by Burton, Mary
His explanation seemed to satisfy her somewhat, but not completely. “You’d have sat outside for an hour waiting if I hadn’t answered.”
He shrugged. “It was a risk.”
She studied him as if trying to put the pieces of the Dane Cambia puzzle together. “You must really want the work.”
“You’ve got to have a little skin in the game if you want to build your name.”
“Right.” She drew out the word, telegraphing her uncertainty.
He set down his cup. Questions only stirred trouble. “I better start unloading. Come down when you’ve finished your coffee.”
“I’m finished. I can help you.”
“No heavy lifting today.”
She didn’t argue, a sign that her ribs still hurt. He thought about that punk hitting her. Swift hot rage sliced through him.
They headed down the hallway to the front reception area. “Why don’t you wait inside?” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute with the supplies.”
“Sure.”
She stood inside the studio as he went out to his truck, stopping and glancing from left to right. Benito, Tony, there was no telling who was going to crawl out of the woodwork.
Benito would arrive soon enough, but Dane suspected Tony wasn’t likely to come back while he was here. The punk would wait until Kristen was alone to take his revenge.
A satisfied smile tipped the edge of his lips when he remembered the fear in Tony’s eyes. What the punk didn’t get was that she had his protection now. Tony would never get a second chance to hurt her.
Dane unloaded his sledgehammer and then moved around the side of the van, out of Kristen’s line of sight. He set down the tool and snapped his cell phone out of its belt holster. He flipped it open and dialed Lucian.
The phone rang once before Moss answered. “Yep.”
“So give me the details.” He turned his back to the house, still scanning the streets for trouble.
“Like I said earlier, the prints are a perfect match. Little Miss Yoga is Elena Benito.”
“There’s no mistaking the results?” The edge of hope in his voice surprised him.
“I don’t make mistakes.” Lucian sounded offended.
“Good.” He shoved his hand through his hair. Like it or not he had a mission to finish. “So we move forward.”
“I’ll start leaking news that Elena Benito is living in Virginia. It won’t take more than a couple of days for the information to filter through Benito’s organization before word reaches him.”
“Let me handle that. I’ve got a source that could be helpful on this one.”
He hesitated. “Okay.”
“And in the meantime I babysit.”
“She is the golden goose. Without her we have nothing to bait the trap with.”
“Right.”
Lucian hesitated. “You sound different. Is something wrong?”
He squinted as he looked toward the morning sun. “What do you mean?”
“Like you’re having second thoughts.”
“No doubts.”
“Good. Because I am going to catch Benito with or without your help.”
Resentment surged through him. “I don’t need a lecture. I know my job.” Before Lucian could reply, Dane added, “I do need for you to do something.”
“Yes?”
“There’s a punk in this neighborhood named Tony. Early twenties. I don’t have a last name for him but ask around and you can find it.”
“I can do that.”
“This guy must have a rap sheet. See if he has any outstanding warrants. I need him in jail until this is over. He could cause problems we don’t need.”
“Consider it done.”
“Good.” He hung up, shoved the cell back in its belt holster and picked up his equipment. As he climbed the front stairs, he caught a glimpse of Kristen in the front window.
She reminded him of the fabled sirens—beauties who lured sailors to their deaths. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was as dangerous as the sirens. Yes, she appeared vulnerable and kind. But her brother was a skilled chameleon. Benito could be charming and giving. He’d seduced the Miami social world with elegant parties that included all A-list people and huge donations to the right charities.
He tightened his hold on the toolbox. Whether her heart was pure or as black as Satan’s, he would stay objective.
He owed that much to Nancy.
Kristen joined Dane in the room under construction. He stood by the large window. He wore a clean T-shirt but had on his same grungy pair of jeans and boots. From his narrow waist hung his tool belt, cocked at an angle like a fabled gunslinger’s belt.
She glanced at his long hands resting on his hips. Her pulse quickened when she thought about them on her body.
Kristen straightened. She couldn’t think this way about him. It wasn’t safe for anyone to care about her.
She flexed swollen and tired fingers, a reminder of her hard labors yesterday. “Last night it was difficult to judge the progress but this morning with the sunlight streaming in, I can see that Sheridan had been right to knock down the wall.”
Dane glanced at the skeletal frame and the exposed wires running between the two-by-fours. “By the end of today this will all be gone and you will really start to see it come together. Yesterday was a good first day.”
First day. These past months had been a study in firsts. First haircut and dye job. First bus ride. First night sleeping in a doorway. Her first paycheck.
“So where do you want me to start?” she said, walking into the room.
He turned as she approached. “I’ll take the wires out and then we knock down the wood. For now just take it easy.”
“You’re paying me to help.”
“You’ll get your chance soon enough. For now, relax.”
Relaxation was tough for her. It gave her too much time to think. “Sure.”
“I’ve got to turn off the electricity again.” He’d turned the breakers back on last night in case she needed to use the computer. “Computer off?”
“I finished the entries last night. Everything is saved and it’s off.”
“You worked more last night? What about Mark?”
“Had to work late.”
“Ah.”
He studied her an extra beat. “I’ll just head to the basement and flip those breakers.”
She followed him to a small door that took them down rickety steps to a dank basement. Sheridan had given her the grand tour so she knew the light switch was at the top of the stairs. She flipped up the old switch.
A single light bulb hanging from a wire clicked on. It cast an eerie circle of light on the blackened room. She didn’t venture off the step.
He moved past her and down the stairs. “You don’t like the basement.” He opened the tiny metal door, studied the circular fuses and unscrewed the one controlling the upstairs room.
She shuddered dramatically. “Utter blackness, creepy spiders and rats. What’s not to love?”
He grinned. “Darkness never hurt anybody and chances are the little beasties that live down here are more afraid of you than you are of them.”
She heard something scurry in the corner and cringed. “That’s up for debate.”
“You’re such a girl,” he teased.
That comment made her laugh as she backed up the stairs. “And proud that I can’t throw a baseball or change a tire.”
When he reached the top he closed the cellar door. “What if you had to go down there and change a fuse?”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t deal with the things in the basement. I would if I had to. But the less monsters in my life the better.”
He studied her, his gaze razor sharp. “Are there monsters in your life?”
Her heartbeat quickened. Despite the casual tone, his question hit a nerve. Since her parents had died ten years ago, all she’d had in her life were monsters. “I suppose we all have monsters.”
“I suppose
you’re right.”
He moved back toward the front of the house, to the room under construction. She trailed behind him. He turned the light switch, and when he confirmed the juice was not flowing, he pulled out a pair of wire cutters. “So who are your monsters, Kristen?”
Fear scraped her nerves. She folded her arms over her chest, feigning a bravery she didn’t have. “My father always taught me never to talk about them. Talking stirs fear and fear feeds the monsters.”
He clipped a white wire in tow. “So where is your mother?”
Questions normally put her on the defensive. But for some reason, with Dane she wasn’t afraid to answer. “My mother and father died in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry.” He kept his gaze on his work but she sensed he was keenly aware of her. “When did they die?”
The old pain of her parents’ death had lessened from agony to a dull throb, but it was always present. “Ten years ago.”
“Sorry to hear that. How old were you?”
Kristen hugged her arms around her chest. “I was fifteen.”
She’d barely spoken about her mother or father in years. Antonio had forbidden her to. He’d never forgiven his father for marrying Kristen’s Anglo mother after his own mother’s death. Antonio’s mother, from what he’d said, had been a quiet superstitious woman who was content to dote on her son. Kristen’s mother had been a tall, blond actress who liked to spend money and throw lavish parties. Antonio had resented his father and his second wife. He’d been thirty when they’d died in the car crash, and had taken over his father’s fortune and brought Kristen to live with him.
Dane glanced over his shoulder at her. “That’s rough.”
“It was a bad time for me.” Her voice shook only a little when she spoke.
“So where’d you go?”
She didn’t even like thinking about the years spent living in her brother’s house, let alone talking about them. “I went into foster care.” She’d used the lie often this last year. The fewer people who knew the truth about her the better.
“Was foster care rough?”
“Not really,” she lied. “The people who took me in were kind and loving. They kept me until I turned eighteen.”
His jaw tightened then released. “You keep up with them?”
“Sure. I write whenever I get the chance.”
Dane clipped another end of the white thick wire and sealed off the end. “Looks like we have more in common than I realized.”
“How’s that?”
“I grew up in foster care.”
“You did?” What she knew about foster care came from television shows and books. She needed to choose her words carefully. “Did your parents die?”
“Naw. They’re still out there somewhere alive and well. They just couldn’t tackle the work it took to raise a kid. My old man couldn’t hold down a job and my mother drank.”
“I’m sorry.” At least she’d known her parents had loved her. “Did you have a brother or sister?”
With a violent yank, he pulled the white wire though the holes it had been threaded through in the wood. He didn’t look at her but she could see the tension in his shoulders. “A foster sister.”
“You two close?”
“We were.”
“Were?”
“She died about nine months ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “What happened?” The question felt rude but had slipped out before she could stop it.
He faced her, his expression a mixture of sadness and anger. For a moment, she didn’t think that he would answer. “She was a cop. She was shot and killed in the line of duty.”
A hard jolt rocked her body. Sudden, violent memories of that last night in the Miami safe house slammed into her. She remembered the shots fired, the shouts and the order from Nancy Rogers to run. And God help her, like a coward she had run.
Not a day went by that she didn’t think of Nancy. She thought about the policewoman’s family. Wondered if she’d left children and family behind.
“You all right?” Dane’s voice sliced through her grief.
She swallowed unshed tears and lifted her chin. Sloppy emotion wasn’t going to bring anyone back. “Yes, I’m fine.” She sniffed and managed the bright smile she used when her brother expected her to be happy. “My goodness, how did we get on such dark topics?”
He turned back to his work. “The darkness is in all of us. And sometimes it slips out when we least expect it.”
The smile faded. “I feel surrounded by darkness. And it’s only the light that breaks through on occasion for me.”
Dane ripped the last of the wire out and started to wind it around his arm. “What do you say we have dinner tonight?”
The sudden shift threw her off balance. “Dinner? What brought that on?”
“Maybe we should let a little light in through the dark. It would do us both good to have a little fun.”
His offer tempted far too much. But she’d already proven that she had a weakness for him. “I don’t think so.”
Dane lifted a brow. The sadness had vanished and in its place was challenge. “You got something better going on with that boyfriend of yours?”
“No, Mark is working again tonight. I promised Sheridan I’d wash the wool yoga blankets.”
“So you’d prefer wet blankets over me?”
A smile tipped the edge of her lips. “You make it sound awful. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “I’ve been ditched before, but never for wet blankets.”
The sadness squeezing her heart lifted. “Fine. I’ll have dinner with you.”
He shook his head, feigning irritation. “Hey, don’t do me any favors, lady. I am not that hard up for a night out.”
Dane’s southern accent deepened, softening his words even more. She laughed. And Lord, but it felt good. “I’d like to have dinner with you.”
He nodded, clearly satisfied. “It’s a date.”
Chapter 8
Cambia finished his work for the day at the studio and drove to his motel room. Instead of getting out of the van, he sat very still for a moment. Tinted windows blocked what remained of the afternoon sun. He opened the disposable and untraceable cell phone he’d bought before he came to town. Instead of dialing, he hesitated. He dreaded what had to be done next.
The day with Kristen had gone well. There’d been no more kisses. In fact, she had been careful not to touch him. But she’d made him a lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato chips. She’d insisted on working if he was going to pay her so he’d given her small pieces of lumber to take to the Dumpster. She’d done the work without complaint and as the hours ticked by she’d grown more relaxed.
He was winning her trust.
And now he was going to betray her.
The idea bothered him. Far too much.
Dane flipped down his sun visor. Attached was a strip of pictures taken of Nancy and him a few years ago in one of those photo booths at the state fair. The pictures had been her idea and he’d only gone along begrudgingly. In the first shot they’d tried to be serious but by the last shot she was making a face and he was laughing.
He touched the strip of pictures. Nancy had come up to Montana and he’d convinced her to go to the fair. She dubbed it all back-country nonsense, but by the end of the night, after she’d ridden the Ferris wheel, eaten two cotton candies and won a stuffed dog at the balloon toss, she’d admitted they’d had a blast.
It was the last real fun they’d had together. They had sworn they’d get together soon. But soon had turned into months and years. Until finally, they’d run out of time.
He thought about that last cell phone call from the safe house. He thought about the moment he’d handed the folded flag at her funeral to her fiancé, a large hulking man who’d openly wept.
Anger flooded Dane’s body, recharging his resolve. For Nancy’s sake, he would stay the course.
He d
ialed the number of a bar called Maria’s down in Miami. The place was frequented by drug dealers and served as a makeshift message center. He’d been monitoring the place for quite some time.
The phone rang. On the fifth ring, he heard a gruff, “Maria’s.”
“Get me Ortiz,” Dane said. Manuel Ortiz was Benito’s eyes and ears in the bar. “I got news on the king’s sister.” The king was Benito.
Wariness mingled with anticipation. “What kind of news?”
“I only talk to Ortiz.” Ortiz would get word to Benito.
“Sure.” The phone on the other end thudded against the bar. Salsa music blared in the background.
“Who is this?” a new voice said.
“Doesn’t matter who it is.” He checked his watch.
“What’s this about the king’s sister?” Ortiz’s English was heavily accented.
Dane looked at the pictures of Nancy and him. His anger had gotten him this far and it would see him through until the end. “I’m making a booze run from Miami to New York when I stop in this small town in Virginia off I-81. While I’m drinking my coffee at a diner, I see a chick that looks like the king’s sister.”
Silence echoed on the other end of the line for a good ten seconds. In the background he heard the blend of percussion and drums playing.
Benito had promised five million to anyone who could find Elena.
“Don’t even joke, bro,” Ortiz said. “The king is a little crazed when it comes to his baby sister.”
“I’m not joking. She looks different. Her hair is short, dyed blond like Gwen Stefani, but the face is a dead ringer.”
“Why don’t you just tell the king yourself?” Ortiz said.
“Oh no, man. I stay away from him. I don’t want any part of his stuff. You pass on the good news.”
“You’re passing up a hell of a lot of money.”
“Just tell him Brinkman might need a favor one day.” Brinkman was an alias he’d used when he’d been undercover in Miami a couple of years ago.
“You sure it is her?”
“Yeah. She’s a hard woman to forget.”
“Thanks for the tip.” The line went dead.
Dane could almost picture the cockroach now, scrambling out of his hovel in the Miami club. He’d be on his way now to find the next rat in the chain to Benito, ready to trade his information for money or a favor down the road.
