He stared down at the picture, then looked back at her. "I don't know if you're crazy, but I can say that I've never met anyone like you, Alicia."
She smiled. "Good. I like being one of a kind. And you can call me crazy. My father was nicknamed Lightning Man. It made him laugh, but my mother hated to hear the locals call him that. He was a decorated fighter pilot before he retired. But hardly anyone remembered that when he started talking about dancing blue sprites in the sky. He became a joke, but he wasn't a joke, and I don't believe he made anything up."
"It sounds like he wasn't just a Navy hero; he was your hero."
"That's true. We were very close. I was the youngest of three kids, and my dad and I probably spent the most time together. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, and sometimes it feels like just yesterday."
"Are you still close to your mother—your siblings?"
"No. They're all in Texas. I came to Miami four years ago because I needed to build a life somewhere new, and Florida has the highest number of lightning strikes. I figured I could do photojournalism anywhere, so why not here?"
"Texas?" he queried, his brows drawing together.
"Corpus Christi." As she said the words, shock flashed through his eyes. "I know. Liliana lives in Corpus Christi, Texas. It's another weird link between us. Sometimes I wonder if anything really happens by chance."
Michael frowned at her words, then lowered his gaze and flipped through the rest of her photographs without saying another word. She didn't know what he was thinking, but she was grateful to have a minute to gather her own thoughts.
"Where are the others?" Michael asked, slipping the photos back into the envelope.
"What are you talking about? There are no others. This is the roll I took in the park."
"You didn't shoot anything when you first got to the island, drove into the parking lot, got out of the car…"
She suddenly remembered the digital camera she'd used when she first arrived. "Oh my God."
"There is another roll, isn't there?"
"Not film, but I took a few shots on my digital camera when I got to the parking lot. I don't know why I didn't remember that before."
"Where's your camera?"
"At my apartment."
"Let's take a look," he said, jumping to his feet.
"Hold on," she said, rising more slowly. "Maybe I should just bring the camera here."
Disappointment tightened his lips. "You still think I'm going to hurt you?"
"I'm trying to be smart and cautious."
"You? The woman who runs toward lightning? I thought you were fearless. I also thought you wanted to help Liliana."
He had a point. She'd already gone this far with him, why was she holding back now? "Fine. I'll show you the pictures. I live just around the corner."
"Okay, good. You can trust me, Alicia."
"I'm counting on that."
Five
As they walked out of the café, Alicia was surprised by the blustery wind. The clouds had passed and the rain was gone, but the breeze was surprisingly strong and shockingly cool for late September. Miami was usually warm well into October and sometimes throughout the entire winter season.
Despite the weather, Bryant Street was packed with tourists enjoying the mix of cafés, art galleries, antiques shops and sidewalk stands of artists selling everything from jewelry to wood carvings and abstract metal sculptures. She loved the vibe of Bryant Street, and she was getting to know some of the local vendors, many of whom gave her a wave and a smile as she passed by.
"You're popular," Michael commented.
"Everyone is very friendly around here. And I love artists. It's inspiring to see people's dreams come to life, whether it's in a painting or a sculpture or a knitted sweater."
"You find knitted sweaters inspiring?" he asked doubtfully.
"They can be," she said with a smile. "Anyway, I like it here."
"It's charming. I didn't realize so many of the warehouses had been converted into design space and lofts."
"My landlord says the area has really changed in the last year. All I know is that it feels a lot different than downtown with all those trying-too-hard skyscrapers." She stopped abruptly, realizing what she'd said. "Sorry. I forgot that you're a builder."
"The new city center is going to be amazing," he said, pride in his voice. "It's not trying too hard to be great; it just is. Have you seen the drawings online or downtown?"
"No. I've heard that it’s a really interesting development, but I don't spend a lot of time in that area. I guess I haven't paid attention."
"You should come down there sometime. I'll give you a tour. Have you ever stood on the top of a skyscraper before the walls are in?"
"I can't say that I have."
"It's an incredible feeling, like you're on top of the world. Someone who chases lightning would like the perspective."
"I'd like it even more if an electrical storm was moving through the city."
He tipped his head. "It always comes back to that, doesn't it?"
She shrugged and opened the gate in front of her building. Three steps led to another door, which she unlocked, and then she led him up a narrow stairway to the second floor.
As she ushered Michael inside her small one-bedroom apartment, she said, "It's not much. My furniture was either left behind by the previous tenant or picked up at the consignment store." She dropped her keys on the side table as Michael wandered around the room, pausing to look at her framed lightning shots. Then he moved on to the bookshelves, running his finger along her books. He glanced back at her. "You have a lot of books on weather."
"I told you that I understand weather."
He moved across the room to a map she'd hung on the wall earlier that week. "What's this?"
"It shows all the lightning strikes in the U.S. over the past eighteen months. You can see that Florida gets quite a few."
"I can definitely see that," he said with amusement. He picked up an antique camera that she'd bought at an estate sale a few years back. "How old is this?"
"About fifty years. It's cool, isn't it?"
"Do you ever shoot anything besides lightning?"
"Of course I do. In my job with the Chronicle, I shoot many different things. I've also picked up side jobs: weddings, bar mitzvahs, anniversary parties."
He looked through the lens of the camera. "When did you fall in love with photography?"
"When I was a very small child. I've always liked being able to capture moments in time. You never know if you'll ever see that exact moment again."
He set down the camera and gave her a thoughtful look. "You're an observer of life."
"Some of the time. But as you know, I also like to put myself in the picture."
His smile lit up his amazing blue eyes, and she found herself unable to look away from him. She would love to capture him on film. He had the kind of face that a camera would like: strong features, mesmerizing eyes, an expression that showed confidence, maybe a bit of arrogance and definitely pride. But behind all of that strength, she saw a hint of vulnerability, an uncertainty that came from the situation he found himself in, a situation he was determined to fix.
He took up a lot of space in her apartment, she thought, but she didn't feel afraid.
No, it definitely wasn't danger that was putting her nerves on edge; it was attraction—unexpected, wrong place, wrong time, wrong man attraction. Her pulse leapt at the realization.
"Where's your camera?" he asked. "Your digital camera."
"What? Oh. In my backpack." It took her a moment to remember why they'd come to her apartment. She walked over to the backpack she'd hung by the door and pulled out her camera. She then sat down at the kitchen table and connected the camera to her computer, importing the new photos.
Michael stood behind her, looking over her shoulder as she clicked through the first few photos.
"Those are downtown," he commented.
"I stopped a few times on
the way to the park." She moved quickly through the next few city shots, finally getting to the parking lot. "I shot these out the window of the car." She paused, looking for some clue she'd forgotten, but there was nothing but a dark cloudy sky, tall trees, dozens of shadows and an empty parking lot.
"Nothing," she said, feeling disappointed. "Ever since you asked me about what other photos I'd taken, I had the feeling that I'd seen a car coming out of the lot when I was going in, but I was so focused on getting into the park before they closed it that I wasn't paying that much attention. But there's no car in the lot."
Michael sat down across from her and for a moment there was nothing but silence. "I guess that's that," he said heavily.
"Sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"I feel like there's something in my mind, but I can't get to it." She put a hand to her temple, running her fingers gently over the bump. "Did I see something that I can't remember?"
"I don't know. How does your head feel?" he asked.
"It aches, but it's not as bad as it was."
"Did you see a doctor? You might have a concussion."
"I'll be fine," she replied. "I just want to remember the details of what I saw last night. I want to be able to offer more help. I feel like every minute counts."
His expression turned grim. "I know what you mean."
Now she felt like apologizing for another reason. Michael obviously cared about Liliana. He was torn up inside, and while she was discouraged because she wanted to help, he was devastated because there was a good chance his friend had been hurt or was still in danger.
"What was Liliana like?" Alicia asked curiously.
"She was serious, intelligent, outspoken, a little bit self-righteous at times. She always wanted things to be fair. If there was a fight in the neighborhood, Liliana would jump in and try to mediate. Usually, her help was not well received, especially by her brothers, but she'd try anyway." He paused, his expression much softer now. "She read a lot. She loved books. I'd be playing baseball in the street with her brothers, and Liliana would be on her porch reading. Sometimes she'd join us; she was a good athlete, but she loved a story more than anything else. I thought she might grow up to be a writer, but instead she went into law."
"You lived across the street?"
"Yes. Our families were very close. My father and Liliana's father both came over from Cuba in the 80s. They were part of something called the Mariel Boatlift."
"I've never heard of that."
"It was a rare moment in time when thousands of people were allowed to leave Cuba. My father came over with two of his siblings. His parents were in ill health and stayed behind, but they encouraged their children to go. They wanted the next generation to have a better life."
"Does your father have a better life?"
"He does now. There were a lot of lean years early on. After my mom died, he was in a dark place. I couldn't talk to him at all. Liliana was a good friend to me during those years. She was one of the few people I could really talk to."
Alicia realized in that moment that there was absolutely no way that Michael had hurt Liliana. There was too much pain and guilt in his eyes. "Have you told the police about your relationship with Liliana?"
He started, as if she'd just pulled him out of the past. "I told them we were childhood friends, which was confirmed by numerous other people, but they were more focused on the fact that Liliana seemed desperate to talk to me and that I was twenty minutes late for our meeting."
"That doesn't seem like enough to make you a suspect."
"They were grasping for something and that's all they came up with. Plus, my history with Kellerman didn't help."
"Did you start getting into trouble after your mother died?"
"I definitely ran wild without her influence on me. Things got worse when my dad remarried when I was eleven. He was very happy with his new wife. Veronica was a local woman of Cuban descent. They had a lot more in common than my parents had had. My father and Veronica quickly added three girls to the family, each born a year apart. I ended up sleeping on the couch for a while."
She was beginning to see what he'd meant when he'd said he'd lived his life in three parts. In the middle part, he'd basically lost his family and had been drifting. Liliana had been more than his friend; she'd been his anchor.
"Did Liliana get into trouble with you?" she asked. "You said you started going down the wrong path when you were a young teenager."
"No, when I went off the rails, Liliana was doing her own thing. She wasn't too impressed by my swagger," he said with a rueful smile. "She thought I was turning into a criminal. She was afraid for me. She was very happy when my grandfather stepped in. I didn't feel the same way."
"What did your grandfather do?"
"After I got arrested for stealing, he got me an attorney who negotiated a plea deal. I finished out that school year, did community service, paid restitution and then my grandfather convinced my father to send me to prep school. He said I was out of control, that I needed to be with kids who had drive and ambition that extended beyond building a criminal record. It was the same school my mother had gone to—a boarding school outside of Boston. It was the first time my father and grandfather ever agreed on anything. Next thing I knew, I was on a plane."
"So that began part three of your life."
"Yes. My life changed dramatically. I hated that school at first, and the weather sucked. It was cold all the time."
She smiled at that. "Miami does bring the heat."
"Yeah, I didn't appreciate that at the time. At the new school, I broke every rule I could."
"So you would get kicked out? So you could go home?"
"Part of me didn't want to go back, because my father had finally shown how much he did not want me to be in his new family. So why would I want to return? I didn't fit in there. But I didn't fit in that well at prep school either."
She was beginning to see that Michael had never really fit in anywhere. "But you stuck it out."
"Didn't have a choice, really. Eventually, it got better. In the end, it was the best move of my life. My grandfather offered me opportunities that I wouldn't have had if I'd stayed in Miami. Now my life is good. The only mistake I've made recently was to come home, but when the development project came up, I had a moment of temporary insanity. I thought it might be interesting to see everyone again. Bad decision. If I had stayed away, Liliana wouldn't have tried to meet me, probably wouldn't be missing, and I wouldn't be a suspect."
"I don't think you can make that assumption, Michael. She might have still gone out that night, maybe even to that same restaurant. I know what it's like to play the what-if game, but it doesn’t get you anywhere. I used to ask myself what if I had asked my dad to stay home that day. What if I'd told him I was sick and I didn’t want him to go, would he have cancelled his flight? Or what if the group hadn't booked their charter flight that day, what if they'd left a day earlier, would he still be alive?" She gave him a compassionate smile. "It becomes a never-ending loop. You can't go back in time. You can't change what happened."
"No, but I can try to make things right. I need to find Liliana."
"I'm sure you've been looking as hard as you can."
"Yes, but we ran out of places to look. Thankfully, because of you, we now have somewhere new to focus on."
"I'm glad about that, but I want to do more. I realize that I don't know her, and I'm not family or a friend or anyone with investigative experience, but I still feel this driving need to help find her."
"I feel the same way, but the police don't keep me in the loop, and my own family seems to have trouble trusting me with information."
"But someone told you about my discovery at the park, so you're not completely out of the loop."
"That was a friend, someone who would probably get into trouble for telling me, but he wanted to give me a heads-up that I might need an alibi for yesterday evening."
"They wanted to know
where you were at the time I saw Liliana." She hadn't considered that Michael's whereabouts might have been questioned by the police.
"Yes. But my neighbor was able to verify that I was in my apartment building at the time you were in the park. Not that that has completely cleared me of suspicion since Kellerman works hard to hang on to his only person of interest," he said, his voice edged with anger.
"Well, hopefully, he finds someone else of interest soon." She cleared her throat. "There have to be some other suspects."
"Not that I've heard mentioned for more than a split second."
"The police must have created some sort of a timeline from when she landed in Miami until Friday night. I would think they would have talked to anyone she came into contact with."
"Like I said, the police don't share their investigation with me, but I would make the same assumption."
"Maybe you should ask your friend—the one who wanted you to have an alibi."
"I don't want to involve him. He's taken too many chances already for me." Michael paused. "Do you have any coffee? I should have grabbed one at the café. I could use a caffeine boost."
"I can make some," she replied, getting to her feet.
"Great. The night is catching up with me."
"No sleep, huh?" she asked as she started the coffeemaker.
"Not even a minute."
"I didn't get much, either. I kept thinking about what I'd seen. I couldn't wait for it to be morning. I had to get back out there."
"You were there early. I didn't expect to see anyone before dawn."
"I didn't notice your car when I pulled into the lot."
"I parked on the ocean side. I didn't know exactly where you'd found the tag, only that it was somewhere in the park."
She pulled out two mugs, thinking she might need more caffeine, too. "Did Liliana have a history of going to that park?"
"Not that I know of. We never went there together. It was not the nicest park when we were growing up. They've fixed things up in the last few years." Michael paused. "I don't know why she would have been there last night. It was storming. What the hell were they doing out there? They certainly weren't taking photographs."
Beautiful Storm (Lightning Strikes Book 1) Page 5