One Last Breath

by Griffin, Laura

“I’m here, aren’t I? Keeping you in the loop, just like I promised.”

  She seemed placated by this, and she leaned back against the booth. “Okay, so what’s the rest of it? Do you know who killed him?”

  “I’ve got a hunch.”

  “And?”

  “And I want some answers first.” He leaned forward now and pinned her with a look. “I want to know why a nice woman like you is so interested in a piece of garbage like Martinez.”

  Her chest heaved up and down, and he could tell she was rattled. Her gaze darted around the room, which was nearly empty, and settled on him again. She bit her lip.

  “Don’t even think about lying to me,” he said, forking another bite of enchilada. “I can tell when you’re doing it.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  He looked her in the eye, ignoring the nagging voice in his head telling him he was a manipulative bastard. “You just can.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay. But I don’t have any proof of anything, really. Just some ideas. So I don’t want all this getting back to me if it turns out not to be true.”

  “If what turns out not to be true?”

  She hesitated, and he did his best to look trustworthy.

  “Rico Martinez,” she said. “The guy they call Rico Suave, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, I think he might have been involved with my ex-husband. I think they might have had some sort of business together.”

  He waited for the rest.

  “You see, I went to visit Josh.” She paused and bit her lip. “It was a social call, really. Nothing important. Anyway, when I got to his house—he lives at the guesthouse on his parents’ estate—when I got there, he had company. I sort of got a glimpse of one of the guys, and I think it was Martinez.”

  “So what makes you think they were in business together? Maybe they were friends.”

  Feenie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Josh Garland doesn’t befriend people like Martinez. He won’t even own a dog that doesn’t have a pedigree.”

  “Do you have a pedigree?”

  Her lips pressed together, and he could tell he’d struck a nerve. “No. He made an exception for me. Don’t ask me why.”

  “I think I can guess.”

  “Hey, screw you! It’s not like I was his whore, for God’s sake! We were married for five years. And I had no idea what a sleazebag he was until recently.”

  Juarez highly doubted that. In his experience, a wife was usually the world’s best expert on her husband’s shortcomings. But he let it slide.

  So far, Feenie was coming off nice and innocent. He felt extremely relieved, and that bothered him. He’d never developed a soft spot for a woman he was investigating before, and he didn’t want to start with a gringa who had ties to the people who killed Paloma.

  Juarez returned to the subject at hand. “So what makes you think this business was something illegal?”

  Feenie looked down at her plate. “Because they went out on a boat together that night in a driving rainstorm. Two boats, actually. And the only reason I can come up with is some sort of smuggling operation.” She looked up at him, all wide blue eyes again. “What would you think?”

  Juarez didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to tell her too much, but she obviously expected him to share an opinion.

  “I’d think something was up,” he said finally. “Maybe smuggling, like you said.”

  She shook her head. “And now with Martinez dead, I don’t know what to think.”

  “I do,” Juarez said. “I think you need to watch your back.”

  Feenie stopped by the newsroom on her way home to retrieve the police scanner she’d left on her desk. Maybe if she’d had it with her earlier, she would have picked up on some of the chatter about Martinez. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. If the Mayfield cops were going to shut her out, she’d just have to work twice as hard to gather information.

  She drove home, listening to the scanner at low volume. Even without knowing all the radio codes, she could tell just by the relaxed tones of the voices that not much was going on.

  Another idyllic spring night on the Gulf Coast. No murder. No mayhem. No gang wars.

  At least, not yet.

  Despite the warm breeze, Feenie felt a chill as she walked up her sidewalk, mentally replaying her conversation with Juarez.

  Martinez was dead. Possibly a professional hit. Who had wanted to get rid of him? And why? If he really was involved in the drug trade—and all evidence pointed to that—then the possibilities were endless. But the timing bothered her. He’d been associating with low lifes and criminals for years now, but he’d been murdered just days after she’d started asking questions about him.

  Had she had gotten him killed? It seemed like a remote possibility, but if that’s what had happened, she was in trouble. It would mean her questions were hitting too close to home, making someone really edgy.

  And that someone must have contacts within the police department who had told him Martinez was the subject of a reporter’s questions.

  Feenie mounted her front steps and noticed her porch light was out. She fumbled with her keychain in the dark until she located her house key. She tried to shove it into the lock, and the door swung open.

  It hadn’t been closed.

  The back of Feenie’s neck prickled. Had she forgotten to lock up? She’d been half-asleep when she’d left, and she couldn’t remember for sure. She hesitated at the threshold, trying to decide what to do. Maybe she should call the police.

  But maybe this was nothing. Her weather stripping was loose, so maybe she’d simply forgotten to lock up, and the wind had blown open her door. She glanced at the purse in her hand, where she’d stuffed the scanner. Nothing about her neighborhood had come over the police radio.

  Feenie stepped into the house and darted her gaze around the foyer. The wall sconces flanking her doorway filled the room with a warm glow. Her Nikes sat at the base of the staircase, just where she’d left them.

  Thud.

  She glanced at the ceiling and dropped her purse. Someone was upstairs!

  Shrieking, she dashed out the door.

  Someone grabbed her arm. She screamed and clawed at the person until she got a look at his face.

  “What’s going on?” Juarez demanded.

  “Someone’s upstairs!”

  He seized her shoulders and pushed her against the siding.

  “Stay here,” he said. “Keep your back against the wall, and don’t move until I get back.”

  “But what—”

  “Shut up!” He pulled a gun from the back of his jeans. “And stay right here.”

  He rushed into the house, leaving her terrified and confused.

  Who was inside? And what was Juarez doing here? He’d just appeared out of nowhere, as if…as if he’d already been here when she arrived. But why would he be at her house?

  She couldn’t think straight. Her body quivered, and her heart raced. Keeping her back to the wall, she shuffled sideways along the front porch until she was near the window just beneath her bedroom. The thud had sounded as if it came from that direction. Someone had been in her bedroom. What if she’d come home and gone upstairs and—

  “I told you to stay put.”

  Feenie jumped back, startled, as Juarez rounded the corner of the house. “Where did you come from? I thought you were inside!”

  “I was checking the perimeter,” he said, climbing the front steps. He stopped beside her front door, still holding his gun at his side. “House is clear.”

  “But I heard someone upstairs!”

  “No one’s there now. Did you leave a window open in your guest room?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s how they left.”

  He motioned for her to follow him inside, and she did. Her gaze immediately veered up toward the ceiling. “Are you sure there’s no one—”

  “Yes.” He took her wrist and pulled her
through the dining area, into the brightly lit living room. Her stomach plummeted.

  “Oh, my God,” she murmured, looking around. The sofa had been slashed to ribbons, stuffing thrown everywhere. Her TV was smashed. The coffee table lay on its side, its little drawers yanked out. Coasters and magazines littered the floor.

  “Look carefully,” he ordered. “Do you notice anything missing?”

  “Missing?”

  “Whoever was here was obviously looking for something. Do you have any idea what it was?”

  “No.” She covered her mouth with her hand. Her couch was destroyed, her TV ruined. She righted the coffee table and was relieved to see the legs still intact. Amid the debris carpeting the floor, she recognized the shards from the coffee mug she’d been using earlier.

  She reached out and gripped Juarez’s arm. “What if someone’s still here?”

  “I told you, I checked everything. Your house is practically empty, so there aren’t many places to hide. Was anything taken that you can tell?”

  “Nothing’s missing in here,” she said. “At least, nothing I can see.”

  He led her into the kitchen. It had been given the same ruthless treatment—drawers and cabinets emptied, boxes and bottles from her pantry dumped on the floor. They’d even poured out her canisters.

  Feenie knelt beside a heap of sugar and ran her finger through it. “What on earth were they looking for?”

  Juarez watched her, his eyes bright with interest.

  “Think, Feenie. Do you have anything here that relates to the story you’re writing? Notes? Tapes? Photographs, maybe?”

  All her notes on Martinez, plus the photographs she’d taken, were in a locked drawer at work. “I don’t keep that stuff here,” she said. “I have personal files in a box upstairs—”

  She heard a noise outside.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked. She stood up and peered out the breakfast-room window. A shadow moved across the back patio. “Someone’s out there.”

  “Get away from the window,” Juarez said, flipping off the light.

  Moonlight illuminated the backyard. Feenie’s gaze swept over the pool, the patio, and the patch of grass near the back fence. Something moved by the deck chair.

  “Over there!” she said, pointing.

  “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  “There! By the chair!” She stepped toward the back door, but Juarez yanked her back.

  “Don’t fucking move.” He shoved her against the wall. “I’ll check it out.”

  His words reverberated through her brain as she watched him reach for the doorknob. That voice, those arms…

  Don’t fucking move.

  Chapter

  6

  F eenie watched him, stunned, as he stepped outside with his gun poised. A figure moved toward him.

  “Mrs. Hanak!” Feenie rushed forward. Her tenant stood at the base of the back steps in her bathrobe. “What are you doing here?”

  Mrs. Hanak frowned, and Juarez lowered his weapon.

  “I heard someone holler, and I came to see what was going on,” she said.

  Feenie turned on the porch light and noticed the pearl-handled grip sticking out of Mrs. Hanak’s pocket.

  “I didn’t know you had a gun!” Feenie exclaimed.

  Mrs. Hanak’s frown deepened. “Well, of course I do. Old lady like me livin’ alone? I’ve gotta protect myself, don’t I?”

  “Tell me what you heard, ma’am,” Juarez said in his cop voice.

  Mrs. Hanak paused for a moment, dutifully considering her answer. “Well, at first it was just your typical racket. Like a possum in the trash can or some such. I didn’t think much of it until I heard the scream. That’s when I got out my pistol here.” She patted the pocket of her robe. “I looked out the window and saw Feenie’s car, so I thought she might be in trouble.”

  So you came to rescue me? Are you insane? Feenie gaped at her elderly tenant. The woman had cataracts and probably weighed less than a hundred pounds.

  “Did you see anyone in the yard? Or the house?” Juarez asked.

  “Not besides y’all.” She turned to Feenie. “What was all the noise? Should I call the police?”

  Feenie started to say something, but Juarez cut her off.

  “No need, ma’am. It was just some raccoons in Feenie’s kitchen. Looks like they got through the tarp and helped themselves to some food from her pantry.”

  Mrs. Hanak wagged a bony finger at Feenie. “Now, didn’t I tell you about getting this roof fixed? No tellin’ what kinda vermin you’ll have in your house next.”

  Feenie bit her tongue to keep from screaming.

  “Thanks for your concern, Mrs. Hanak,” Juarez said, all charm. “We’ll take care of it from here. You can go back to bed now.”

  When she was gone, Feenie unleashed.

  “You!” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “You’re the son of a bitch who attacked me! I still have bruises on my back because of you!”

  Juarez took her elbow and steered her toward the house.

  “Keep your voice down, would you? She’s gonna hear you.”

  He pushed her into the kitchen and pulled the door shut. Feenie shook his hand off and stepped backward.

  “Don’t touch me! You lied to me!”

  Juarez crossed his arms over his chest. “How’s that?”

  “How’s that? How about telling me you wanted to help me because you felt sorry for me?” A disturbing thought occurred to her, and she backed up against the counter. “God, you’re involved in this, aren’t you? You were with them that night. What, did you get me to meet you at Rosie’s so someone could ransack my house?”

  “What? No—”

  “Or did you do it? While I was at the office? I’m calling the police!” Feenie scrambled for the living room, but Juarez clamped a hand around her arm.

  “Wait a minute,” he growled.

  She stared up at his black eyes. His grip was like iron, and she remembered the way he’d pinned her under his knee at the boathouse. She was no match for him.

  “Looks like I don’t have a choice,” she said icily. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she didn’t want him to know she was terrified.

  Juarez looked down and seemed to realize he was hurting her. He let go of her arm and stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets as if he couldn’t trust himself not to manhandle her. “Calm down, okay? I didn’t do this to your house.”

  “Then where did you come from just now?” she demanded. “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, and you should be thanking me. Someone needs to look out for you, babe. You’re in a world of trouble, and you don’t even know it.”

  “Ha! You think I’d trust you after you attacked me? I don’t want you near me. Get out of my house!”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. Shit. I just need to explain some things.”

  Feenie glanced at her watch. “You have exactly two minutes to explain why you brutalized me the other night and lied to me the very next day. If I don’t like what I hear, I’m calling the chief of police. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know that one of his officers beats up civilians and hangs out with drug dealers in his spare time.”

  Juarez sneered. “You still don’t have a clue, do you? You know, for a reporter, you’re not very thorough.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not a cop anymore, Feenie. I’m a PI.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You’re what?”

  “A private investigator. I’ve been looking into Rico Martinez for nearly two years now, and what I’ve learned isn’t good. It involves dope smuggling and crooked cops and your pretty-boy ex-husband.”

  Her stomach clenched, and she tried to get her mind around everything he’d just said.

  “But why didn’t you tell me? And why did you attack me at the boathouse?”

  “Christ!” His gaze shot up to the ceiling. “That was an accident, okay? I had no idea you’d
be there. And then there you were, taking pictures and making a scene. You could have gotten yourself killed, do you realize that? I had to shut you up.”

  “So you threw me in the bay? Gee, thanks.”

  He smirked. “You said you could swim.”

  She stepped toward him and jabbed a finger at his chest again. “You think this is funny? I’ve been having nightmares about rapists and murderers. I thought you wanted to kill me!”

  He sighed heavily and closed his hand around hers, neutralizing the next jab. “It’s occurred to me. You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

  She sucked in a breath, outraged. A dozen retorts tumbled into her mind, but none of them seemed scathing enough.

  “Come here,” he said irritably, and jerked her closer. Then he kissed her.

  She wanted to kick him, or punch him, or send his testicles into his throat.

  But instead she kissed him right back.

  Big mistake. He backed her up against the counter and went after her with a vengeance. Heat spread through her, and she was plastered there, feeling every ridge of his body as he kissed her until she was dizzy.

  She couldn’t let go. She knew she needed to, but everything about him felt good and strong and male, and she whimpered at the pleasure of it. God, he tasted good. He smelled good. If she ever got into bed with him, she was going to explode. She slipped her hands into the pockets of his jeans and pulled him even closer.

  “Your neighbor was right about you,” he muttered against her throat.

  Her neighbor…what?

  “You’re a little firecracker ready to go off.”

  She kissed him to shut him up and felt his stubble against her chin. She was going to have chafed skin tomorrow, and she was looking forward to it. He lifted her arms, and soon her Rangers jersey was over her head and drifting to the floor. His gaze dropped to her lacy white bra, and then his mouth was on her, hot and wet through the lace, and it was all she could do just to breathe. She slid her hands down his back and felt something…cold and steely?

  His gun.

  She jerked away and looked at him. Really looked at him. His eyes were black with desire. And something else.

  “We can’t do this,” she said breathlessly.