Fierce Passion (19 page)

She looked up at him and raised her hand. “Wait a minute. I need to leave another message for my attorney.” This time she asked Elena to respond in the morning rather than tonight. She hesitated before leaving the table. “The women in these photos aren’t professional models. Have you been able to find any of them? Wouldn’t they know the men’s names?”

Montoya crossed the room and rested his hand on the doorknob. “Some are runaways who’ve scattered. Others are known, but drug-addicted prostitutes have few clear memories. That’s why I wished to speak with you.”

Not wanting any part in their investigation, she left her chair and gripped her bag tightly under her arm. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Galen Salazar is hosting the memorial for Jaime on Saturday. One of the men in the magazines might show up, and it would give you a chance to question him.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “The murderer might attend. They love funerals where they can offer comfort to the family, even if they’re not acquainted with the deceased. Sick individuals all. I’ll plan to be there. Will you?”

His eyes were so dark a brown they appeared black and shone with a provocative gleam she recognized all too easily. “I can’t say. Good luck with your investigation.”

“Let me see you out.” They moved along the office-lined corridor to the front desk. Alejandro rose from the bench, prompting the lieutenant to whisper, “Is he a model?”

“No, he isn’t.” She moved forward to take Alejandro’s hand. She’d worn a caramel-hued top and a matching gored skirt that swirled around her ankles as she moved toward the doors. The gentle swish sounded to her like faint applause.

Alejandro glanced over his shoulder. “Who is he?”

“We don’t talk in here, remember?”

He was parked close, and as soon as he’d started the SUV’s engine, he turned toward her, looking concerned rather than simply curious. “No one will overhear us here. Who was he and what did he want?”

She fastened her seat belt. “He’s Lieutenant Montoya, apparently Robles and Mesa’s boss. He told me not to reveal what we discussed. He didn’t order me to be silent or forbid me to speak, but it wouldn’t matter if he had. I’m through holding back with you.”

He pulled away from the curb and eased the SUV into the flow of traffic. “Thank you, but I hope you also consider me trustworthy.”

“I do.” She provided a brief description of the last hour. “Apparently I’m no longer a suspect, and I don’t know anyone who’s ever posed for S&M magazines. Maybe that’s the last I’ll hear of Montoya and his minions.”

“I doubt it. Maybe he never thought you’d provide anything new and just wanted to meet you.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s an angle I hadn’t considered. Did you get a good look at him? He has a reptilian quality I don’t find appealing, but he looked at me the way most men do.”

“And how is that?”

“As though I’m something delicious, and they’d love to lick off the frosting.”

“God, what an image. Let’s stop at the market and buy some frosting.”

She squeezed his arm. “Not tonight, please. Maybe the whole interview was a sham and Montoya thought I’d give something away when he handed me the S&M photos. Maybe none of the men had anything to do with Jaime’s death. Elena told me to let the police solve the crime. I called her but had to leave a message.”

“Let’s go to the memorial Saturday.”

It was a presumptuous suggestion and yet endearing. “Let’s? As in you and me?”

He parked on the side street closest to his building and walked around the SUV to open her door. “Yes, as in you and me. I’ve been to the police station twice for you. That ought to count for something.”

She ran her hand over his chest. “You’ve done a lot more than that. I hope whatever you’d planned for dinner isn’t ruined.”

He took her hand as they entered his building and held it for the slow elevator ride. “The vegetable stew can be reheated and the salads are in the refrigerator.”

His loft was only a few steps from the elevator. She moved aside as he unlocked his door. “Is there anything for me to do?”

“You could slice the bread.”

“I’ll be happy to. I was afraid I’d end up spending the night in a damp cell. Let’s forget about the murder.”

“That’s fine with me.”

Other than to warm a meal Fatima had made for her, she seldom cooked, and standing beside him in the kitchen alcove was fun. She bumped her hip against his, but kept her eyes focused on the knife in her hand. “This is fun.”

He laughed and hugged her. “With the right person, everything is fun.”

“You’re speaking from experience?”

He’d poured the stew into the only pot he owned and stirred it gently with a wooden spoon. “Yes, because I know how awkward everything feels with the wrong woman.”

“Or the wrong man.” He felt like the right man, but his father had blown them apart once, and she couldn’t help but feel something bad would happen again. The gory photos Montoya had told her to ignore flashed in her mind. Terrible things happened to people every day. She’d just been very lucky to avoid them.

“You’ve gotten awfully quiet. Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I’m simply quietly enjoying the moment. That smells so good.”

He gave her a taste on the spoon. “Does it need more salt?”

“It’s delicious now.” She licked her lips, and vowed silently to be happy the whole evening. With Alejandro’s very pleasant company, it wouldn’t be a challenge. She buttered a slice of the freshly baked bread, gave him a bite and took one.

He set soup bowls on the counter. “Let’s put the bowls on the table, and then I’ll fill them. I’ve never worked as a waiter, and I’d probably spill most of the stew on the way to the table if I filled them first.”

“Sounds good. I’ve never had any job other than modeling. Other than being a steward, have you done anything else?”

He brought the salads to the table so they could serve themselves. “Something useful, you mean? No, I’ve never done any other work. We’ll have to avoid becoming stranded on a deserted island, or we might starve before we figure out how to catch a fish and roast it over a fire.”

“I’ll add gaining survival skills to our list.” She loved the vegetable stew and said so often. “This is the perfect dinner. I hope it’s enough for you.” She heaped a second serving of spinach salad on her salad plate.

He sat back and smiled. “This is fine, but I wish I had a fireplace. A fire would make the dinner perfect.”

“I do have a fireplace, but I seldom light a fire unless it’s the dead of winter, and it isn’t cold enough to snow here.”

He broke off a bite of bread, scattered crispy crumbs from the crust and brushed them into his napkin. “Do you know how to ski?”

“Ski? I’ve posed in ski clothes in Switzerland, but I’ve never actually skied. Have you?”

“I learned as a child. My father thought I ought to ‘experience’ winter and learn to ski and skate. I prefer riding a bike.”

“I’ve posed with bikes.” She had to laugh. “There are photos of me looking as though I play tennis, or ice skate, so many things, but a big cardboard doll would be equally adept at sports.” She blotted her mouth with her napkin. “I’ve been modeling for twenty years, Alejandro. Standing around looking as though I’m having an absolutely wonderful time, or in haute couture where I must appear to be above it all, but that’s not really living, is it?”

He reached for her hand. “Think of the opportunity you’ve had to travel and see the world.”

Time and again, she’d told herself the same thing, but it still didn’t seem as though she’d lived a life that mattered. “Yes, I’ve the photos to prove it.”

He regarded her with an encouraging smile. “And you supported yourself and your mother.”

A spoonful of the vegetable stew filled her with a peaceful warmth, and, unwilling to complain any further, she nodded to concede the point. “True. I have an enviable life and should enjoy living it.”

“That’s a good piece of advice for me too. Would you like more stew?”

“Yes, I would.” She sat back as he refilled her bowl. “I wish I’d met you at a different time.”

He refilled his own bowl and returned the pot to the stove. “When I owned a home with a fireplace?”

“No, you’re fine the way you are. It’s just that I’m so unsettled. I refused to mention Jaime’s murder, but…”

“I’d rather forget it too. Are these pale cubes in the stew eggplant?”

She understood he was also sick of the subject of murder. “They are. I love eggplant. They’re a luscious color, aubergine, and they can be prepared in so many ways. When I learn to cook, I’ll bake them and broil them or whatever it is one is supposed to do with an eggplant.” She wiped away a tear with her napkin.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cut you off. My father often tells me I should be more appreciative of the life the Ortiz wealth affords me. I’m not, and you shouldn’t be satisfied with your life either, if you want more. Maybe you should change careers now and go after the jobs Jaime can’t do.”

Appalled, she laid her spoon on her plate and sat back. “That’s ghoulish.”

“True. It’s also an opportunity you didn’t expect, but maybe it shouldn’t be overlooked.”

She picked up a piece of bread and slathered it with butter. “Is that the way you think, or your father?”

“Some of his ideas have probably rubbed off on me without my consent. Just think about it.”

“I’d have to start with babies and weddings, Alejandro. I couldn’t just step into haute couture fashion. Designers consider me a model, maybe a bright one, but they wouldn’t take a chance on my doing any fashion spreads for them.”

“Why not? Couldn’t you show them samples of your work? Valeria would pose for you. I bet Gian Carlo would too. I look good enough in a suit to pass for a model in a few photos.”

He was challenging her to work for her future, to seize it, rather than simply dream it. She wouldn’t admit to cowardice, but the prospect terrified her. “You’re making my head hurt.” She reached for another piece of bread.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re tired of being a model and want to switch to photography, you’ll have to do something to move toward it. Unless you want to wait for the first dreaded wrinkle to doom your career.”

He made her laugh in spite of herself. She gave his shoulder a playful punch. He was the youngest man she’d ever dated, and he’d fallen for her when he’d thought she was a taciturn Goth girl. That still amazed her. “I’ve some candid photos of you. They’re on my camera. Would you like to see them?”

He looked startled. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Let’s finish dinner, and I’ll show you.” She immediately doubted the wisdom of mentioning them and finished eating in silence. They cleared the table and piled the dishes in the sink. “We should do the dishes now,” she suggested. “All it takes is a little soap and water.”

“We can wait until after dessert. I want to see the photos. Let’s put them on the computer.”

She brought her camera and sat down in front of his Mac, but hesitated. “The afternoon we met, you fell asleep almost immediately. It was such a great pose of a student, and I took photos before you woke.”

He looked over her shoulder and remembered meeting her, but not how tired he’d been. When she loaded the photos, he was as impressed as he’d been with her photos of his tiny model houses. “Those are good. It’s strong as a composition, with my body curved over the round table, and the straight lines of El Gato Café behind me. All the angles are good. You ought to put these in your portfolio. Do you have one?”

“Only for modeling.”

“Start one of your photography. Put everything on a disk and hand them out every time you model.”

Ana loaded the photo of him stretched out on the futon and held her breath. The sexy photo showed off his lean body to perfection. “What do you think?” When he didn’t respond, she turned to look up at him. “I’ll never show it to anyone. It was just for me because you looked so handsome.”

He pulled up a chair from the worktable and sat beside her. “My face doesn’t show, so no one would know it was me if you did sell it to the tabloids.”

Jarred to the bone, she had to swallow hard to speak. “What made you think of them?”

“They print every embarrassing photo they can get their hands on, don’t they? But I’m not embarrassed. This is another great shot. Jaime pointed out Mapplethorpe has been dead a long time. Maybe you ought to give some thought to showing men, mostly undressed, for your own show.”

“I’m not going to compete with a dead man,” she objected with a grimace.

He smoothed a curl behind her ear. “Are you referring to Mapplethorpe or Jaime Campos?”

She would love to do a hundred candid shots of Alejandro, but solely for herself. “Both. Now what’s for dessert?”

“You’re trying to distract me, but I get your message. I bought some lemon tarts. Do you want coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please.” She left her chair, put her camera in her bag and followed him to the kitchen alcove. She raked her lower lip through her teeth. Although she wanted to be honest with him, it was a risk she really didn’t want to take. “I have sold photos to the tabloids, Alejandro, but they were of well-known people, and there was nothing scandalous about them.”