by Alexa Verde
“It does. But also because I like having you around.”
A warm feeling spread inside her, with just a tad of irritation at his habit of making light of a serious situation. “You’re not afraid?”
He took her hand in his. “Are you?”
Her skin prickled at his touch. “Honestly—” A knock on the door made her reluctantly withdraw her hand.
“Police. Please open the door.” Aidan’s voice dripped with urgency.
James opened the door, and she explained the situation. Aidan interviewed James, then proceeded to take pictures and dust for fingerprints.
Soon Aidan was ready to leave. “Will you be staying at the Rios Azules B and B?”
James threw her a glance. “Rather, in the Rios Azules Hotel.”
Aidan paused near the door.
She understood the reason for her friend’s hesitation. “I’ll be fine. Mr. O’Hara will protect me.” If she knew him—and she’d known him since they’d been kids—Aidan had checked James’s background. Trusting James wasn’t an issue. Trusting herself with him was.
“Take good care of our Soledad,” Aidan said to James.
“I will.”
The men shook hands, as if some kind of invisible agreement passed between them. “Keep me posted about your whereabouts, and be very careful.” Strangely, he looked at James when he said that instead of her.
“Anything new about Sergey Eliseev?” she asked Aidan.
Her friend’s expression turned grim. “No. I’m afraid not. I put a rush on the DNA analysis from the blood on the knife, so we might be close to identifying at least one of the perpetrators. And we put a be-on-the-lookout for him, as well. I can’t tell you more. I’ll let you know about the results.” After a quick farewell, Aidan left.
Soledad locked the door behind him, called the hotel, and reserved connecting rooms. Then she put fresh clothes in the duffel bag.
“Let me help you.” James took the bag from her.
“But your shoulder… Maybe you should take it easy for some time?” She tried to tug the bag back.
He didn’t let it go. “My left shoulder hurts. My right shoulder is fine.”
She noted the slip of the tongue. His shoulder did hurt. “Would you like to take some painkillers?”
“No.” His jaw set tight.
That macho attitude couldn’t be good for his recovery, but she sensed she’d better not insist. “Could we stop by the hospital to change your bandages, please? I don’t want that wound to get infected.” She shrugged nonchalantly to make light of it, following his example. “After all, you’d be of no use to me lying in bed with a fever.”
“Okay.” He nodded.
She didn’t expect for him to surrender so easily and wanted to do something for him in return, even if a small thing. “Maybe we should take your motorcycle instead of my car.” Fear clenched her stomach, but she didn’t take her words back.
An amusement glinted in his eyes. “I’d love that, but I wouldn’t pin you as a biker girl.”
“True, I’ve never been on a motorcycle. But it’s about time I tried something adventurous. You were right. I need to start living. And the time is now.”
The corners of his lips kicked up. “Okay. But I don’t want you to ride without a helmet, and I don’t have a second one. Take mine.”
“There’s a store nearby where we can buy a helmet. Wait a minute, though. Let me change.” Due to her stepfather’s and Ron’s scolding, she was used to wearing loose-fitting skirts and dresses in public, but such outfits weren’t suitable for motorcycle riding.
She rushed to her bedroom and donned a pair of jeans and a flaming-orange shirt. The outfit had been Lydia’s present, more formfitting and brighter than Soledad’s regular clothes, and she’d kept it in the back of her closet. Until now. Did she want him to like her? She rushed to the bathroom and applied pink lipstick, also Lydia’s present, and also unused. Soledad slipped the lipstick into her pocket, just in case she had to reapply it later.
James’s eyes widened as she entered the living room. “Wow. Will you think I’m playing games again if I say you look incredible?”
A blush crept up her cheeks. “These are just jeans and a shirt.”
“True. And you make them look incredible.” He gave her one of his charming smiles. “Allow yourself to enjoy compliments, Soledad. You deserve them. I’m not your ex. I mean every word I say.”
“No, you’re definitely not like him.”
James reached her in several strides and moved a strand of hair away from her face. And then… He brushed his lips against hers, very tenderly. Her breath hitched, and her bones went soft. She almost melted into a puddle at his feet. The most wonderful kind of dizziness enveloped her, and she welcomed it.
She’d never had such reaction to Ron, or to anybody, for that matter. That was why James was even more dangerous to her heart than Ron had ever been. The taste of James’s lips was a taste of danger to her. She shifted back.
“Soledad, you take my breath away,” he whispered.
He had the same effect on her. And that made her want to cry. She longed for more than three days in his company. So much more.
They left her place in silence.
Minutes later, they stopped at the store, and she got a helmet. Leaving the store, he looked both ways again and walked next to her toward the parking lot, as if trying to shield her. Her heart twisted painfully. Sometimes she wanted to forget they were in danger.
After stopping by the hospital and James having his bandages changed, they headed to the hotel, which was on the opposite side of town.
Her heart thumped in her chest as she clung to him—hopefully not too tight. The asphalt flew under them. Wind sang in her ears. The growl of the motor, the dizzying speed, the closeness of a strong, protective man were invigorating and made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. Strangely, she wasn’t scared as she’d thought she’d be.
The sting of regret for withdrawing from his kiss grew strong. James seemed to live his life like he meant it, enjoying every moment to the fullest, and he kissed like he meant it, too.
Butterflies appeared in her stomach.
She wanted that. She wanted to feel tender butterflies, to see admiration in a wonderful man’s eyes, to savor delicious food. James had a point. She had to experience life. She wanted more out of it, out of herself.
God had given her talent.
It was her own fault that with a few exceptions, she’d refused to share it with the world. If she survived, she’d take art courses, paint more, let the Danger Girls display her work in their homes like they’d wanted to. She’d reach out to Austin galleries and hopefully show more of her paintings.
Letting the wind dance on her skin, she swallowed a bitter lump in her throat. That taste of her own tears after her stepfather’s screams or Ron’s mockery had been the taste of danger to her, rather than James’s kiss. Because she’d almost let that taste of fear, guilt, and self-doubt ruin her life. How sad that she only decided to start living when her life was in danger.
James stopped at the fast-food drive-through and bought them hamburgers and fries. She held on to the bag while he steered. Other times, she would’ve insisted on a salad. But not anymore.
Soon he glided into the hotel’s parking lot and stopped the motorcycle. She took off the helmet and breathed in deeply to calm her heartbeat.
“How did you like it?” He scanned his surroundings and walked close to her as they headed to the hotel’s entrance.
“I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”
As she entered the hotel lobby, she glanced into one of the huge mirrors that lined the walls and cringed. Her hair stood on end, resembling one of her mother’s mops after multiple uses. She brushed it down with her fingers and caught James smiling at her.
She marched to the reservation desk to get the keys. She faced the challenge of finding armed kidnappers and getting Eliseev from their clasp, so why w
as she so conscious about her appearance?
Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She cared because she liked James and wanted him to like her back, but she was used to rejection.
She gave her information to the receptionist, keeping her head high. She didn’t worry what Ron or her stepfather had thought about her anymore. What counted was what she thought about herself. And the girl in the hotel’s mirrors, while rather disheveled, was neither fat nor ugly, and anything but plain.
James left her for a moment to open the front door for an old lady and helped her with the bags, as the bellboy was busy. A grimace on James’s face betrayed that lifting bags didn’t do any favors to his wound. But the grimace was immediately replaced with a smile as he chatted with the old lady on the way to the counter.
“I’ll pay for the rooms,” James said when Soledad reached for her wallet.
She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. “Thank you.”
He seemed to be a person who needed to take care of others, and she figured she’d let him have that joy.
He thanked the receptionist by name for great service, and the woman beamed in response. On the way to their rooms, they stopped at a small stand and purchased two iced teas.
Sure enough, James entered the room first. As she waited, she breathed in the enticing aroma of hamburgers and fries coming from the paper bag.
“It’s safe to enter.” His voice spurred her on. She stepped inside, and he locked the door.
Soledad said grace, and they devoured the hamburgers.
“Please don’t forget to take your antibiotics,” she said when they were done with their meal.
“Thank you for reminding me.” He smiled sheepishly and reached into his pocket for the bottle of pills.
As she was disposing of empty wrappers and cups, his phone rang.
“Hello, Brian.” Brows drawn together, he listened intently for several minutes. “Nope, I still haven’t found much. Okay, thank you,” he said at last and hung up.
Curious, she sent several glances his way.
“Brian just confirmed the con artist’s name. Lola Rogers. He doesn’t think it’s her real name, and neither do I. I’ll call my friend Logan at the Austin PD, see if there are any new developments,” James said.
“Okay.” She sank onto the armchair and found on the Internet the second bookmarked fairy tale, Emelya. Even though she remembered most of it, she read it again, doing her best to figure out the clues.
After he disconnected, she looked up at him expectantly.
“One of Sergey’s neighbors identified Carmichael as a person who’d tried to open Sergey’s apartment while the latter was away,” James said slowly. “According to the neighbor, Carmichael claimed that his friend had given him the keys and asked him to get his medicines. Logan picked up Carmichael for questioning. The professor admitted to searching for the Fabergé egg at the apartment but claimed he hadn’t found it.”
“Do you believe him?” she asked.
“I do. Logan is trying to find out if Carmichael provided the information about the Fabergé egg to the criminals.” James frowned. “I asked Logan before to check on the mysterious woman who frequently visited your father in the hospital. Lola Rogers.”
“And?”
“He told me she didn’t exist.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no record of her anywhere. She seems to have existed solely for the purpose of talking to Sergey. And several nurses overheard her asking him about the Fabergé egg.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll ask my sources to check on female con artists operating in Texas.”
“Okay.”
He made several calls. After he hung up, a deeper frown creased his forehead. “None of them fit the description. There’s one more person I need to check on. It’s just a hunch, really, but I trust my intuition. I’ll need your help, though.”
She perked up, glad to be useful. “Sure. What do you need me to do?”
“Can you make a color sketch of someone based on their photo? I’ll need you to change the hair color and style, eye color, and the shape of the nose.”
“Of course.”
They drove by her place to pick up art supplies and returned to the hotel.
On his phone, he showed her the picture of a gorgeous woman smiling into the camera. “Instead of long blonde hair, make it a short bob of red hair, with bangs falling low on her forehead. Add freckles and a small birthmark near her mouth. Make her lips plumper and lipstick brighter. Instead of honey-colored eyes, blue eyes. Make her cheeks fuller and her nose smaller.”
“So I’m making this woman look like Lola Rogers?” Soledad got to work.
“Exactly.”
After she was done, he nodded in approval. “Great job.”
“Thanks.” His praise warmed her inside, until she caught a flicker of emotional pain in his eyes. It was gone immediately, but she tensed. What was going on?
His expression unreadable, he took a photo of the sketch with his phone. “I’m sending it to my contacts at the hospital. Maybe one of them will recognize the mysterious Lola Rogers.”
A guarded look in his eyes made her stomach clench. “Who’s the woman in the picture? One of the con artists you encountered through your line of work?” She hoped it was the extent of the relationship, that she was wrong about that hidden emotional hurt.
“Her real name is Melissa Edgerton, but she operates under different aliases. She also likes to use disguises and some time ago planned to get a nose job. An appearance of the Fabergé egg on the local scene might’ve spiked her interest. And she does specialize in art.” He looked away. “She’s also my ex-girlfriend.”
Her heart dropped as she studied him and painted a portrait of him in her mind. The tired roll of his shoulders, the muscle flexing in his cheek, him avoiding looking her straight in the eye told her he had feelings for that woman. Feelings that had been hurt but that might be lingering…
Soledad struggled to regain emotional equilibrium. Who was she to be jealous? She didn’t have any right to him anyway.
She studied Melissa’s portrait with fresh eyes. The woman’s nose, hair, even collagen-infused lips might be fake. But the smile in her eyes seemed to be real. She’d been looking at whomever had been holding the camera, presumably James, with tenderness and longing.
Had she been that good of a con artist?
Soledad opened her mouth to ask and closed it. Now she understood his reason for fear of commitment. That reason was called Melissa Edgerton a.k.a. Lola Rodgers.
He took a deep breath. “There are other things you need to know.”
She steeled herself against more negative news.
“Logan also said Alvin Eliseev received a large sum of money yesterday from unknown sources. The latter refused to reveal the sources but claimed the payment wasn’t for giving information about the Fabergé egg to criminals.
“A neighbor heard a heated argument outside Sergey’s apartment two days ago. Then a young man stormed to his car, yelling, ‘She’ll get nothing! The inheritance is ours!’ That neighbor identified the young man as Kyle Eliseev, your second cousin. Logan interviewed him. Kyle admitted to being angry over possibly losing the Fabergé egg to you. But he denied hiring criminals to retrieve it or giving the information to them.”
Her heart grew heavy. She hadn’t even met her relatives, and they already hated her.
“I’m sure he’ll change his mind about you once he meets you. It’s impossible not to like you.” James opened his arms, and she walked into them, cherishing the support.
His phone pinged several times, announcing incoming texts. He let her go, and she hid her disappointment as she moved away.
He checked his phone. “Several people confirmed that the woman in the sketch looks like Lola Rogers. I’ll forward that information to Logan. You need to get rest.” He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave.
Her heart skipped a beat. “You, too.”
“Please don’t go anywhere tonight. If you hear anything suspicious, wake me up immediately. And Soledad…”
“Yes?” An expectation rose inside her as his gaze moved from her eyes to her lips.
Was he going to kiss her again? This time she wouldn’t move away so abruptly. Delicious anticipation filled her, and her lips parted.
“Would you be okay with keeping the connecting doors slightly ajar for safety?”
She swallowed a lump in her throat, even though she should be grateful he was concerned about her. “Sure.”
“Good night.” He stepped in the direction of the door.
“Good night.” She hid her face in her hands after he left, fighting the acidic taste of disappointment. She knew there could be nothing between them. Then why was it so difficult to accept it?
It didn’t take her long to unpack. After brushing her unruly hair, she slid underneath the bedspread in her jeans and shirt. A scary feeling of premonition settled in the pit of her stomach.
She prayed longer than usual.
* * *
Fighting the cobwebs of sleep, Soledad struggled to determine what had woken her up. She stared into the darkness. Some noise outside? A late guest opening the door?
Everything was quiet, except for a TV humming in somebody’s room.
No, it wasn’t the noise. It was the scent. The scent of sweat and expensive cologne sent a shiver down her spine. She sat up, intending to get her weapon.
The next moment, something cold and round pressed into her shoulder. She flinched. The barrel of a gun.
“You do as I tell you, or you’ll die,” a male voice whispered in her ear.
She recognized the voice, even though she’d only heard it once. The driver of the black van. The fake nurse. The man she’d dubbed the Diamond Guy.
Chills snaked down her back. She reached in the direction of the nightstand, where she had her purse with a .38.
“Don’t even think about it!” the guy growled in a low voice. “Move!”
Dear Lord, please help me. Amen.