PaintedPassion (7 page)

Melissa grinned. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

After the laughter died down, Trella introduced Louis’
former squad members. “Guys, these are my closest friends, Melissa Garrett and
Selina Muniz.” She didn’t miss the flare of interest on Jose’s face as he
appraised Melissa.

Donovan grasped Trella’s hands in a firm shake. “Happy
birthday. Thanks for allowing us to be here.”

“Glad to see you smiling again.” Jackson patted her lightly
on the back.

Jose took her hands and held them a moment before pulling
her into an embrace. “I hope we’re not ruining your evening with unwanted
memories,” he whispered against her ear.

“As if.” She pulled away. “Thank you.”

Carlos sidled up next to her. He indicated the children
standing in front of him. “Our two young guests are Maria and Adam, Alfonso’s
grandchildren.”

She pasted a bright smile on her face for their benefit.
“I’m happy you both came to celebrate with me.”

Maria moved behind Carlos, burying her face in his slacks.

Adam grinned, displaying his teeth. “I’m four.”

Trella couldn’t help smiling at the friendly boy. “Wow. I
wish I were four again.”

Maria tugged on Carlos’ hand. He immediately scooped her up
in his arms and planted a big kiss on her cheek, earning the child’s laughter
as her chubby arms wrapped around his neck.

As everyone laughed and enjoyed each other’s company Trella
slipped from the room, retreating to the restaurant’s terrace.

The children obviously adored Carlos and he them. She
swallowed down a pang of sadness. How had Louis behaved around children? It
pained her she didn’t know the answer. They’d discussed having children, and
when she mentioned she didn’t want them, he had assured her it was fine, and
he’d be happy as long as they had each other.

She wasn’t surprised to hear the
swoosh
of the door
opening nor was she surprised to feel hands lifting her hair before settling on
her shoulders. His woodsy scent wafted over her as he stood close enough for
her to feel the heat of his body.

He kneaded her muscles. “What’s wrong?”

Her skin tingled at his touch. She shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated.

He eased her around to face him. He stroked her back. She
forced herself to relax, taking deep breaths to ease the clogging of her
windpipe.

“After Louis, I didn’t think I’d feel happy again,” she
squeaked out.

His lips flirted with her hairline. “I thought my inviting
the children upset you.”

She cleared her throat as she eased from his embrace. “Why
would you think I’d be upset about that?”

“Louis mentioned you didn’t have the best relationship with
your parents.”

She nodded. “True…but I like children.”

“Then I’m surprised you two didn’t have any.”

There it was—the comment designed to invite her to expound
on the subject. Avoiding the unspoken offer to share, she slid a hand down to
clasp one of his. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Makes life interesting.” He squeezed her arms. “Ready to go
back inside?”

* * * * *

The room vibrated with raucous laughter as the women,
sitting at one table, challenged the men to an impromptu game of entertainment
trivia.

“Name the name of the actress who starred with C. Thomas
Howell in
Soul Man
,” Melissa asked.

Miguel groaned. “Is this seventies trivia?”

“Eighties,” Trella chimed in.

“No fair. I was barely watching TV then,” Miguel retorted.

“Wasn’t it Robbie something or other?” Carlos questioned.

“Close but wrong sister.” Melissa sounded out a high-pitched
version of a buzzer, indicating the men’s time was up. “Ladies?”

“Rae Dawn Chong,” the women answered in unison.

“Fine, we’ll give you a point so Melissa won’t shatter our
eardrums again.” Miguel conceded. “If you’d asked a question about Cheech and
Chong, I’d have known the answer. Those guys made classic movies.”

Waiters arrived with platters of salmon and spinach
enchiladas, quesadillas, burritos, pollo rellenos, fajitas, queso, mixed green
salads, black beans and seasoned rice.

Conversation flowed languidly, interspersed with laughter as
they ate. Trella relaxed in the moment, filled with a sense of peace. She
glanced at Carlos, who was laughing at something Miguel said. When Louis was
alive, the guys had often hung out at their house. She’d missed these moments.

The waiters removed the various plates and platters and
returned with coffee.

“Time for presents,” Melissa announced as she rose to her
feet.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Selina giggled. “Every year you say the same thing, yet you
never return the gifts.”

Trella crossed her arms in front of her. “Give me my
treasures, you peasants.” She accepted the pink-wrapped package Melissa handed
to her.

Trella looked at the envelope. “This one’s from Selina.” She
read the card then ripped through the paper.

“You are lethal with the wrapping paper,” Miguel said.

She pinned him with an evil look. “I don’t joke when it
comes to presents.”

Inside the box lay a black Tahitian pearl necklace nestled
against soft white cotton. She gasped. “It’s gorgeous. You shouldn’t have.”

Selina smiled. “Please, what’s money if you can’t splurge on
your friends every now and then?”

Trella kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

Selina handed her the next box. “This one’s from Melissa.”

She pushed aside the tissue paper on top of the green bag
and plunged her hand inside, searching for the present. She pulled out a pair
of pearl and diamond earrings that matched the necklace.

She kissed Melissa’s cheek. “You two planned this didn’t
you? Thank you.”

“Selina picked them out.”

Selina grinned. “Can I help it if I’m a jewelry
connoisseur?”

Miguel brought her a square white box bearing a white bow.
“This is from me.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything, but I’m sure glad you
were smart enough not to come empty-handed.”

The room erupted in laughter.

She opened the box, finding assorted Jamaica Blue Mountain
coffees. Trella squealed. “How did you know I love these?”

“I pay attention.”

She hugged him. “Thanks.”

Several more boxes revealed various arts supplies.

Louis’ squad members presented her with a framed photo of
the original five in their dress uniforms. Her eyes misted, but she blinked the
moisture away.

“Thank you all. This means so much.”

The last gift was a large white box decorated with a
deep-purple bow. Inside was a tan apron with the slogan “artists cook better”
embroidered across the front and gift cards to Barney’s and Nordstrom’s. She
squealed with delight.

“Interesting,” Selina murmured.

Trella removed the last layer of tissue paper to reveal a
gift certificate for an entire day of spa services.

She scooted her chair back, pranced over to where Carlos sat
and hugged him. “Thank you,” she whispered against his ear.

She tried to dismiss the comforting feel of his arms around
her waist, but the imprint of his fingers seared her skin through her clothing,
making her remember how his hands had roamed her body the night they kissed.
Her resolve to control her lust became as nonexistent as a cold day in Phoenix.

He briefly tightened his hold. “You’re more than worth it.”

His words tugged on her libido, making her heart race.

“Do you two need a room?” Selina asked, her question
accompanied by peals of laughter.

Trella straightened, embarrassed at having forgotten they
weren’t alone. What would Louis’ squad members think?

Jackson’s praise of the chefs covered the awkward moment,
and Trella shot him a grateful smile.

Two hours later, the party wound down. Outside, as they
climbed into their waiting vehicles, she hugged her girlfriends. “I appreciate
the gifts, but you ladies do need your beauty sleep.”

Melissa laughed. “Since it’s your birthday, we’ll let you
live in your dream world a while longer.”

Trella smiled at Carlos. “Thanks for arranging tonight.”

“I can’t take all the credit. Your friends were happy to
pitch in. Thanks, ladies.”

“You’re welcome, Carlos,” they chorused.

Carlos drove Trella’s black BMW convertible into the garage.
Miguel parked Carlos’ Jeep beside it. He and Miguel gathered up the presents to
cart inside, while Trella unlocked the door and switched off the alarm before
heading upstairs.

“Nice idea, man.” Miguel followed behind him as they trudged
into the kitchen.

“She needed it.” He placed the gifts on the table.

Miguel shot him an appraising look. “Is there a private
after-party planned?”

“Don’t you have someplace to be?”

Miguel chuckled. “I’ll review the surveillance tapes before
I leave.”

Carlos climbed the stairs to Trella’s bedroom door. He
knocked twice. The door opened to reveal Trella clad in a flowing caftan, this
time in black.

Forcing his feet to move, he walked inside. “I'm turning in
for the night.”

“I can’t tell you what the party meant to me,” she
whispered.

“It was nothing.”

She captured his hands in hers. “It was everything.”

As his brain processed Trella’s touch, blood rushed through
his ears as loud as a train, while each breath he sucked in sounded like the
roaring wind of an approaching tornado. He’d felt the same way at the
restaurant. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but just touching her made him
want to slide into her body.

Her lips moved, but he had no clue what she said. He looked
down as her hands rubbed his arms.

“Are you okay?”

The look of concern on her face jolted him out of his
temporary state of paralysis.

Taking a step back, he brushed a hand down his face to
disguise the effect she had on him. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Did Louis ever mention I watch James Bond movies to
celebrate my birthday, and since I didn’t see one before dinner, I intend to
watch one before I go to bed.”

Carlos shook his head slightly to remove the fogginess when
she uttered the word “bed”.

Trella laughed as she reached up to pinch his cheek. “Why
are you looking so serious? I’m inviting you to watch a movie, not asking you
to disband your harem.”

Her joke didn’t please him. “I don’t have one,” he bit out.

She smiled. “Louis said you were a ladies’ man.”

He had his needs met. But there was no talking all night on
the phone, no carrying photos in his wallet, and definitely no making room in
his bathroom for female items.

He lost himself in her chestnut-brown gaze. He wanted to
kiss her, show her there was no one else, but the timing wasn’t right. He
didn’t know what he felt for her, but he knew she was different than any woman
he’d ever met. The entire situation spelled t-r-o-u-b-l-e. A real problem since
he wasn’t known for avoiding danger.

Carlos pondered Trella’s invitation to extend the night’s
festivities.

She placed a hand on her hip. “So, are you up for a movie?”

He was up but not for a movie. Having an erection around her
was becoming as commonplace as breathing. He caved as fast as a boulder rolling
downhill. “Fine.”

“I’ll select the movie. Popcorn is your job.”

He headed for the kitchen. He recalled seeing boxes of
popcorn in the pantry the night he’d prepared dinner. He unfolded a bag then
placed it in the microwave.
You are a glutton for punishment
. Watching a
movie late at night with a woman he desired more than anyone else was nothing
short of committing emotional suicide.

When the popcorn was ready, Carlos emptied the bag into a
large bowl. He rustled in the fridge, found a bottle of root beer and poured
two glasses.

He joined her in the theater room, handing over the bowl of
popcorn before stretching out beside her in a matching brown leather recliner.

She plunged her hand into the bowl, coming up with a handful
of the hot, buttery kernels. Shifting, she set the bowl on the arm of her
chair, between them, and tucked her legs under her.

Carlos struggled to keep his mind on the movie and off the
warm, soft woman sitting beside him.

Her hand bumped his as she reached inside the bowl.

“Sorry,” she whispered and withdrew her hand.

He gently circled her wrist with his fingers. “Take the last
of it.” He let her go. “I’ll make more.”

She captured the remaining kernels. “I’ll pause the movie.”

“No need. I've seen it before.” Carlos returned to the
kitchen, taking his time making more popcorn. He put the bag in the microwave
then stared out the window as the machine did its job.

Let the idea of being with her go
. A relationship
with Trella equaled a no-win situation. He’d be returning to Vegas soon, and he
didn’t do long-distance relationships.
What the hell
? He shook his head.
He didn’t do relationships, period.

Miguel came into the kitchen and opened the fridge, studying
the contents before extracting a carton of milk.

Carlos eyed his cousin. “Why are you in here?”

“I’m a growing boy.”

“Outwardly.” Carlos filled the bowl with popcorn. “How are
the tapes coming?”

“Almost finished. Don’t worry—I won’t be around to hear any
moaning.”

“It’s a wonder your mother loves you,” Carlos muttered as he
left the room.

True to her word, Trella didn’t release the pause button
until he’d reclaimed his seat. Tortured by her warm, inviting scent and the
memory of her soft lips, he sat through the remainder of the movie without
actually seeing it. He didn’t realize the credits rolled on the screen until
she playfully punched him in the arm.

“You weren’t watching.” She accused him.

“Was too.” He caught her fist in his hand, squeezed once
then released her. He’d watched—he just hadn’t comprehended a damn thing on the
screen.

“Thanks for staying.” She sighed as she turned off the DVD.
“You made this day as normal as possible, and that means a lot.”

“Louis would’ve wanted me to.”

She nodded and swallowed. She swung her feet to the floor
and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

He rose to his feet. “Bedtime for you.”

She smiled as she stood. “You’ll make some woman a wonderful
husband, Carlos.”

He was stunned into silence.

She touched a soft palm to his cheek. “The women at the art
show are going to fall in love with you.”

He thought about asking if she included herself in that
group, but then decided he didn’t want to know.
Liar
. He held his breath
while her fingers traced his skin, as if she were drawing his image on a
sketchpad.

She smiled. “What about—?”

“Carlos, need to show you something on the cameras,” Miguel
said, appearing in the doorway.

The flash of anger at the interruption dissolved when Carlos
registered the seriousness of his cousin’s tone. He hurried from the room, the
soft swishing sound telling him Trella followed close behind.

Miguel picked up the laptop from the table, turning it
around so Carlos could see the screen. “Notice this car drive up. Guy hops out,
places something on the porch then leaves.”

They watched as the figure—dressed in black pants and a
hooded sweatshirt—placed a box on the top step in front of the door.
Fortunately, when the car headed back down the mountain, the camera caught a
partial of the license plate.

Carlos unhooked his phone from his belt holster. He punched
in a button. Jose answered on the first ring.

“Can you run a list of owners of a late-model, dark-colored sedan,
maybe black or navy? Letters on the plate are D-C-B.”

“I’m on it.”

“Thanks, man.” He ended the call.

“Who is it?” Trella asked.

“Who have you pissed off lately besides Hector by asking him
about the IWP?” Carlos growled in irritation. Trella didn’t realize the danger
she potentially put herself in by appearing interested in the councilman’s work
program.

“I’m as upset as you are about the possibility of Hector
using his office as a front for human trafficking, but Hector may not be our
late-night visitor.”

He grabbed her upper arm. “And perhaps he is. Either way,
you need to be diligent about your safety, Trella.”

She jerked away. “What is wrong with you, Carlos? Whoever it
was probably left a gift.”

He glared at her. “This isn't a game, Trella. I made a
promise, and I intend to keep it.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

Carlos realized he’d said too much and he stayed quiet,
hoping she wouldn’t press the issue.

“What promise?” Trella repeated.

“Damn, dude,” Miguel muttered.

The silence lengthened. She put her hands on her hips.
“Somebody with balls better start talking.”

Carlos turned to Miguel. “Can you take an explosives
detector and examine the package left on the porch?”

With a look of relief, Miguel rushed from the room.

“What are you keeping from me?”

He brushed a hand over his hair, wanting to be anywhere
other than on the receiving end of her displeasure. “Louis asked me keep an eye
on you. Wanted me to keep you safe. He said he should’ve told me something.”

Twin tracks of tears rolled down her smooth cheeks. “Told
you what?”

“Don’t know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Drives me
crazy I have no clue what he meant.”

“Why didn’t you share his last words with me? How could you
keep me in the dark all this time?” Her whispered question tore him apart. She
put her hand over her mouth as if to stop a torrent of words from escaping.

Carlos slid his arms around her. She struggled against his
hold. He tightened his embrace. Her hands shook as she wiped at the increasing
dampness on her face.

He slid a hand behind her nape, coaxing her face against his
chest. She gripped the front of his shirt, clinging to him as an avalanche of
sobs issued forth. Each cry was an indictment of him for leaving her to grieve
alone. Tears filled his eyes at the regret of causing her pain when he’d only
wanted shield her from it.

Finally, she raised her head from his damp shirt. The look
on her face was devoid of caring, a bleak expression he’d never seen before.

He loosened his embrace then left the room, giving them both
a moment to compose themselves. He retrieved a box of tissue from the bathroom.
When he returned, she hadn’t moved.

He hated being the catalyst for her tears. He faced her,
patting her cheeks with tissue before gently sliding the damp wad into her
hand. “I’m sorry. I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you.” His voice
sounded gruff.

Carlos wrapped his arms around her once again. “Don’t shut
me out,” he whispered as he rubbed his chin against the top of her hair.
“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that.” She pushed him away. “To know his last
words would have meant a lot,” she whispered.

He wiped a hand down his face, praying she’d listen.
“Trella, please forgive me. I thought you’d ask questions I didn’t have the
answers to. Hell, I didn’t know why Louis suspected someone would harm you
until I read his notes on the IWP.”

She sniffled. “You think the investigation of Hector’s work
program is what he meant?”

He nodded.

She pinned him with a direct stare. “You were his best
friend, Carlos. If he asked
you
to look after me, why is Miguel here?”

“Louis was as close to me as a blood brother.” His throat
tightened, but he wouldn’t keep the truth from her. “I had to see a therapist
to deal with survivor’s guilt. Being around you would have been a constant
reminder of him.”

She nodded. “I understand. I’m sorry, Carlos. I wasn’t
thinking of what you must have felt. Having him…die in front of you.” She
wrapped her arms around her middle.

Miguel rejoined them with heavy steps.

“What’d you find?” Carlos asked.

Miguel glanced at Trella.

“I know everything.” She reassured him. “What did the person
leave?”

He set the box on the table in front of the monitors.
“Trella’s right. It’s a gift.”

She tore the wrapping paper then lifted the lid. Inside was
a framed print of a man and a woman. Arms around each other, they stood
silhouetted against flames licking at their clothing, but they stared into each
other’s eyes, uncaring about the imminent danger.

She held it at eye-level. “This is a reprint of the first
painting I sold.”

Miguel peered closer at the canvas. “Who’s the couple?”

“My parents.”

Miguel shrugged. “Maybe it’s from a weird fan who knew it
was your birthday.”

A cold chill ran down Carlos’ back as he stared at the back
of the frame she held in her hands.

Trella frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“Turn it over,” he said.

She flipped the frame. The words, “you’re next” written in
crimson marred the brown paper. She gasped, releasing her hold as if she’d been
burned. The picture clattered onto the floor, shattering the frame’s glass.
Hand to her mouth, she bolted from the room.

“I’ll clean it up,” Miguel said.

Carlos hurried after Trella. He found her in the bathroom on
her knees in front of the toilet. He swept her hair back as she emptied the
contents of her stomach. With every heave, his resolve to find the culprit
hardened within him.

When she finished, she wrapped her arms around her middle.
“Someone wants me out of the way.”

He tugged her to her feet before leading her to the sink.
“Are you cut anywhere?”

“Don’t think so.”

He ran a towel under cool water then patted her face with
it.

“I don’t want this to be the last event of my birthday.”

He spotted fear in her eyes, hated to see its existence. “I
know.”

She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. “Ugh. I need
to brush my teeth.”

Giving her privacy, Carlos rejoined Miguel, who had cleaned
the floor and returned the now-broken frame into the box.

“I was heading over to my girlfriend’s, but I can stay if
you need me to.”