“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.
Chapter Eight
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.”
&
nbsp; “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 woul
d 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.
PaintedPassion Page 8