Twilight (19 page)

“Can I get you a nightgown?” he asked. “A glass of water? Anything?”

Looking directly into his eyes, she shook her head and reached slowly and deliberately for the buttons of her blouse. His gaze locked on her shaking fingers as first one button, then a second and a third came undone. The dawning awareness of what she intended had his breath catching. She stared at him in mute appeal and waited. Eventually he swallowed hard as he pushed aside her hands to finish the task.

When his knuckles skimmed over bare skin, Dana’s heart leaped into her throat. She was caught halfway between panic and excitement, but the brush of his fingertips across her silky bra had her nipples tightening and the blood roaring through her veins as it hadn’t done in too, too long a time. The thrill of feeling alive again, of feeling whole, overwhelmed her.

She didn’t hesitate to weigh right or wrong. She simply gave herself over to sensation, the shimmering heat, the wild ricocheting of her pulse.

She refused to allow herself comparisons as Rick’s hands danced across her flesh, inciting passion. There was joy in his touch, a promised ecstasy that came with each quick, deliberate caress.

Clothes magically disappeared right along with inhibitions. There was a surprisingly easy familiarity between them and none of the edginess of first-time lovers.

He made love with every part of his body, with the shifting of a leg, the stroke of his palm, the lingering touch of his lips. And everywhere he left fire and a wicked yearning in his wake.

Dana’s soft pleas counterpointed his harsher moans as they joined, retreated, then came together again in a tantalizing ritual. She blocked out memories and grief, everything but this exquisite present and the man who was making love to her with such life-affirming tenderness and passion.

It was his name she cried out when release came, his name that echoed in her head as sleep finally stole over her.

But tonight, of all nights, it was her husband’s face that slipped into her dreams and made her cry.

20

R
ick stood in Dana’s kitchen, coffee mug in hand, and stared out the window at the destruction she had managed to wreak the night before on her husband’s grave. Wilted, frozen flowers were strewn in every direction. The once-glistening blanket of snow was littered with clumps of dirt and brown petals. Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of his friend buried deep within that cold earth.

“Ah,
amigo,
she is going to hate me this morning,” he murmured ruefully. “And you? How would you feel if you knew?”

He wanted to believe that his friend would understand, that he would give them his blessing to go on living, but he wondered if Ken wasn’t a man first and a saint second. Could any man forgive so easily what had happened between his wife and another man so soon after his death?

And yet Rick couldn’t regret the night before any more than he could stop mourning the loss of his friend. Dana touched something deep inside him, a part of him that he’d thought incapable of feeling. She was fiercely proud, defiantly strong, and yet there was a vulnerability in her, a neediness that reached out to him. He wanted to protect her, even though he knew she would never thank him for it. It was enough to do it because he had to—for himself and for Ken.

He was more troubled than he dared to admit by what Carlos had told him. As badly as he had wanted to protect Yo, Amigo, as desperate as he’d been to believe that no one in the barrio was responsible for Ken’s death, he wondered if that wouldn’t have been preferable to this callous, unknown villain.

What kind of person paid fifty thousand dollars for the murder of a minister? Someone who was beyond desperation, someone with something evil to hide, something dangerous to protect. And how would such a person react to the discovery that Dana was more determined than ever to ferret out the truth?

He didn’t have to think long and hard about the latter. He’d had waking nightmares about it until dawn. Most frustrating was knowing there was nothing he could say that would dissuade her from continuing the search. Pleas, demands, all would fall on deaf ears. She felt she owed answers to her children and to her husband. After spending last night in his arms, he guessed that her fervor would only be magnified. It was an understandable sentiment, but a risky one.

Something of what he felt must have shown on his face. When Dana walked into the kitchen dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she regarded him warily, far more warily than a woman should a recent lover.

Unless, of course, she was filled with regrets. He gazed into her eyes only to have her look hurriedly away. Despite his anticipation of the reaction, it hurt just the same. Putting his coffee on the table, he reached out and touched a finger to her chin, forcing her to turn toward him.

“Don’t,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended.

Her gaze met his, then skittered nervously away. “Don’t what?” she asked.

“Pretend that nothing happened. Pretend that it didn’t matter.”

She kept her gaze steady then. “It didn’t,” she said vehemently. “It was a—”

“No,” he protested, cutting her off. He didn’t want to hear that it was a mistake, even though he’d mentally prepared himself for her saying exactly that.

She wouldn’t let it drop. “I was feeling lost and alone last night, that’s all. I needed to feel alive.”

He regarded her knowingly. “And you did, did you not,
querida?
You felt very much alive in my arms.”

She closed her eyes, as if to block out the truth, but Rick knew that she couldn’t deny it. Neither of them could. What had happened in that bed last night had been more than just sex. A bond had been formed. Where it would lead, he had no idea, but it was as strong as any he’d ever felt.

Few people in his life had really mattered to him—his mother, Tico, Ken and now Dana. He would have given his life for any of them. Instead, two were lost to him forever. He was left to honor their memories and to go on.

“There will be time enough to figure out what it all means,” he promised her. “Just don’t deny that it was important. Don’t lie to either of us that way.”

She glanced toward the window, then back at him. “How can you?”

“How can I what?” he demanded. “Stand here in my best friend’s kitchen, talking to his wife about making love to her? How can I live with the fact that I’m alive and he’s dead? How can I look you in the face, knowing that despite last night, despite everything that has happened between us, you still hold me responsible for his death?”

She started to protest, but he cut her off again. “No, if you’re being totally honest, you know that you still blame me simply because of where he was when he was killed. It doesn’t really matter who pulled the trigger, does it?”

“Of course it does. That’s what this whole investigation is all about.”

“Really?” he asked doubtfully. “Or is it about punishing me for living, while your husband is dead?”

“This isn’t about you, you egotistical jerk,” she said with quiet rage. “None of it is about you. It’s about justice.”

“Justice?” he asked softly. “Or vengeance?”

She hesitated just long enough to prove his point.

“Leave that to God,
querida.
”

“I don’t believe in God,” she insisted. “Not anymore.”

Shocked by the response, he said, “You dishonor your husband’s memory when you say that.”

She slapped him then, her hand connecting with his cheek with such unexpected force that it snapped his head back. His skin smarted, but no more than his pride. She had taken him by surprise yet again, something no one had done since his teens, something no woman had ever done.

When she would have slapped him again, he grabbed her wrist and held it, his gaze locked with hers.

“Once I can forgive,” he said. “Not twice.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She would have turned away, but his grip on her arm held her in place.

“This is wrong,” she murmured.

“What?” he asked, his voice turning gentle at her evident distress.

“That I want you so badly.”

He tugged gently until she came into his loose embrace. “No,
querida.
It is not wrong. It is life. You and I are alive. We cannot be blamed for that. Ken would not blame us for that. He, more than most, understood the cycles, the need for the living to hold on to each other and move on. How many times have you heard him counsel others to let go of their grief and live?”

She sighed, acknowledging the truth of his claim, and relaxed against him. Her arms crept around his waist. He could feel her tears on his bare chest and wondered if she knew that his own cheeks were damp with tears that were part sorrow, part relief.

They would survive, the two of them, because they had to. They would go on. Perhaps together, perhaps not. He had never gazed into the future before, because he hadn’t dared. Now, with Dana in his arms and his heart pounding in his chest, he wished he could see what lay ahead.

Unfortunately, the only image that came readily to mind was trouble, spelled out in neon and flashing with savage intensity.

As if to confirm his prescience, the phone rang, shattering the momentary calm between them. With lifted brow, Dana informed him it was Maria as she handed him the receiver. He vowed to strangle the woman when he got back to Yo, Amigo. Dana signaled that she would be back and left the room.

“Yes?” he said.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Maria said, sounding more amused than apologetic.

“I’ll bet. What is it?”

“You’d better get down here right away.”

Rick sighed. “Another break-in?”

“Sí.”

“What did they take this time?”

“It’s impossible to tell. The place has been turned, how do you say, turvy-topsy?”

“Close enough,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t touch anything in the meantime.”

“But it is a terrible mess,” she protested. “I cannot leave it this way.”

“You can until I see it,” he told her. “Don’t call the police yet, either.”

“You know they would take forever to come, anyway,” she said wryly. “We are not a priority, unless they wish to hustle someone here.”

Rick grinned. “Hassle,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” She paused. “By the way, how is the
padre’s
wife this morning?”

“Mrs. Miller is just fine, thank you.”

“She did not sound pleased to hear from me. I interrupted something? The two of you are playing toesie?”

He didn’t point out that it was footsie, because he didn’t want to belabor the direction of her thoughts. “You are entirely too nosy, Maria,” he said instead. “I will be very glad when you go off to college.”

“You say that now, but I know better,” she said confidently. “You would be buried under paperwork in a week and cursing the day I left. That is why I must come back every day.”

She was probably right, unfortunately. Rick would have died before telling her that, though. She was entirely too sure of herself as it was.

“I’ll be in soon. If you’re tempted to clean something, run home and help your mother.”

“My job is here. I will be waiting for you.”

When he’d hung up, he glanced up to see that Dana had returned. She was watching him curiously.

“Problems?”

“A break-in at the center.”

“At least this time you know I had nothing to do with it.”

He grinned. “That is some consolation, yes.”

“You didn’t sound especially surprised when Maria told you. How come? Has it happened before?”

He saw no point in keeping the past problems from her. “A few times.”

“Is that why you were there the night I broke in?”

He nodded, without adding that his latest invasion did not appear to have followed the pattern. Earlier thieves had taken whatever valuables they could find. Although it was possible that this one had ransacked the place because there was nothing of value left to steal, he suspected that wasn’t the case. This one, he believed, had been looking for something less obvious than computers or DVD players.

“I’d better get back into town. Will you come with me? The sign-up sheet for your class has gotten very long, thanks to your success with Rosa and Marco, and that was even before they heard about the deals that were struck yesterday. Everyone is eager to see you.”

“Tomorrow,” she promised. “Today I want to see what I can dig up on Lawrence Tremayne. He’s the only person I can think of who might be able to come up with fifty thousand dollars for a hit.”

“You will take Kate with you?”

She shook her head. “No, this is something I have to do alone.” She smiled. “Don’t look so worried. I investigated dozens of cases without the people having any idea whatsoever that I was digging around in their lives.”

“You’ll pardon me if I only recall that I caught you red-handed trying to sneak into Yo, Amigo.”

“I was in a rush to do something. I was careless,” she conceded. “It won’t happen again.”

He framed her face with his hands. “See that it doesn’t,” he said softly. “Before each step you take, think of your sons. Think of me. We are all counting on you remaining in one piece.”

She made a face at him. “Gee, thanks. With that in mind, I won’t dare to take any risks at all.”

“That’s the general idea.” He pressed a quick kiss against her lips. He wanted to linger for more, but didn’t dare. One thing would lead to another and the day would pass. It would be a far more pleasant alternative than his current plan for the morning, but he knew in his gut that they would not find peace in each other’s arms until Ken’s murderer was behind bars and the past could be well and truly put behind them.

“I will call you later,” he promised.

She gave a little shrug of indifference that suggested she would not be counting on his keeping that promise any more than he had kept the one he’d made the day before. Her lack of faith, though well-deserved, stung.

He forced a smile. “You’ll see,
querida.
I am a man of my word.”

“Whatever,” she said, her voice laced with disbelief.

He saw then what he should have seen sooner. As important as that meeting with Carlos had been, he had paid a heavy price for choosing that over keeping the commitment he had made to Dana. In time, she might forgive him. Trust would not come so readily.