Like what? What was he talking about? He and Sadie had always been like oil and water. There was nothing new about that; they’d managed to work together for years without it blowing up in their faces.
“You,” Sadie said, her voice dripping with menace, “are ruining—”
The door behind me suddenly opened. I gasped and straightened up as Neil lumbered out of his James Bond–ish tech room. Pasting an I’m innocently standing here against the wall look on my face, I nodded at him. “Hey.”
There was a long moment of silence as he nodded, walked past me, and slowed. I let out the breath I’d been holding, but froze again when he turned back around. In a low voice, he said, “Don’t get involved.”
Don’t get involved in what? And what was Manny ruining? Sadie’s life? His own? Surely not the business! I’d suspected the two of them had some sort of jaded past together, but Manny had a girlfriend. He wouldn’t possibly choose the evil pixielike Sadie over the knockout ex-model Isabel. Would he? I shuddered at the thought.
I shoved it all aside and walked into the conference room.
Neil had already vanished.
Sadie had been talking, but she stopped midsentence the second she saw me. “Dolores,” she said.
“Sadie.”
“We’ll finish this later,” she said to Manny; then she looked me up and down, arched an eyebrow, and sauntered into the back offices. She threw one last aggravated look over her shoulder before closing the door behind her with controlled force.
I stood there stunned as Manny went to his office without saying a word. Sadie’s tone had been all vinegar, yet he hadn’t taken her to task. Ay, Dios. This was not the Manny I was used to. It suddenly felt like I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
I paced the length of the conference room, trying to delay the inevitable—going into Manny’s office. My stomach rumbled. Mapo tofu! I speed-walked through the lobby, my sights set on Szechwan House, but I stopped short with my hand on the door handle. No. I had a mission. Actually, I had two. One was finding out the lowdown on Reilly and her supersecret job. The other was to ferret out a new lead in my identity theft case. Food was not the answer.
I backed away from the door and the draw of piping hot bean curd and made a beeline for Manny’s office. The door was cracked open, the blinds on the window uncharacteristically pulled shut.
I raised my hand and knocked. The light pressure of my knuckles pushed the door open enough to poke my head through. “Sorry to interrupt. Have you heard from—?” I broke off and gasped when I saw Sadie perched on Manny’s desk in front of him, her legs spread slightly, one of his hands on her slim hip.
She started to turn toward me. Manny’s gaze lifted. Oh. My. God. I backed out, closing the door as I muttered, “Sorry.”
I tried to vanquish the horrific image in my mind, but it was branded there. I suddenly felt sorry for Manny’s jilted girlfriend. Pobrecita Isabel. For all I knew, she’d always been second fiddle to Sadie. I thought about barging back in and asking if Sadie was really worth it, but if Manny had a thing for Sadie, I couldn’t change that. It was better for poor Isabel to cut her losses now.
As I tried to figure out what to do and where to go now, the office door opened behind me. Sadie strolled out. There was a small triumphant grin on her lips as she walked past me and into the back room.
I slowly turned to face Manny, not wanting to look him in the eyes. This was my boss—my mentor—and I didn’t want to know this about him. Manny interested in me? Hah! Jack had been so off base about that one.
“Come in,” he said. His voice was measured. “Close the door.”
I perched nervously on the edge of the black chair facing his desk. “The door just opened… ,” I started.
He watched me with a dark, hooded gaze until I shifted uneasily in the awkward silence. “Okay.” I focused on the cleft in his chin, disconcerted by the slits his dark eyes had become and the heavy lids that shrouded them. “I was just wondering if you’d heard from the detective about Ros—”
He shook his head and I stopped. My hands twisted. Should I leave now? Were we done? I hadn’t even asked about Reilly, let alone what the hell Manny was doing with Sadie. Which, of course, I was planning to keep quiet about. I just couldn’t zip the voice that kept repeating it in my head.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again, his lips barely moving. “Do you take this job seriously, Dolores?”
My intestines twisted into knots. I squeezed my legs together, my palms clenched over my knees. “Of course.”
“This is a business. You’re a licensed detective, not an intern.”
My spine crackled. What an insult. I was so not an intern. My breasts were 100 percent real.
He waved his hand at me again, the space between his eyelids narrowing even more. “Your clothes are”—he cleared his throat—“inappropriate for the office.”
I looked down at my blouse and jeans. Was he serious? I’d been working here for almost four years. Now my clothes were inappropriate? What about Sadie’s fire red leather pants?
“You represent this office—”
My eyebrows arched toward my hairline with sudden realization. This wasn’t about my clothes. This was about me catching him with his hands on Sadie and him trying to get back in control of the situation.
I tried to suppress the anger that started to bubble inside me. “My choice of clothes doesn’t have anything to do with how well I can do my job.” I leveled my gaze at him. “Just like your choice of women doesn’t affect how well you do yours.” The second the words were out of my mouth, my breath became instantly shallow. ¡Dios mío! I panicked. Did I really just say that?
Manny’s burnished skin darkened. He tapped the pads of his fingers against the desk. “Mixing business and pleasure isn’t good for anyone. You look like you’re going on a date, not working the floor.”
An ancient commercial jingle rattled in my head. I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never, never let you forget Jack’s a man… .
I stood, purposefully tugged the hem of my gauzy blouse, and faced him. “I am a detective. I’m not about to jeopardize anything. I’ll wear coveralls if that’s what you want.” I considered my words. “But I disagree with you.”
Manny clamped his mouth shut, and for a moment looked edgy and bothered. “That’s all,” he finally said.
As I stalked toward the door, my imagination ran wild. What if Sadie was blackmailing Manny into some sort of twisted sexual exchange? He kept her around, despite their constant arguing and battle of wills. What could she have on him? Had he done something illegal that she knew about? What were his secrets? Maybe I should offer to help him. Get Sadie off his back, which would get him off of mine.
Ridiculous, I decided. Superdetective Manny Camacho didn’t need me to clean up his messes—whatever they might be. But Reilly needed me. I stood up straighter and with my back still to him, I asked, “What kind of job has Reilly been doing for you?”
He didn’t answer. I could hear him breathing, so I knew he hadn’t magically vanished. Turning around, I rephrased. “She’s been gone. A lot.”
He took another ten seconds before he finally answered. “Don’t worry about Reilly.”
“She’s not trained as a detective. If you’re shorthanded because of this Rosie Gonzales thing, I’ll…” I trailed off. What exactly would I do? I couldn’t stop investigating until I knew the truth about why Rosie had been using my name and why she died. But if my distraction was putting Reilly into the line of fire, well, I had to do something.
“I’m not shorthanded,” he said, booting up his computer. His signal that now we were really done with this conversation.
I closed the door behind me, seething, turned, and ran smack into Sadie.
She held up her hands like I was ready to rob her. “Whoa, Lolita. Going somewhere?”
After pushing past her, I snapped up a marker. “Just working my case.”
“Righ
t. Your own personal drama. Is Manny paying you while you run around trying to solve the big mystery?”
She had no boundaries. I muttered under my breath and turned back to my board.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
I couldn’t help smile. I knew just how to get under her skin. “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I know how you hate it when I speak Spanish.”
“Well?” Her voice had grown agitated. “What did you say?”
“I said working my own personal drama is better than working the boss.” I turned to look her right in her ice blue eyes. “Don’t you think?”
She didn’t bat an eye. Not even a blink. She was the ice queen except when she was putting on the charm for Manny. “I think you’d better hurry up and solve your little case before you’re out of a job.”
“Too bad you don’t have firing power,” I said, but she’d already turned her back on me and walked out.
I uncapped my marker and began scribbling random information down about the night Rosie was killed, hoping it would spark an idea.
The Falcón–Cruz memorial
Her picture on a driver’s license with my name
Florin Mall
The newscaster telling about my death
My grandmother’s relentless Hail Marys
Sergio and my grandmother’s rosary
Detective Seavers and his veiled accusations
Suddenly Sadie was beside me again. She picked up an erasable marker and doodled absently on the corner of my board, interrupting my brainstorming session.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I changed my mind.”
“About what?” I asked as I ripped the marker out of her hand.
It didn’t even faze her. “Manny and I—”
“Sadie.” Manny had marched out of his office. The sharpness in his voice stopped her cold.
Sadie pasted an innocent look on her face. “I was just telling Dolores—”
The expression on his face stopped her again. He looked at us standing side by side, me in my jeans and bust-enhancing blouse, her in her red leather pants and clingy black shirt. In my albeit biased opinion, she won the inappropriate work attire contest, hands down.
He grimaced. “Christ,” he said under his breath. I think he figured it was a tie. “So help me—,” he growled.
Sadie straightened at the hostility in his voice. Their eyes locked, both of them defiant and determined. It was like they were on a teeter-totter, one second flying high, the next second crashing to the ground.
Sadie blinked and seemed to rethink whatever she’d been about to tell me. Abruptly, she turned and walked away.
With my hands on my hips, I stared at Manny as he walked through to the lobby. I snapped the cap back on the erasable marker, slammed it down on the whiteboard tray, and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Manny and she were what? Getting it on? Like I hadn’t figured that one out on my own. Maybe he was the one blackmailing her. It was possible.
Dios mío. Never mind. I really didn’t want to know. I had my own love-life issues. Along with the whole Rosie Gonzales mystery, I hadn’t heard from Jack today—and that was sending me over the edge. A healthy dose of my grandmother’s Hail Marys, a decade or two of the rosary, followed by a cleansing hour at Mass might—
My thoughts stopped cold. My rosary! I was plenty fired up. Which meant now was the perfect time to pay a little a visit to Sergio and regain what was rightfully mine.
Sergio’s apartment was on the outskirts of Oak Park in South Sac—his living situation seemed to have declined since we’d dated. I triple-checked the locks to my car and slung my purse securely on my back before walking to apartment 3A.
The door flung open, and Sergio stood there in another ribbed sleeveless undershirt. Apparently his wardrobe selection had declined, too. Either that or he owned stock in Hanes.
Thick, wiry hair poking out from the neckline of the wifebeater, beady black eyes, slicked black hair. ¡Por Dios! What had I ever seen in him?
I eased my mind by remembering that he’d never lacked for girlfriends back then, so it wasn’t just me. I sniffed. Pheromones? He was scentless.
I thought about turning around and walking away, but an image of my frail grandmother popped into my head. She’d rested in her bed, a quilt covering her withered body, a strand of white beads draped loosely over her wrist. She’d whispered my name, and I’d tiptoed to the bed. “Para ti, pequeñita,” she’d said, and then she’d handed me her rosary.
I knew I’d be willing to run naked through Arden Fair Mall—even Cal Expo—if it meant getting those prayer beads back.
Well, maybe not naked, but topless.
Okay, in my bikini.
“Mira.” Sergio eyed me up and down. “If it isn’t Dolores Cruz, back from the grave.”
“I’m here for my rosary.”
He stuck one hand in his pocket as he held open the door for me.
I peered in. Sergio was a lifetime ago for me, but I didn’t remember him being scary, so I couldn’t explain my apprehension. Still, my body tensed as I skirted past him into the small living space. Clothes were strewn over the worn plaid couch, fast food remnants were scattered on the table, and small hills of trash lay on the floor.
My arms flexed at my side, I waited while he sauntered to his bedroom, returning a few minutes later with a worn produce box. He dropped it in front of me with a thud, almost catching my toes underneath.
A red see-through teddy lay on top. He lifted it with one finger. “You wanna try this on for old times’ sake?”
“I never wore that for you.”
He sneered. “But you’d wear it for Callaghan.”
“Not that,” I said. Something black and alluring maybe, but red slut-wear that had been held hostage in Sergio’s apartment? Uh-uh.
He dropped the teddy back into the box. “He’d dig it.” Another leer. “It’s all about sex for a guy, Lola. Especially for someone like Callaghan. He’s going to use you up and throw you away.”
My fists clenched. A swift high kick to the sternum might teach him a lesson about respect. Or a hand thrust to the neck. I was not above taking my frustration out on him. “Vaya con Dios, Sergio.” And I hope I never see you again.
I started to pick up the box, but he shoved it out of the way with his foot. The movement caught me off guard, and I stumbled back. The next second, he had me pinned against the wall, his hands pressing against my shoulders. “Come on. Don’t go.”
“Let go,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You used to like it when I touched you,” he said, his body pressing against me until I could hardly move, let alone get into a position to fight back. I bent my knees, trying to sink down so I could gain an advantage. Heavy weight lifting gave Sergio mass that I couldn’t compete with. He didn’t budge.
Worse, he seemed to think I was playing hard to get.
He wrapped one giant hand around my wrists, immobilizing me. Then he took hold of the neckline of my blouse.
I strained against him, trying to free myself. “Let go, Sergio,” I hissed, but my shirt ripped. Two buttons popped off and fell silently to the floor.
My mind rebelled—and my body tried to—but his bulk was overpowering.
He lazily threw one side of my shirt back and eyed me up and down. “Let’s have some fun, Lola. Like old times.”
Then he palmed my breast. “You keep getting better and better, amor.” A callus caught the stretchy part of my sheer bra. Cabrón. I’d chosen one of my better ones today, and now it had a pull.
I flung my head to the side as he tried to kiss me. His breath smelled faintly of marijuana.
“¡Basta, Sergio!” I sank lower, my back still against the wall. He readjusted, tightened his grip on me. Fun and games were over.
“You know you want me.” He lowered his head and licked me through my bra.
Finally, an opportunity! I bent my head and, feeling just like a vampire must, clamped my teeth on his ear.
He howled and let go of me. He flailed his arms and I hiked up my knee, jamming him between the legs with all the force I could muster.
Sounding like an injured animal, he reeled back. His hands clutched his crotch and he buckled over. At the same time, I pivoted on one foot, cranked up my leg, and gave him a powerful kick to the shoulder. He crashed to the floor, huddling on the ground in the fetal position.
Pulling my shirt together, I ran for the door. And stopped short. Damn it, I was not leaving without the rosary! I wheeled around and snatched up the produce box. Sergio was still rolled on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chin. His wail had turned into a low, pained groan.
The bedroom door cracked open, and a man peered out. He looked from me to Sergio. Pancho. His face contorted, and a strangled sound came from his throat before he slammed the door again.
He’d been there all along and hadn’t bothered to help me? Part of me wanted to kick down the bedroom door and give him a little what for, but I thought better of it. Getting the hell out of there was a much better idea.
I raced to my car, threw the box on the passenger seat, and locked myself in. My tires squealed as I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, peeling out of the parking lot and rounding the corner.
I drove straight home, screeching my car to a stop in front of my parents’ house. It took a few deep, intentional breaths but my nerves finally steadied. I headed to my flat, rummaging through the box as I climbed the staircase. Some paperback mysteries, a stack of essays and tests from my time at Sac State, old financial aid papers, letters, that damn red teddy… A vise clenched around my heart. Hijo de su madre. No rosary.
I barged through the door, dropping the box on the floor. “That son of a—”
“Jesus Christ, Lola. What happened? Are you okay?”
My head whipped around. Jack was on his feet, hurrying toward me. Antonio stood in front of the couch, staring.
I ran my fingers under my burning eyes. I was not going to cry. “N-nothing happened. I’m fine.”
I’m fine, I repeated to myself.
Jack’s voice lowered to a barely audible timbre. He wrapped me up in his arms. “Lola,” he said after a minute.
Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 02 - Hasta la Vista, Lola! Page 12
