking back to the house, I saw a car pulling into the neighbor’s driveway. It was still very dark outside, and the car was black, with black windows.”
“The windows were tinted?” Paulo interrupted to clarify.
“Yes. They were tinted. So I couldn’t see the driver. I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman. The garage door opened, the car went inside, and the door closed behind it.”
“Do you know what type of car it was?”
“No. It was too dark for me to see, and I don’t know much about cars, anyway.”
“You said it was black. Did it have four doors, or two?”
She hesitated, thinking. “Four.”
“Did it look expensive?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Ramirez smiled wryly. “But then again, where I’m from, most people do not own such vehicles. So all cars look expensive to me.”
Paulo smiled a little. “Had you ever seen that car around here before?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“While the garage door was open, did you happen to see Maribel Cruz coming out to greet the driver?”
“No. I didn’t see her.”
But someone had opened that garage door, Paulo thought. Either Maribel had stepped back inside the house after pressing the keypad on the wall, or the mystery guest had access to the garage door opener. Paulo made a mental note to find out how many of the remote controls Maribel owned.
“Did you see the black car leave?” he asked Mrs. Ramirez.
She shook her head. “After I went back inside, I made breakfast and got my grandson ready for school. I don’t know what time the car left.”
Paulo nodded. It had been too much to hope for, anyway. “One more question, Señora Ramirez. Had you ever seen Maribel Cruz with any particular man? Someone who may have visited her more often than others?”
She pursed her lips in thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I’ve seen different people coming and going. Her friends and coworkers, I think. But I don’t know if there was anyone special.”
Looking at Kristin, Paulo repeated the same question in English.
“Not that I know of,” she replied. “But like I said before, I didn’t know her very well. Just because we never saw her boyfriend doesn’t mean she didn’t have one.”
Chapter 7
By 8:15 p.m. the last of Tommie’s dance students had departed for the day. After locking the main door, activating the security alarm, and flipping the sign in the window to CLOSED, Tommie returned to the empty studio to clean up. It had been a long, exhausting day with back-to-back classes, including a rigorous two-hour choreography class that had pushed her dancers to the limits of their endurance, and tested her own as well. She looked forward to soaking in a hot bubble bath while sipping from a glass of wine.
As Tommie pushed the dust mop across the hardwood floor, her thoughts strayed to Paulo for the umpteenth time that day. After seven months of living in the same city without so much as a sighting of each other, they had now seen each other two days in a row.
Tommie shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny that she’d been secretly thrilled to see Paulo that morning, especially once she’d learned that the gorgeous woman on his arm was his cousin, not his latest conquest. Tommie knew it shouldn’t have mattered to her, but it had. Against her better judgment—hell, against her will—she was irresistibly attracted to Paulo. He did dangerous things to her heart rate, her equilibrium. She had every reason in the world to keep her distance from him. He was completely wrong for her, on every conceivable level. And she was supposed to be focused on running her business and adjusting to life in a new city, not pouring time and effort into a relationship that had no future. Yet the more she told herself that she shouldn’t want Paulo, the more she did.
It was downright maddening.
Finished with her task, Tommie put away the dust mop, turned off the lights, and locked up the studio, eager to get upstairs so she could begin unwinding. She could already feel the hot, steamy water seeping into her pores and loosening her muscles, could already taste the chilled wine on her tongue.
Outside, night had wrapped around the old building like a dark, heavy cloak. Wind whistled through the surrounding trees, rustling the dry leaves.
Shaking off a familiar sense of isolation, Tommie made her way down the entrance hall. As she started up the stairwell, the overhead lights flickered. She paused and frowned up at the ceiling. She remembered Paulo warning her yesterday to get the lightbulbs replaced soon. He was right. The last thing she needed was to fall and break her neck because she couldn’t see where she was going in the dark stairwell.
But her finances were already stretched pretty thin. She couldn’t afford to hire an electrician at this time, unless she could cut corners somewhere in her budget. Making a mental note to balance her checkbook tomorrow, Tommie continued up the stairs. Just as she reached the landing, the lights blinked again. Ignoring a frisson of unease, she slipped her key out of the pocket of her chiffon skirt and reached for the door. She inserted the key in the lock, then froze.
The door was already unlocked.
A shudder ran through her, a chilly finger from her nape to the base of her spine.
Had she forgotten to lock the door when she left that morning?
Or had an intruder been inside her loft?
Tommie’s mouth went dry. She stepped away from the door, her heart thudding against her sternum.
Calm down. There’s a perfectly rational explanation for this. You had a lot on your mind this morning. You could have easily forgotten to lock the door on your way out. Or maybe Mrs. Calhoun forgot to do it when she took the peach cobbler up to the loft for you this afternoon. She’s sixty-five years old. Maybe her memory is failing her.
Yes, that was it, Tommie decided. Mrs. Calhoun, bless her dear heart, had forgotten to lock the door earlier. No harm, no foul.
But as Tommie stared at the closed door, she felt a whisper of foreboding. As if an evil presence awaited her on the other side.
Don’t be paranoid. There’s no one inside your loft!
Tommie thought of Maribel Cruz, who’d been brutally murdered in her own home. S
ince learning about her death that morning, Tommie had been trying to convince herself that there was no connection between her and the dead woman, other than the fact that they’d once worked for the same employer and had both relocated to Houston. That certainly didn’t mean anything.
Except it wouldn’t be the first time one of your coworkers has been murdered.
A rush of wind rattled the glass windowpane in the roof.
The lights flickered.
Tommie swallowed, her nerves stretched taut as wire.
This is ridiculous. You can’t stand out here all night. Stop being such a coward!
Tommie drew a deep, steadying breath, then stepped forward.
Suddenly a fist rapped against the main door downstairs.
Tommie nearly jumped out of her skin.
Heart pounding violently, she whirled and raced down the stairwell, nearly tripping over her own two feet. “Who is it?” she called breathlessly through the door.
“It’s me. Paulo.”
Tommie had never been more relieved in her life to hear another human being’s voice. Hurriedly she unlocked the door and swung it open, stopping just short of launching herself into Paulo’s arms.
“Hey,” she said with as much composure as she could scrape together.
“Hey yourself.” As Paulo brushed his windswept black hair off his forehead, his eyes suddenly sharpened on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Tommie lied, stepping aside to let him enter, then locking the door behind him. “It’s been a long day.”
But Paulo wasn’t buying it. He reached out and cupped her chin in his big hand, forcing her to meet his dark, penetrating gaze. “You’re shaking. What the hell happened?”
Tommie heaved a resigned sigh. Now that he was here, she felt like a fool for letting her fears get the better of her. “It’s nothing. My front door was unlocked. I thought maybe someone had broken into my loft, but I don’t see how since I’ve been here all day.”
Paulo frowned. He glanced up the stairwell, then back at her. “I’ll go check it out. Wait right here.”
“But—”
“Don’t. Move.” His hard tone, as well as his expression, brooked no argument.
Tommie did as she was told, watching as he climbed the stairs to the second landing. When he reached the door, he carefully withdrew his gun from his leather jacket. Leading with the weapon, he disappeared inside the loft.
Tommie waited nervously, her mind racing. What if there really was an intruder in her home? What if Paulo got hurt? Or killed? Maybe she shouldn’t have allowed him to go in there by himself. Maybe she should have insisted that he call for backup. If something happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.
Relax! He’s a cop, for God’s sake. He makes a living chasing and confronting dangerous criminals. He can take care of himself!
After what seemed an eternity Paulo reappeared, holstering his weapon. A wave of relief swept through Tommie even before he announced, “All clear.”
“I told you it was nothing,” she said, climbing up the stairs to meet him. “Mrs. Calhoun probably forgot to lock the door when she left earlier. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.”
“You also might want to check around inside just to make sure nothing’s missing.” Paulo hitched his chin toward the keypad panel on the wall beside the main door downstairs. “Is your security alarm activated?”
“Yes. It was one of the first things I took care of when I moved into the building.”
“Good,” Paulo muttered, following her into the loft and shutting the door behind him. “If I could, I’d pass a law requiring all women who live alone to get an alarm system.”
Tommie arched a brow at him. “Isn’t that a little sexist?”
Paulo met her gaze directly. “Your equal rights won’t mean a damn if you’re dead.”
“Oh.” Tommie swallowed. “I see your point.”
“I thought you might.” As Paulo removed his jacket, he asked curiously, “What was Mrs. Calhoun doing in your apartment? Does she have her own key?”
“Yes, she does. And she was dropping off a peach cobbler that she baked for me last night.”
Paulo shook his head at her. “Man, you are spoiled.”
“Jealous?”
“A little.”
Tommie grinned, reaching for his jacket. “Well, since you were nice enough to check my loft for an intruder, I suppose I could share some of my cobbler with you.”
Paulo chuckled dryly. “Your generosity is overwhelming.”
Tommie laughed, the tension of the night ebbing from her. She hung his jacket in the hall closet, resisting the urge to burrow her face against the worn leather and inhale his clean, masculine scent.
“Have you had dinner yet?” she asked, slipping off her pointe shoes and padding barefoot into the living room, flipping on lamps as she went. “I was going to heat up some leftover lasagna and toss a salad to go with it. You’re more than welcome to join me.”
“I don’t know,” Paulo murmured, coming up behind her as she closed the curtains, shutting out the starry black night. “If you keep feeding me, you might not be able to get rid of me.”
Tommie turned from the window, her lips curving in a coy smile. “You make that sound like a bad thing.” Paulo smiled, slow and sexy. “If I didn’t know better,” he drawled, “I would think you were flirting with me, Miss Purnell.”
She laughed softly. “Good thing you know better.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m going to take a shower. Alone,” she added at the wicked gleam that lit his dark eyes.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help? I’m great at washing backs.”
“I bet you are,” Tommie said, trying not to shiver at the thought of those big, strong hands slathering soap onto her skin and caressing her wet body. Lord have mercy!
“Actually,” she said, grinning as sudden inspiration struck, “there is something you can do for me while I’m in the shower.”
Twenty minutes later, Tommie returned wearing a red halter top and dark jeans that sheathed her long, curvy legs like a glove. She’d let her hair down, parting it down the center so that it framed her high cheekbones and those lush, bee-stung lips. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted a deep, racy shade of red.
Paulo, staring at her as she approached, couldn’t help wondering if her panties were also red. If she wore any at all.
Dios mio!
As if he hadn’t tortured himself enough imagining her in the shower, eyes closed, head flung back, lips parted as water glided over the voluptuous curves of her body. The last thing he needed was to be speculating about the color of her underwear.
When Tommie saw that Paulo had not only fixed the salad, as she’d asked, but also heated up the lasagna and set the dining room table, her eyes widened with astonished pleasure.
“Wow.” She gave him a teasing smile. “So you do know your way around a kitchen.”
Paulo winked at her. “I know my way around a lot of things.”
Tommie laughed, a low, throaty sound that made his stomach clench. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”
Paulo pulled out a chair for her, enjoying an eyeful of cleavage as he shamelessly peered down the front of her halter. His hands itched to reach down and cup her plump, luscious breasts, to stroke her dark nipples, to bring them to his hungry, sucking mouth. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to act on his urges, to step away from Tommie and take a seat at the small table.
“The salad looks wonderful,” Tommie said, reaching for the large ceramic bowl filled with a colorful array of vegetables that Paulo had sliced, diced, and thrown together. “It’s not at all what I was expecting.”
Paulo chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
She laughed, adding a generous helping of salad and lasagna to his plate before serving herself. “Don’t worry. I’ll never underestimate you again. Wine?” she offered, lifting the bottle of merlot that had been bre
athing on the table.
Paulo hesitated, then decided one harmless glass of wine wouldn’t push him off the wagon. “Sure, why not? I’m off duty.”
“Atta boy,” Tommie said, filling his glass with a practiced flourish.
As they began eating, Paulo asked conversationally, “So, how was your day?”
“Long. Tiring.” She sighed contentedly. “Satisfying.”
“Satisfying, huh? In what way?”
“Well, for starters, the students in my beginner ballet class are showing amazing progress. At the start of the semester, one girl in particular was painfully shy and awkward. Her mother enrolled her in the class to help her come out of her shell, but she wasn’t terribly optimistic. A few weeks ago she was going to pull Laurie out, but I asked her to be patient and give me more time to work with her daughter. She agreed, and now Laurie is shaping up to be one of my best students. She’s poised, confident, and a really quick study. If you saw her, Paulo, you would think she’d been dancing ballet for years instead of just seven weeks.”
“Yeah?” Paulo murmured, transfixed by the radiance of her smile, the passion in her voice as she warmed to her subject.
“It’s funny,” she continued, toying with her salad. “I used to think my sister was crazy for wanting to become a professor, but now I understand what she means when she talks about feeling a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. When I watch my students overcome their doubts and fears to become good dancers, I feel like I’ve actually made a difference in their lives. It’s an incredible feeling. Powerful.” She paused, laughing self-consciously. “Listen to me. I must sound so corny to you.”
“Not at all,” Paulo said with a quiet smile. “I think you sound like someone who’s been lucky enough to find her calling in life. Not everyone can say that.”
She beamed at him. “I never thought I’d enjoy teaching as much as I enjoyed performing, but I’m definitely getting there.”
“Good. Makes life a helluva lot easier if you love what you do for a living.”
Like No One Else Page 10
