by Susan Crosby
“How did you learn all this?”
“Eventually the guilt was too much for my mother. She had remarried—a man of her father’s choosing—and had given birth to two children. After she told me about my father I became obsessed with wanting to meet him. I was fourteen and rebellious. I came to resent the restrictions on my life, put there by my grandfather.”
“Did you like your stepfather?”
“He was kind to me, but I wasn’t his. Ana and Lorenzo, my sister and brother, were his true children. I always felt the difference. And my grandfather made it clear that Lorenzo would be heir to his business because his father was not American.”
They parked in front of Jasmine and Patrick’s house and continued the conversation.
“When I was seventeen I made my way out of the country and showed up unannounced on my father’s doorstep, knowing only enough English to get me to his house.”
“How did your father react?”
Diego’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. He looked through the windshield, remembering. “He cried, and laughed. Hugged me until I couldn’t breathe. He knew Spanish, of course. He’d learned some from my mother and then had become fluent when he searched for us. He kept saying that he knew I hadn’t died. He knew it.”
“How did you feel?”
“Scared. Happy. Free for the first time.” He loosened his grip on the steering wheel. “And very sad for my mother. My father’s a good man. He would have given her a fine life if she’d let him. After the initial euphoria, I went through an angry period, angry that he hadn’t searched harder. I thought he never should have given up, I suppose. It wasn’t until some years had passed that I forgave him, not until I really understood how little the government can do to help find stolen children, particularly when a legal guardian has taken the child.”
“Have you seen your mother since you left?”
“Once. When my grandfather died. My mother and I were like strangers. Too much had happened. I call her occasionally, and I do talk to Ana and Lorenzo at least once a month. Ana is married and has a baby of her own.”
Maggie brushed his hair with her fingers, needing to touch him. “I had no idea your life had been so...challenging. You didn’t have a normal childhood, either.”
“For me, life was just confusing. Sometimes conversation would stop when I entered a room. My mother suffered from depressions that would last for days.”
“How did it change you? What difference did it make on your life?” she asked.
“I believe in rules more, I think, so there is less chaos. I believe children should not ever be pawns for their parents’ purposes. I believe marriage is forever, unless there is abuse, physical or mental.”
“So do I,” she said softly.
He searched her face with his gaze. “Ours isn’t a real marriage, Magnolia. We had no choice.”
“I chose.”
He closed his eyes. “No. No, don’t think that way. I was afraid of this.” He blew out a breath. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he did. She hadn’t made an informed decision to marry him. “We are attracted to each other. Proximity isn’t helping.”
“You can think that all you like, if it helps you get through the days. It isn’t the way I feel.”
“It isn’t real,” he repeated.
She just smiled.
He cupped the back of her neck and slid a finger along the edge of her sweater, needing to be sure she was wearing the necklace. He felt her arch toward him, but he just massaged her neck and shoulders as they sat in silence a little while. Finally, he pulled his hand away. He glanced at her purse. “Do you have your pager?”
“I think so.” She opened the bag and hunted until she found it.
“Turn it on, please.”
“If you need me, you can just call—”
“Humor me, Magnolia.”
J.D. shook his head as he stared at the schedule posted inside Maggie’s kitchen cabinet. He’d never known anyone to list their household chores by day. Today was Tuesday—ironing day. She hadn’t done any. Would it throw her off schedule for the whole week? He was glad she’d decided to take a nap instead after visiting her sister.
He shut the cabinet door and looked around the kitchen at the sparkling window and polished sink, at the orderly counters and delicate curtains. The written schedule, she’d told him, reduced stress. She didn’t have to think about what needed to be done because she already knew. She didn’t have to find time to clean because it was part of her routine, along with school and work.
“But everything is spotless,” he’d said.
“Of course it is. Because I keep it that way. Nobody notices a clean toilet.”
He smiled at the memory of her pointing that fact out to him, then he glanced at the clock. Time to wake her up if they were going to eat before work.
He opened her bedroom door quietly. The late-afternoon sun striped the bed with light and shadow from her window blinds. Her clothes were folded across a chair back, her lacy robin’s egg blue bra and matching panties draped over the top. His imagination peeled back the bedcovers and looked at her, curled on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek. Memories of her body lit his mind. Slender and pale and surprisingly curvy—she’d been more than he’d imagined.
He eased close to the bed and was hypnotized by her bare shoulder peeking above the edge of the comforter. Tempted beyond thought, he knelt and pressed his lips to the warm, smooth skin. She stirred, then resettled.
“Magnolia?”
“Hmm?”
“It’s time to wake up.”
“Okay.” She didn’t move.
“Are you awake?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He smiled. “Your eyes are closed.”
“I don’t want you to go away.” She opened her eyes and rolled onto her back, then withdrew her arm from under the covers and stroked his face, resting her thumb against his lips until his eyes darkened.
“You kissed me on the shoulder. Your version of Prince Charming waking Sleeping Beauty?”
He shrugged, then stood and walked to the door. “Don’t read too much into it,” he cautioned before he left the room.
Maggie bounded out of bed as soon as he shut the door. Stretching luxuriously, she smiled, happy that she’d caught him in an unguarded moment of temptation. She liked being irresistible. A couple of sharp knocks sounded on her bedroom door before it swung open.
“Can I do anything to start din—”
They froze in unison.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect—” he swallowed visibly “—you to be out of bed so fast.”
She lowered her arms and faced him fully, lightly shaking her hair back, thrilled at his open admiration. “Want to help me get dressed?” she asked with a grin. He took a step back, so she turned away to pick up her lacy panties. When she turned around, he was there, inches from her, waiting.
He extended a hand. In slow motion, she passed him the garment.
The sunlight and shadow streaking into the room gave the moment the texture and artistry of a Van Gogh painting as he bent on one knee and held the silky bit of nothing for her to step into. She placed a hand on his head to balance herself as he rested his cheek against her abdomen, his hair feathering her skin, his breath dusting her lightly, drawing a shiver from her.
He slid the garment up and over her hips, then he stood and reached for her bra.
She slipped her arms under the straps. “Your willpower is beyond human. But in proving it, you make me ache.”
He settled the cups over her breasts before he fastened the front clasp. Then he looked into her eyes. “I can take care of the ache for you, Magnolia. It wouldn’t take but a minute.”
“Bragger.”
He smiled. “It wasn’t a commentary on my skill but on your own passion.”
“Your offer is tempting.” She looped her arms around his neck and pulled herself snugly to him. “But I decided that there will be no climaxes
for either of us until we can do so together.”
He cupped her rear, holding her still. “We could climax right here and right now, simultaneously. It would still take but a minute.”
“I’ll wait.”
At her pleasantly determined tone of voice, he released her. He watched as she swept up her jeans and pulled them on, then scooped up her sweatshirt and tugged it over her head. She picked up her shoes and socks and sat on the edge of the bed.
She gave him a slow once-over look. “And if I have to wait until we’re no longer married to make love with you, I can do that, too, honey.”
The so, there! tone reverberated in the room until the ab surdity of her words drew a chuckle from him.
“You can quit laughing now,” she called as he left her room. “I didn’t marry you to be your entertainment.”
“Too late,” he called back.
Ten
The last hill of J.D.’s morning run was the killer. He wel-comed it. Almost two weeks of sharing space with Maggie had given him a short fuse. Running helped as tension the likes of which he’d never known dogged his steps and destroyed his sleep.
And Magnolia was the cause of it all.
She cooked his meals and ironed his shirts. He made beds and vacuumed. She cleaned and polished. He washed dishes. She dried, talking all the while, making him share stories.
Piece by tempting piece, he watched her create a pale pink negligee for Misty’s new line, adding a new section daily to the garment draped on the dressmaker’s form in his room, leaving behind snippets of lace and lingering perfume he could smell when he woke during the night.
She’d stopped teasing him. He had nothing to complain about, That she was waiting for him to make the next move was staggeringly clear.
His need for her intensified with every unintentional sway of her hips, every cheerful “Good morning,” every quiet turning of a page as she studied.
He resented how happy she seemed to be. And he wished like hell that Hastings would take the bait so neatly offered him.
J.D. crested the hill and slowed to a walk. He was half a block away from the apartment when he spotted a black limousine parked in front of her apartment. The tinted window of the passenger door glided down as he approached. He bent to peer inside, starkly aware that he was without his gun.
“Join me for a minute.”
Hastings could make a command seem like a party invitation, JD. thought, crouching by the door instead. “I’d drip sweat all over your fancy upholstery.”
“Get in.”
He opened the door and slid in, unobtrusively activating the recorder in his pager as he settled in the seat. Hastings passed him a small towel, holding it fastidiously between his thumb and forefinger. J.D. pressed his face in it, then rubbed his hair leisurely, eyeing the man who was dressed impeccably, his own hair styled and sprayed.
Hastings leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, fussing with his trouser crease. “I never asked you—how was your honeymoon?”
“Too short.”
“Why didn’t you take some time? Go somewhere exotic?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Ah, yes.” Hastings pulled out a flat, gold case from inside his suit jacket, extracted a cigarette and lit it. He enjoyed a few drags before he spoke again. “You’re waiting for me to decide.”
J.D. nodded.
“Your terms are generous. And my current... supplier has gotten greedy. But something niggles at me about you.”
J.D. grabbed the door handle and pulled. “You’ve danced one too many two-steps for me. Get yourself another partner.”
“Step out of this car and you’re dead.”
He paused. He’d dealt with a lot of lowlifes. None of them set him on edge like this educated, intelligent, sophisticated man. At least the scumbags had been predictable. “What’s the problem, Mr. Hastings? I come highly recommended—you told me so yourself. Your money comes out as clean as an April shower. No cops are sniffing my trail. I’ve facilitated transfers amounting to millions.”
“Something about you just doesn’t ring true, Duran. I’ve checked you out but it’s nothing I can put my finger on,”
“It’s reasonable that we don’t trust each other.” He angled toward Hastings. “I’ll be honest. Your business would improve my standard of living. But if we’re not going to deal, say so now. I’ve turned down other clients because you’ve arranged to meet me, then never showed. I’m a businessman, same as you.”
“Not quite the same.”
“Everyone starts somewhere.”
Hastings ground out his cigarette. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll give you one more chance. You know where to find me.”
“We’ll deal when I say so, Duran. Do tell that little spitfire you married to be careful. Wouldn’t want to see you a widower so soon after being a groom.”
Everything inside him seized up. “Is that a threat?”
“You can’t be too cautious these days, can you? Accidents happen. Brakes fail. Drive-by shootings are becoming commonplace. Distressing, isn’t it? What is the world coming to? Enjoy her, Duran.”
Before it’s too late. J.D. filled in the rest as he climbed out of the limo and shut the door, careful not to slam it or show any emotion at all.
He called his boss to relate the event, was advised to get Maggie out of town, then was threatened again with reassignment.
“You’re way too personally involved here,” Callahan said.
“If you pull me out, you’ll never get Hastings. I want to tell the parents of those two women that we found their killer, don’t you?”
“Not at the expense of your wife’s life, or yours.”
“Her car broke down yesterday. I’ll make sure it isn’t fixed soon so that I have to take her everywhere. Novacek already watches her when I can’t—which is rare enough. She’ll be all right. I can tell you now that she would never agree to leave town. Not without concrete facts.”
“Maybe you should tell her.”
“You don’t know her. She’d want to be involved. She’d want to help catch him. She isn’t trained for this, Cal. I can’t take that risk.”
Callahan’s sigh made J.D. wonder at his chances for career advancement. “Okay. We play it your way for now. Let’s talk tomorrow morning about some extra security.”
“Great. Thanks.”
After sitting for a few minutes mapping a strategy, he stripped off his running clothes and climbed into the shower, yanking the curtain shut. Hastings needed to dominate and control. J.D. had been letting him. They only butted heads about Magnolia, and that was because Hastings knew she was his hot button. Hastings expected a reaction, so J.D. had to give him one.
He ducked his head under the spray, then squirted some shampoo into his palm. When he was done lathering, he soaped his body and rinsed off, then stayed under the spray, letting the hot water loosen his muscles. He had half an hour before he’d have to leave to pick up Magnolia from school, time enough to make the beds and—
He tensed as the high-pitched wail of the security alarm penetrated the noise of the shower. He waited, and counted. After more than twelve seconds it stopped. Too long. About eight seconds too long. About the length of time it would take for someone unfamiliar with the code to shut down the system.
Leaving the water running, he stepped out of the shower and picked up his gun from the vanity. Three doors accessed the bathroom, one from the living room, one from each bedroom. All were closed. Water dripped down his face. He shifted his gaze from door to door, watching the handles as he took shallow breaths. The living room doorknob turned. He inched toward it.
The door eased open. Gun in hand, he grabbed the knob and jerked. “Freeze!”
Maggie froze. A scream locked in her throat. She stared straight down the barrel of a gun, behind which a dripping and naked J.D. loomed.
“Madre de Dios, Magnolia!” He pointed the gun toward the floor and took his finge
r off the trigger. “What are you doing home?”
“I—I called. My last class was canceled.” She swallowed. “I left you a mess—”
“I could have killed you,” he said, the words hoarse and desperate. “I could have killed you.”
On some level she noted the horror in his voice—the fear, the relief, the frustration. Then sight overruled every other sense. She took a hypnotic step forward, taking in the beauty of his body, the sculpted muscles, the lean, tapering form and pure masculinity. Ask him about the gun. Why does he have—“You’re so beautiful,” she said instead, unable to let logic surface. “You’re so incredibly—”
He hauled her to him, kissed her with the passion of a man who’d just found salvation. Maggie wrapped her arms around him, opened her mouth to his nipping teeth and exploring tongue, moaned her acceptance of the invasion. She winced as his fingers dove into her hair and tipped her head back farther. His eyes glittered like obsidian, hard and shiny, before he attacked her mouth again. He dragged her impossibly closer, enveloping her in his arms as he tucked her under his chin, his arms a vise from which she couldn’t escape, his breathing harsh and deep.
She ran tentative hands down his sides.
“No more,” he said harshly. “No more waiting.”
He whipped her sweater over her head, peeled off her T-shirt, tore away her bra, all the while moving her toward her bedroom, a trail of clothes in their wake, his hands sailing along her body as more skin was revealed, teasing her with a tenderness that made the fast and furious removal of her clothes even more erotic. Kneeling, he yanked off her shoes, tugged her jeans down, stripped away her panties, along with her jeans and socks. He pressed his face to her abdomen and breathed deeply. Overwhelmed by how he cherished her, she went weak. When he stood again, she saw unguarded hunger in the taut muscles of his face and the set of his mouth.
She said nothing, afraid that if she did, the moment would shatter like so many before that had teased her with consummation and discovery. She rested her hands on his chest and slid them lower until she could capture his rigid masculine heat in her hands. His eyes closed to slits. His head fell back. The room echoed with his deep moan of pained need. He let her explore him, although not nearly long enough. Then he cupped her head again and tipped it back. When his mouth came down hard on hers, she knew she’d come home.