by Tawny Weber
“She wasn’t making it up just to get attention,” he told the cop. “Whatever Lila Adrian actually saw, she’s not budging from her story.”
“She’s mistaken.”
Travis was good at reading people, but he couldn’t get a read on this guy. His tone was nervous, but looking at his face was like trying to see someone through smoke.
“You said Montoya was running down Rodriguez?”
“I’m sure Captain Montoya has spoken with him.”
And Travis was sure he hadn’t.
What he wasn’t sure of was whether Montoya hadn’t done so out of disinterest, out of laziness or out of complicity.
Bells chimed a warning in the back of his head, but Travis easily silenced them. He was here to recover from his injuries and figure out his life. Not to get involved with local politics or blondes.
He didn’t care how irritating he found the former or how hot he thought the latter.
“No worries,” he said with a shrug.
“Senor?”
“Tell Montoya not to get his panties in a twist. I’m not here to make trouble.” Aching from the quick march from his place to the restaurant, then the restaurant to the hotel and now back again, Travis shifted his weight again. “Besides, I doubt I’ll ever see the blonde again.”
“There are plenty of other pretty turistas. And you are a hot catch, senor,” Garcia said, his slap to the shoulder having the same impact as a mosquito bite. Quick, irritating, then forgotten. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to enjoy.”
Yeah.
Whatever.
Travis didn’t say goodbye.
He just left.
He didn’t bother returning to the hut. No point.
Being inside that little civilian house at night was a little rough lately. Like trying to sleep in a box while the sides were falling in. It wasn’t claustrophobia. He’d spent years on a submarine, which was only slightly less roomy than a sardine can.
He knew what the problem was. He’d been told enough times by plenty of people he respected. Flashbacks and dreams, the feeling of being trapped by circumstances. They were all symbolic for the rest of his life. If he ever figured out what to do with that life, the dreams, the suffocating stress, they’d all go away. The problem was, he wasn’t having any luck figuring out what to do.
Scrubbing his hand over his head, Travis headed for the beach and his hammock. And the hoped for oblivion of the night.
He threw himself into the comfortable mesh and searched for peace in the stars above and the sea beyond. But like most nights, that peace was nowhere to be found.
But tonight instead of being kept awake by the pain in his leg and the litany of questions over his future, it was the memory of Lila’s face.
He’d thought the woman was hot the first time he’d seen her. And once he’d seen her with her hair down, hot had progressed to incendiary.
Because, damn, he had a thing for long hair on a woman. Lila’s was a sweet combination of silver and gold, the colors twining together like ropes. He wasn’t an expert, but he’d guess those were expensive highlights. Everything about her screamed costly. Or wealthy. No, he decided after contemplating that for a half minute. The woman was definitely expensive.
She’d cost him plenty tonight, not just by being a pain in the ass.
And the cost hadn’t just been in those strained relations with the local cops. That he actually didn’t give a rip about. Montoya was an ass. Garcia, too. But asses or not, he didn’t figure they’d be dogging him much now that they knew he wasn’t going to play.
No, her cost was more along the lines of peace of mind.
Given that his mind hadn’t touched peace in about eight months, one could say that was a worthy exchange. At least he’d be distracted from his problems by a sexy blonde. She had a sweet little body and a sharp tongue. His favorite combination.
Travis sighed.
Because as sure as he was that he’d finally found a woman intriguing enough to distract him from the hell that was his current situation, he was just as sure that she was a whole mess of trouble.
Once, he’d specialized in trouble.
Now he was just no good at it.
And no amount of sexy could negate that.
* * *
Lila needed comfort. She debated whether to call room service for that tequila. There was nothing like a nice, stiff drink or a huge hunk of chocolate cake for comfort. Or given this night from hell, she figured she deserved both.
But as she reached for the phone on the desk, she saw the blinking red light and let her hand drop to her side. She’d make do with crappy tea and dry cookies.
And maybe a few painkillers.
Or if she checked those messages, a few dozen.
Lila kicked her shoes off with enough force that one hit the closet door and the other slammed into a wall. She left them there for three long seconds before she couldn’t stand it. With quick steps, she snagged the one that’d ricocheted off the wall, then strode over to the closet for the other before setting them neatly, side by side, inside.
Then she got back to pacing, her steps fast and rigid as she made her way from the bathroom to the window, from the door to the wall and back again. Four points, over and over again.
All the while, she debated.
Did she follow her father’s orders and take that helicopter in the morning? she wondered when she reached the window.
She really had seen a man killed. Hadn’t she? She turned at the bathroom and headed for the door. A man she was here specifically to see, whose body had disappeared?
She came up against the wall and made another turn to stare out the window. She stared out at the sliver of beach visible from here. Was Hawkins out there somewhere? She’d bet he was glad to be done with her.
She dropped her head against the glass, letting it cool her overheated forehead as she gave a soft laugh.
The poor guy.
She just had totally screwed up his night.
Not as much as poor Chef Rodriguez’s was screwed up, though, she reminded herself, forcing her feet to start moving again.
That poor man was dead, dammit. She knew he was. What had he been scared of? Because that’d been fear she’d seen on his face when they’d talked. She should have asked. She should have pushed. Maybe she could have saved him? Helped him? Something?
And what did Hawkins do when she told him she’d found a dead guy? He’d all but called her a liar. Sure, he’d stuck by her, but that didn’t negate the fact that he didn’t believe her.
She’d watched a man get shot, saw him fall in a splatter of blood. How could he have survived that? Was it possible that he’d gotten up off that floor? Could he still be alive?
Maybe she was wrong.
Maybe she hadn’t seen what she thought.
She ran a trembling hand through her hair.
The cops didn’t think she had.
Neither did Hawkins. Mr. Perfect SEAL, with his elite training. He probably had a bunch of degrees and a chest full of medals and a file full of commendations. Which made him, what? A total know-it-all with a hero complex.
Oh, she knew the type. She’d grown up in the shadow of them. Oh-so-perfect and filled with righteousness.
No wonder the police hadn’t believed her. Why would they if Hawkins didn’t?
And then there was the lack of evidence. No body. No sigh of foul play. No creeps who looked capable of murder chasing after her.
Her father would say she was just trying to get attention.
She gave a low growl.
Here she was, in a totally different country, and she felt as if her controlling father and her perfect brother were right here, looming over her shoulder. Leaking their judgment and righteousness and domination all over her in big, oozing drips.
; She clenched her teeth to hold back the scream.
At least Hawkins hadn’t oozed.
Instead, he’d been all manly and helpful. He hadn’t believed her, yet he’d called the police. He hadn’t wanted to deal with her, but he’d not only gone back to the restaurant, but he’d walked her to her room.
What did that make him?
A hero and a gentleman?
A very sexy man?
Okay. Maybe he was a little sexy, she thought, shoving both hands through her hair so it lifted off the back of her neck, then releasing so it fluttered over her shoulder blades.
Or a lot sexy, she admitted with a hefty sigh.
Not just his looks, although those were a few degrees hotter than hot. Maybe it was that body. There was a lot of it and all of it was prime.
Which didn’t matter in the least.
There was no reason for her to waste time thinking about that beach bum. She was sure he’d stopped thinking about her before he’d hit the hotel exit.
Which meant that giving him even one more thought was stupid. Especially with everything else she had to worry about.
Lila dropped into the desk chair with a huff and shoved her fingers through her hair again, this time, gripping them tight close to the scalp. Elbows propped on the desk, she stared at the blinking red light until her eyes watered.
She knew who it was.
She knew what he wanted.
She was going to ignore it.
No way in hell she was going add to her rotten night by listening to a cacophony of orders by yet another man who didn’t give her credit for having a brain.
Besides, she knew what the messages would say. Bottom line, her father expected her to be on that helicopter in the morning.
The helicopter that would provide her with a free ride out of town. Away from dead bodies and sexy beach bums and obnoxious cops. All it’d cost her was a week of party planning, a night of playing hostess and a ton of pride. And sure, maybe she’d have a few sleepless nights and guilt-ridden nightmares. But she’d be through with this mess.
Before she gave in to years of giving in to the temptation, she jumped up and hurried across the room to grab her scarf out of the closet, then tossed it over the phone to hide the blinking light.
Her cell phone rang, mocking her determination.
And, she realized as she grabbed it, her assertion of her own brainpower. Her stomach unclenched when the screen didn’t show temptation.
“Hi, Corinne.”
“Hey. How’d the meeting go?”
“Oh, so bad.”
“Oh, please. How bad could it be? You’re the queen of closing the deal. You’ve probably got three new clients while you’re signing up that chef.”
Lila knew that tone. It was Corinne’s kiss-ass tone. Which meant that she had something to do with at least half of those blinking lights. Usually, she’d placate and soothe and cheer. But this had been one hell of a night.
“The hottest guy on earth thinks I’m a drama queen pain in the butt. The local police think I make up crimes for attention. And my reason for being here was shot in front of me tonight.”
“Oh.”
Lila listened to glass hitting glass, looked at her tepid flower water and rubbed two fingers between her eyes. God, this night sucked. With that in mind, she filled Corinne in on the details.
“Chef Rodriguez is dead?”
“Well, I saw someone shoot him. I saw blood. He hit the floor. So yeah, he’s dead.”
“Are you going to tell your father? You should call him. He has contacts. He can help.”
She’d rather set her hair on fire.
“Not even my father can bring a man back from the dead,” she pointed out before adding, “and since that’s beyond his power, there’s no reason for him to hear anything about this. Right, Corinne?”
“Okay.” Somehow, Corinne managed to fill that single word with so much doubt that it practically oozed through the phone. “Then you’re coming home? Or are you heading for San Diego?”
“Home. I need to arrange a ride to San José, change my flight and be home the day after tomorrow.”
With that in mind, she flipped open her laptop to pull up her flight info. Hearing the clicking over the line, she knew Corinne was doing the same, so she tried to click faster. But as usual, Corinne hit the info first.
“Since the hotel doesn’t have transport, you’ll need to pay for a ride.” She reeled off the choices and costs before Lila found the website. “There’s a hefty penalty for changing your flight. But it’s still cheaper than continuing to pay for a hotel room.”
Lila’s head hurt enough that she was willing to risk the tea. It took two tries before she could swallow it, but once she did, she said, “I’ll take it from here.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to take the free ride with its plush seats and free drinks and actual in-fight meal and a cozy blanket that didn’t come wrapped in plastic?”
“You are an airline snob,” Lila pointed out.
“Or a smart woman who knows that building a long-term, successful business takes more than determination. It takes planning. It takes foresight. It takes connections, Lila. You really should stop pissing off yours.”
Nope. Not going to happen. When it came to her doing what her father wanted, she’d rather be covered in honey and dipped in ants.
“I’ll handle my own travel arrangements.”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.” Even her words pouted. “But I thought you were kinda, well, you know, financially challenged.”
“Are you implying that I’m broke?”
“Aren’t you?”
Lila toggled over to her bank account and pulled a face. She’d argue poor rather than broke, but Corinne had a point. After buying a new computer system and recent travel costs, Lila didn’t have a lot of money to waste.
“This trip was supposed to be funded by the Martins’ finder’s fee. My commission on hiring Rodriguez would have covered my travel expenses. My hotel fee. And, yes, my rent and business expenses for the next three months.”
“And you’re sure you won’t take your father’s help?”
“I’m sure.”
“Are you sure that cook is really dead?”
“Someone shot him.” Lila dropped her head to the desk and let it bounce a couple of times. “He looked dead.”
“But the police said he wasn’t, didn’t they?”
“The police didn’t find a body, so they made no actual determination.”
“So he might be alive?”
“I don’t see how. He was shot multiple times and there was so much blood. He hit the floor and he didn’t get up.” This time Lila knocked back the tea without hesitation, letting the vile spice coat her throat. It didn’t do anything to wash away the images burned in her brain. “The man was dead, Corinne. He was dead.”
“But are you sure it was the cook?”
“Chef,” Lila absently corrected, shoving away from the desk to pace off the pictures in her head. “Rodriguez is a chef. Was a chef. I don’t know.”
“But if he’s not dead, then you can still hire him and make the Martins happy. Mrs. Martin is preggo, which means if they’re happy with their dinners, they’re going to hit you up to find them the perfect nanny next.”
“Darlene Porter would be perfect for them. She speaks three languages, lived in Europe for two years as an au pair and once she got over obsessing about juice cleanses, she hit the right note on healthy eating that’d really appeal to them.”
She was already seated and making notes on her pitch when she remembered that the only way she’d make her commission was if she satisfied the Martins. To satisfy them she needed a living chef. Rodriguez, to be specific.
“I’m pretty sure he’s dead,” she said under her breath.
> “Pretty sure isn’t totally sure,” Corinne pointed out encouragingly.
What if the cop was right? What if she’d imagined the whole thing? It wasn’t like she’d actually seen his face straight on. But the body had been sporting the same bushy mustache and impressive gut as the chef. And he’d been wearing the same clothes she’d seen on the man earlier in the day. Same hairstyle, same thick part in the same color of hair. And yes, he’d been in the chef’s office where everyone she’d asked had said Rodriguez was working.
But maybe it hadn’t been him.
Lila tapped her pen against her notepad in a couple rounds of rat-a-tat before sighing.
“You know, maybe I should visit the restaurant again.” She opened the database on her laptop and started scrolling. “But I have his home address here. The police didn’t seem interested in following up, but I can check on him myself.”
“Um, maybe not by yourself. If the chef really is dead, someone killed him.”
“The cops think I made it up.”
“What about the sexy guy? Will he go with you?”
“He thinks I made it up.”
“He stuck with you all evening, then walked you back to your hotel.”
“He’s a gentleman.” With maybe the nicest butt she’d ever seen. Which was beside the point.
“But you were hot for him.”
“I wouldn’t say hot.” Extremely warm, with a few icy sparks due to his lousy attitude and a strong cold front due to his being a damned SEAL.
“You trusted the guy enough to grab on to him when you were scared,” Corinne pointed out. “You should take him with you.”
“Trust is a stretch. I’d have jumped into the arms of any big, strong man who looked like he could handle a couple of gun-toting killers.”
“Lila, the guy stuck with you through all that. I’m sure he’d do the right thing again for an hour or so tomorrow, too.”
Of course he would.
“He’s a SEAL.”
“Oh.” Glass clinked again. “Look, text me before you go to the restaurant. Make sure there are other people there when you go in. And absolutely, positively do not go to his house alone.”