Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  “Right, but it can happen, we know that, and if Emily had the chance to cause enough ruckus, it might have been investigated and then all hell would have broken loose for those families.” I ran through it all again in my head, taking another bite of steak.

  Jack put his elbows on the table, propping his chin with one hand. “How’s your belly button?”

  Warmth immediately crept up my neck. Uh-oh. Back to unsafe territory. It wasn’t like I could show him with my dress on, but damn it if I wasn’t tempted to undo the tie and let the thing fall open right here and now. I could model my navel—and my underwear ensemble. “Great.” Gulp. “Next question.”

  He smiled. “Any other leads?”

  It was go-for-broke time. “I got a threatening phone call this afternoon.”

  His fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and his body language shifted from flirtatious to tense. “What do you mean a threatening call?”

  Self-explanatory, wasn’t it? “The kind that’s—you know—threatening.”

  He gave me a no shit look. “Who do you think it was?”

  “I don’t know. Could have been any of them. Bonatee, Case, Muriel, Mrs. Case, Zod…”

  “You don’t know if it was a man or a woman?”

  “I couldn’t tell. The voice was disguised.”

  When Jack started to say something, I forked a piece of steak into my mouth. Death threats were a worse conversation. “Mmmm,” I groaned, hoping to change the subject and get back to flirting. “This is amazing.”

  “Cut it out, Lola. You brought this up. Someone threatened you. What’d they say?”

  There went the mood. I put down my fork and leveled my gaze at him. “He, or she, said to butt out, that I wouldn’t be so lucky next time.” Oh! This was a totally valid reason—besides the lust bubbling inside me—to stay with Jack tonight. I really shouldn’t be home alone. And who knew where Antonio was tonight.

  He hesitated for a minute, considering me. “You’ve almost been run over, and now you’ve been threatened?” I nodded, not liking the accusation in his tone. “Someone killed that lady,” he said. “That means they won’t have a problem trying for you next.”

  “I know that.”

  “Dangerous business you’re in.”

  I put my palms down on the table and spread my fingers. “Uh, no.”

  “No? It’s not dangerous?”

  “Well, yeah, it can be dangerous.” I curled my lip. “But this is what I do.”

  “Do you have a gun?” he asked.

  Not this again. “No, I don’t. Do you?” I waved my steak knife at him before he could interrupt. “What is it with men and guns, anyway? Is it an extension of your manhood, or something?”

  He scoffed. “No. And I’m not a detective. I don’t need a gun.”

  “Well, I don’t want one. I might shoot the wrong person and end up guilt-ridden and in prison.” Hadn’t I just explained this to Manny?

  “How are you going to protect yourself if this guy follows through with his threat?”

  I fell back on what was fast becoming my line and made my tone coy again. “My body is my weapon.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  But the tension didn’t ease. “Jack.”

  “Lola.”

  I said a quick prayer in my head, hoping he’d give me the response I wanted. “This is a deal-breaker for me. I’ll leave right now if you can’t accept that I’m a private investigator.”

  Of course, I had no way to get home. He’d have to drive me.

  He took a sip of his wine and leaned back. “I can accept it. But I think I’d prefer it if you, say, worked at the water company. Or maybe a nice state job.”

  “Is there another but in there?”

  “Yeah. But I’ve wanted you for too long to be scared away by your job. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Be still my fluttering heart. He wanted me, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

  A few minutes later, I was standing at the sink, rinsing the dishes he’d cleared from the table, when his hands slipped around my waist, his palm flat on my stomach. His finger pressed against the belly button post under my dress, and he breathed against the side of my neck. “I want to see it.”

  I swallowed, sure he could hear my racing pulse. How my voice stayed steady, I’ll never know. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” I almost slapped my hand over my mouth. ¡Ay, Dios! Had I actually just said that?

  Apparently, because he immediately backed away, and when I turned around he was unbuttoning his shirt. One by one, like slow torture. Then—bam—I was staring at his tanned chest, an enticing spattering of hair calling to be touched. I felt faint.

  My knees turned to putty as he moved closer again and gently—but purposefully—pulled on the tie that held my dress together. It fell open.

  He looked me up and down; then his eyes seemed to cloud as he looked at my navel. He dropped to one knee, fingering the silver post.

  “It’s a little b-bruised still,” I stammered.

  “I like it,” he breathed.

  I wound my hands through his hair and leaned back against the counter to stay upright. My fantasy, come to life. “I like you—”

  His fingers slipped under the narrow elastic of my panties, and I moaned. Oh God, this was so much better than a daydream.

  My legs were going to give out any second. With my dress open, my sheer lingerie front and center, and Jack on his knees in front of me, I couldn’t hold out much longer.

  His warm lips and tongue explored my belly. I wove my fingers deeper through his hair, tilted my head back, and let my eyes flutter closed. This was it. My moment with Jack Callaghan, fourteen years in the making.

  My head pounded and my eyes flew open. No! It wasn’t my head; it was someone at the door. No interruptions!

  Jack pulled away.

  No—no—no—no! Don’t stop.

  Then I heard the hammering again, followed by a man’s voice yelling, “Dolores!”

  Manny?

  Jack stood up, intertwined his fingers behind his neck, and closed his eyes for a second. “You expecting a visitor?” he said tensely.

  “Of course not,” I said.

  The pounding grew louder. He headed for the door. I hurried after him, fumbling as I tried to rewrap my dress.

  He flung open the door, and I froze, not quite reassembled.

  Manny looked me up and down, his gaze hitching at the gaping fabric of my dress and my suddenly numb fingers trying to make a knot with the ties. “Dolores,” he said, full-on agitation lacing his voice.

  I spouted the first sentence my brain could form: “How’d you know I was here?”

  Manny gave me a look that said, Uh, I’m a detective. Then he took a deep breath, his eyes seemed to soften, and he said, “Your brother’s been in a car accident.”

  Chapter 18

  The room started to spin. I reached for the wall. “Wh—what?”

  Jack slipped his arm around my waist, holding me steady. “Is he okay?” he demanded.

  Manny nodded. “He’s in the hospital.”

  “But his car’s in the shop—” Realization hit me. I pressed my hand to my mouth. He’d been in my car. “Oh my God.”

  Jack’s grip on me tightened.

  “He’s okay, right?” I chided myself and answered my own question. “Of course he’s okay. He has to be.”

  Manny stood stiffly by the door. “Some bruised ribs and abrasions. He’ll be fine.”

  “What happened?”

  “Hit and run,” Manny said.

  “He never saw it coming.”

  I twisted and looked up at Jack. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was—the phone call I’d gotten earlier had been more than a threat. It was reality. And now Antonio had been hurt.

  “My parents? Are they with him?”

  “Yes. I’ll take you,” Manny said.

  “No, I’ll take her.” There was no mistaking the possessiveness in Jack’s voice. He released m
e and snatched his wallet and keys from a metal box on the kitchen counter.

  Suddenly forced to stand on my own, I wobbled on my heels. Manny caught my elbow, but Jack strode to me and slid his arm around my waist again to steady me.

  I took a deep breath as Manny stepped back and Jack guided me out the door.

  After three hours at the hospital, I was reassured that Antonio was going to be just fine. Jack drove me home and followed me up the stairs. “I’ll stay with you,” he said as I unlocked the door.

  “You don’t have to,” I said. Any thoughts of seduction I’d had were long gone, but I wanted the comfort of being with him. The threats had taken on a whole new spin, and I was jumpy beyond belief.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Thank God. “I’m going to change. You can borrow—” What did Jack sleep in?

  “I’ll find something.” He wandered off to Antonio’s room as I dropped my purse and headed to mine. It was a disaster. I’d forgotten about the mess I’d left behind before “the date.” I ignored it, no small feat, considering I had Magdalena Cruz’s compulsive clean genes in me.

  I slipped out of my dress and bra and into safe pj’s. The photos of Jack were scattered on the dresser. I tucked them away in the drawer. I didn’t want to take any chances that he’d see those pictures. Explaining them was a conversation I wasn’t ready to have. Pulling my hair up into a ponytail, I went to make sure Jack had found what he needed.

  My stomach fluttered when I saw him. He sat on the couch in a plain white T-shirt, a pair of blue drawstring pajama pants that I’d never seen my brother wear, and Antonio’s guitar perched on his knee. His head was lowered as his fingers picked out a quiet melody. An Eric Clapton song, I think.

  I stretched out on the opposite end of the couch and let my eyes drift closed. Antonio was safe, and I was here with Jack. Things were less than ideal, but I wanted to forget about it for a little while. After a few minutes, the music stopped, and I felt his finger on my silver toe ring. My eyes fluttered open again, and I readjusted my position to distract myself. Exhaustion didn’t stop my body from reacting to his touch. Damn, it was hard being a woman. I had zero control over my emotions and hormones.

  He lifted my feet onto his lap, laid one hand on top of them, and stretched the other along the back of the couch. “You okay?”

  “Considering someone tried to kill Antonio and it should have been me? Nope, not okay.” I waited for him to say again that being a PI was too dangerous, that I was in the wrong profession, that it was my fault Antonio was sleeping in a hospital room tonight. I’d heard it from my parents, from Gracie, from my grandparents—why not from Jack, too?

  “You have to figure out who’s behind all this.”

  I wiggled my finger in my ear and blinked. “What?”

  “You’re not safe till you find the killer.”

  “You’re not going to tell me I should quit?”

  One side of his mouth pulled up, that enticing dimple appearing. “Nope.”

  That was it, just “Nope.” He might as well have professed his undying love and committed to a lifetime of monogamy with me, I was that moved by his response. In one quick motion, I pulled my feet off his legs, sat up, and straddled him. I suddenly didn’t care about his secrets.

  He ran his hands up my arms. I wound my fingers through his hair, just as I’d done earlier. I couldn’t control whoever was trying to kill me, but this moment with Jack? That I could. I needed to.

  Jack nudged the strap of my top off my shoulder and pressed his lips against my collarbone, then my neck. My body tingled, and I opened my thighs and moved against him.

  I yelped, surprised, when his mouth grazed my breast through my top. My back arched, and I grabbed the side of the couch. My arm hit the lamp from the side table, and it crashed to the floor.

  “Oh!” I lurched, nearly falling. Jack steadied me. Tears pooled in my eyes. My brother was in the hospital because of me. I didn’t want to confuse my need for comfort with what I felt for Jack, and I was so not in control at the moment. Maybe the lamp falling was a sign. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for this. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I c-can’t…”

  “It’s okay, Lola.”

  I dropped my forehead against his for a second then pulled back when I heard heavy footsteps up the back stairs followed by thunderous pounding at the kitchen door.

  “Dolores! ¿Qué pasó?”

  Oh God. Now the night was complete. It was—what?—one in the morning, and my dad was trying to break down the back door.

  “Nada, Papi,” I called. “Estoy bien.”

  “I heard a crash. What is going on in there?”

  Reluctantly, I climbed off Jack and hurried through the kitchen, cracking the door open as I wiped away a stray tear. “I’m fine, Papi. Go back to bed.”

  He tried to peer around me. I let him. There was nothing to see in the kitchen. And he didn’t have super vision that could make a right angle turn into the living room. Finally he gave up and leveled a look at me. “You go to bed, mi’ja. You have a job to quit in a few hours. You will come work at Abuelita’s.”

  My jaw dropped. Oh no. As soon as I woke up in the morning, I was nailing a hit-and-run killer. “I am not quitting my job.”

  My mother marched up the stairs, her finger wagging in front of her. “Oh yes, you are.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  She threw her hands up and made a motorboat sound with her lips. “Maybe when the bad man kills us, then you will get some sense, eh?”

  I was not going to let her guilt me into quitting. “Maybe,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm.

  But she had to have the last word. “We will talk tomorrow, Dolores.” The punto was implied. End of discussion.

  Like hell. I was going to be busy. Family castigation could wait.

  My father peered around me again, his eyebrows angled together in suspicion. I turned and looked at the empty kitchen then back at him. “What?”

  With a frustrated shake of his head, he said, “Nothing.” Finally, he turned and followed my mother back into their house, and I went back to Jack.

  I knew my parents would be downstairs for the next hour, each with an empty glass pressed against the ceiling. It really was time to find a new place to live. The hell with cheap rent. It wasn’t worth it.

  Jack was leaning against the door to my bedroom when I found him. “I need to go to sleep,” I said. I didn’t know if my anxiety would let me, but I had to try. I had a killer to hunt in the morning.

  Jack took my hand. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  I tried to read him, looking for ulterior motives, but saw only weary concern. “Okay.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. “Okay.”

  There was a loud thunk, and the floor vibrated, something pounding against the ceiling downstairs. “¿Quien está allí, Dolores?” My mother’s muffled voice followed more pounding. “Who is there?”

  I pulled away from Jack, giving him an exasperated smile as I shook my head. “Go to bed, Mami!” I yelled at the floor and stomped my foot. “Go to bed.”

  Jack led me to my bedroom. We lay down under the quilt, and I curled up next to him. And amazingly, we slept.

  A door shut, and I awoke with a start.

  The killer! He’d tracked me down.

  I bounded out of bed, grabbed the nearest weapon, my high school girl’s softball trophy, and slipped into the hallway. The blazing sunlight streaming through the living room windows cleared the bleariness in my brain. The night before flooded back to me. The killer wasn’t in my flat. It had to be Jack.

  My white-knuckle grip on the trophy relaxed as I went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. A slip of paper on the counter next to the morning newspaper caught my eye.

  Finish the job. I’ll call you later.

  —J

  I smiled. He’d written me a love note, brought the paper inside, and had faith in me. I didn’t need the pro list anymore.

  My mind screeched to
a halt. ¡Ay, Dios! Today was Thursday. The quinceañera was in two days!

  The clock came into focus. It was 7:49. I had to haul ass if I was going to catch a killer and help finish making the favors and arranging the flowers. After racing through my morning routine, I grabbed a cup of java to go, tucked the Bee under my arm, and ran out to the driveway.

  Dead stop. I had no car. Shit. Papi had said the driver’s side was smashed, but the car was still drivable. After the accident, he’d taken it to the restaurant and left it there. I’d have to get it later.

  I pulled out my cell and dialed Manny.

  He picked me up ten minutes later, greeted me with a barely perceptible nod, and we plowed through the thick morning traffic into downtown. After a few minutes of the silent treatment, he asked, “How’s your brother doing?”

  “They’re discharging him this afternoon. He’s going to be fine.”

  Manny’s eyes went back to the road. Apparently that was it for conversation, so I ripped the rubber band off the newspaper and riffled through the sections until I got to the Metro. Jack’s latest column was there. Seeing his picture and byline sent a ray of warmth through me. I’d curl up with his words later—after I’d caught a killer.

  A few minutes later, Manny parked and stepped out of his truck. He waited for me on the sidewalk, his face grim. He glanced at the paper that was tucked back under my arm but kept silent as we walked toward Assemblyman Case’s reelection office.

  Mrs. Case had been talking to her daughter but stopped midsentence when she saw us. I wanted to spit at her and yell, ¡Mentirosa! You knew about Emily!

  She snapped her cool gaze at Manny for a split second. “What is it now, Ms. Cruz?”

  I was impressed that she remembered my name, but felt no compulsion to sugarcoat things anymore. “How far was your husband willing to go to protect your son Zod from Emily Diggs’s accusations?” I rattled off my thoughts out loud. “Or maybe it was all you, trying to protect your son and your husband.”

  If the ice queen was thrown off guard by the questions, it didn’t show. She was a pro. “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.”