Like No One Else

by Maureen Smith

  “Detective Sanchez. W-what are you doing here?”

  “You weren’t at the office,” Paulo said calmly.

  “I know. I didn’t feel up to going in this morning. Ted told me to take the day off.” She swallowed, gathering the edges of her silk robe together as she eyed Paulo warily. “Is something wrong?”

  “I need to talk to you. Mind if I come in?”

  Kathleen hesitated, looking like she minded very much. But after another moment she stepped aside to let him enter.

  Paulo swept a cursory glance around the tiny studio apartment, which was located in the heart of downtown, not five minutes from the law firm. He took in the contemporary furnishings and African art collection before returning his attention to his hostess. She had removed the silk scarf from her head and was self-consciously finger-combing her dark hair, trying to make herself presentable. Nothing could be done for the small bags under her eyes.

  “Would you like some coffee?” she offered politely.

  “No, thanks.”

  Once they were seated in the living room, Paulo said bluntly, “You’ve been holding out on me, Miss Phillips.”

  She didn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. And I think you know why I’m here.”

  Kathleen said nothing.

  Undeterred, Paulo said, “You lied when you told me Maribel wasn’t seeing anyone. You knew she was, but you didn’t want to tell me because you’re trying to protect the other person. Why?”

  Dark, haunted eyes lifted to his. “Because I promised I wouldn’t tell, and I can’t go back on my word.”

  “Even if the person you’re protecting is a cold-blooded killer?”

  Kathleen flinched as if he’d struck her. “You don’t know that,” she said faintly. “You don’t know that he killed her.”

  “And you don’t know that he didn’t.” Paulo leaned forward intently. “I just came from the morgue. Do you know what I found out? I found out that Maribel was pregnant. So it’s highly possible that whoever you’re covering for killed not only your friend, but her unborn child as well. Are you telling me you’re okay with that?”

  Kathleen was staring at him with a stricken expression. “Maribel was…pregnant?”

  “Yes.” Paulo paused, searching her face. “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “She didn’t tell me. I had no idea.”

  “She may have just found out herself,” Paulo said grimly. “The ME says she was only five weeks pregnant.”

  “Oh God.” Kathleen squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if to block out the devastating news. “Poor Maribel,” she whispered tearfully. “She must have been so scared and confused. I should have been there for her. I should have helped her.”

  “You still can,” Paulo said quietly. “All you have to do is tell me who Maribel was sleeping with.”

  Kathleen inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly her eyes opened and settled on Paulo’s face. “It was Ted. She was having an affair with Ted.”

  “How long?”

  “Since February.” She shook her head ruefully. “And it’s all my fault.”

  Paulo frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It started the night of the ballet.”

  “Their affair?”

  Kathleen nodded stiffly. “Ted knew how much Maribel loved ballet, so when he found out that the Blane Bailey Dance Company was coming to Houston, he bought her tickets to the show for her birthday. I was supposed to go with her that night, but I had to cancel because of a family emergency. Maribel didn’t want to go alone, so Ted offered to take her. He said his wife was out of town on a business trip, so he’d just be going home to an empty house. Maribel wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of being seen in public with her boss, but she felt a little sorry for Ted, and since he’d been nice enough to buy the tickets, she figured what the hell?

  “The next morning at work when I asked her how everything went, all she said was that she’d enjoyed the ballet and met one of her favorite dancers. When I asked her if she’d felt awkward being there with Ted, she just laughed it off, wouldn’t really give me a straight answer. I should have known then that something was up, but I didn’t give it too much thought after that.”

  “When did you find out about the affair?” Paulo asked.

  “About a month later. I’d gone back to the office one night to get a file that I’d forgotten to take home. As I neared my cubicle, I heard voices coming from Ted’s office. I figured since Ted was there burning the midnight oil, I could ask him a few questions about a report I was working on. I was about to knock on the closed door when I realized that he was in there with Maribel.” Kathleen swallowed, nervously massaging her slender throat. “She and Ted were, ah, making plans for the weekend. His wife was going out of town again, this time to visit her sister. Ted was telling Maribel how they were going to soak in the Jacuzzi together, sip champagne by the fire, and, well, you get the gist of it.”

  Paulo smiled grimly. “Did you confront them?”

  “God, no. I was so shocked and disgusted, I wouldn’t have known what to say to them. I got my file and left before they came out of the office and saw me. But I couldn’t hold my tongue for very long,” she admitted, grimacing. “The next day over lunch, I told Maribel what I’d overheard and asked her what the hell was going on between her and Ted. She told me everything, then swore me to secrecy. She was more worried about Ted getting fired than losing her good reputation at the firm. And she said that Ted could pull some strings for me, get me a promotion.”

  “So she bought your silence,” Paulo said flatly.

  “No,” Kathleen fired back, bristling. “I told her I didn’t want any damned favors from Ted, I was fully capable of moving up in the company on my own merit. I told her she was wrong for sleeping with a married man, and she probably wasn’t the first secretary Ted had screwed around with.”

  “Ouch,” Paulo murmured.

  Kathleen frowned. “I was very upset. We both were, to the point where we stopped speaking to each other for three whole weeks. I considered asking to be transferred to another division, but I didn’t want to raise any red flags. And then Maribel came to me and apologized for the hurtful things she’d said during our argument. She told me she understood why I was so angry and disappointed in her, but she’d never meant to sleep with Ted that night. One minute they were baring their souls to each other, the next minute they were in bed together. Maribel fell in love with Ted, and she didn’t know what to do about it.”

  “Did she ever ask him to leave his wife?” Paulo asked.

  Kathleen shook her head. “She wanted to, but she didn’t think he would. And she told me she didn’t want to be the home-wrecker who destroyed his marriage. Except she didn’t use that word,” she added wryly. “She used the Spanish word she’d grown up hearing her mother and aunts use to describe women who screwed around with married men. I’m trying to remember what it was….”

  “Puta?” Paulo offered helpfully. “Tramposa? Rompehogares?”

  Kathleen snapped her fingers. “That’s the one! Rompehogares.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. I know I’m totally mangling the pronunciation.”

  Paulo chuckled dryly. “That’s okay. It’s not a very nice word.”

  “That’s what Maribel said.” Kathleen’s smile turned mournful. “God, I miss her. I still can’t believe she’s gone. And now I can’t even look at Ted without—” She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.

  “Without what?”

  Kathleen dropped her gaze to her clasped hands in her lap. She said nothing.

  “Do you think Ted could have killed Maribel?” Paulo probed.

  “I don’t know,” Kathleen mumbled miserably. “I don’t want to believe he did, but I just don’t know. Maribel didn’t talk much about their relationship. She knew it was a touchy subject. But based on the things she did tell me, Ted really seemed to car
e about her. He enjoyed being with her.”

  “Do you think his wife ever found out?”

  Kathleen shook her head vigorously. “Maribel told me that if Abby had known about the affair, she would have confronted Ted immediately. She was just that kind of woman.”

  “So you don’t think it’s possible that Abby Colston killed Maribel, or hired someone else to do it?”

  Kathleen stared at him, aghast. “I—I don’t know. God, I hope not. I’ve met her before, talked to her at different company functions. She certainly doesn’t seem capable of murder. But I guess anything’s possible. Maribel didn’t seem capable of sleeping with another woman’s husband, but she did.”

  Paulo didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He thanked Kathleen for her time and reminded her to call him if she thought of anything else.

  As she walked him to the door, she said, “I guess in a weird way, Detective, we’re both partially to blame for Maribel becoming involved with Ted.”

  Paulo turned, frowning quizzically at her. “How’s that?”

  “Well, if I hadn’t canceled on her that night, Ted wouldn’t have gone to the ballet with her, so they wouldn’t have slept together. And if you’d given her the time of day at the fund-raiser dinner three years ago, who knows? You two might have been happily married by now.”

  Paulo could only stare at her.

  Kathleen laughed softly. “I take it by the stunned look on your face that you didn’t think I remembered you, and you obviously had no idea that Maribel was totally into you that night. So much so that she talked about you for an entire week after meeting you. She thought about asking your cousin Naomi to play matchmaker, but she didn’t want to seem desperate, especially to her employer.”

  Paulo remembered what Naomi had told him two days ago about Maribel. She said you were a hunk, but you didn’t seem particularly interested in her.

  His mouth curved in a small, self-deprecating smile. “Maribel was better off not getting involved with me. I make a lousy boyfriend, an even worse husband. If you don’t believe me, just ask my ex-wife.”

  Kathleen smiled sadly at him. “If given the choice between having her heart broken or losing her life, I’m sure we both know which choice Maribel would have made.”

  Her words struck close to home, stirring painful memories Paulo had spent the past six years trying to outrun. Memories of the woman who’d once made the mistake of trusting him, loving him, only to be brutally murdered.

  “Detective Sanchez?” Kathleen’s gaze was troubled. “I’m sorry for saying that. I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty or anything.”

  “Don’t worry,” Paulo murmured softly. “Me and guilt, we go way back.”

  Ted Colston was in the conference room with a client when his cell phone rang. He excused himself and hurried down the corridor to his office to return the important call.

  “Just thought you should know that the cop just left Kathleen Phillips’s apartment,” said the brusque voice on the other end.

  Ted felt the blood drain from his head. Detective Sanchez had already interviewed Kathleen the day of Maribel’s murder. If he was talking to her again, that could only mean one thing. He thought she knew something.

  “Have you made any progress on Sanchez’s background check?” Ted demanded.

  “Still working on it.”

  “Damn it, Nolan. I’m running out of time.”

  “I’ll call you when I have something. Sit tight.” The line went dead.

  Ted swore viciously as he hung up the phone. Damn Hank Nolan! The man behaved as if he were the paying client! He’d never made any secret of his dislike for Ted, and the feeling was mutual. If Ted could have found a better private investigator—someone more cooperative, more pliable—he would have gotten rid of Nolan a long time ago. But Hank Nolan was the best in the business. If anyone could get the goods on Paulo Sanchez, Nolan could.

  Because if the detective had discovered Ted’s secret, as he suspected, he would need all the bargaining power he could get.

  Chapter 10

  Tommie hated hospitals.

  She’d learned at an early age to associate them with bad things. When she was five years old, her mother had been taken to the hospital after complaining about severe abdominal cramps; later that day she’d miscarried the baby brother Tommie and her sister, Frankie, had looked forward to welcoming into the family.

  At eight years old, Tommie had been rushed to the emergency room after she broke her arm attempting a complicated ballet move. It had been months before she was allowed to dance again.

  And when she was a senior in high school, her favorite grandmother had passed away after suffering a massive stroke. She’d died while Tommie and her family were en route to the hospital. To this day, Tommie was haunted by the fact that she’d never had a chance to say good-bye.

  As far as she was concerned, hospitals represented nothing but fear and pain, sickness and death. She avoided them at any and all costs. But when Zhane called her just as her last class was ending and told her that his teenage nephew had been shot in an altercation, Tommie didn’t think twice about jumping into her car and rushing over to Ben Taub General Hospital. Her best friend needed her, and that was all that mattered.

  When she arrived at the hospital, she’d found Zhane and his family gathered in the waiting room in the intensive care unit. Some were huddled together on chairs while others talked on cell phones or paced restlessly. In a corner of the room, Zhane was quietly consoling his distraught sister, whose fourteen-year-old son, Kadeem, had been shot by her boyfriend when he’d intervened in the couple’s argument that morning. After gunning down the teenager, Chauncey Booker had panicked and fled. Though the police had issued a BOLO—be on the lookout—for his arrest, he still remained at large.

  When Tommie appeared in the doorway of the crowded waiting room, Zhane glanced up and gave her a weary smile. Before he could make his way over to greet her, a heated argument erupted between his two younger brothers and another man Tommie didn’t recognize. Someone threw a punch, and before Tommie knew it, fists were flying. More angry shouting ensued. A woman screamed. Zhane’s mother, a heavyset dark-skinned woman, swayed precariously on her feet. The small child propped on her hip covered her eyes with her tiny fists and began wailing in earnest.

  Without thinking Tommie marched across the room, kissed Zhane’s startled mother on the cheek, and swept the crying little girl into her arms.

  “We’re going for a walk,” Tommie informed Vonda Jeffers, who had already turned her attention to the noisy brawl involving her sons. Tommie made it out of the waiting room just as two hospital security guards came running down the hall to investigate the ruckus.

  Tommie took Zhane’s niece Khadija to the children’s playroom on the first floor, where the three-year-old contented herself with stacking multicolored building blocks on top of one another and sliding down the plastic slide with other children. The noise made by the giggling, frolicking preschoolers was an improvement over the screaming and cursing that had peppered the waiting room from which Tommie had just escaped.

  After a while Khadija, tired of playing, wandered over to where Tommie sat and climbed into her lap. She was an adorable little girl with skin the color of Hershey’s chocolate and a round, cherubic face. It was a face that could bring tears to the eyes of any childless woman past the age of thirty.

  Tommie kissed the top of the girl’s head and instinctively hugged her closer. “Don’t wanna play anymore?” she asked.

  Khadija shook her head slowly. “I wanna go home.”

  “I know, sweetie. And you will soon. Are you hungry?”

  Another listless shake of the head.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I already ate.”

  “You did? What’d you eat?”

  The girl mumbled a response that Tommie managed to decipher as macaroni and cheese and applesauce. “Did you eat here at the hospital?” she asked.

&nbs
p; Khadija nodded.

  Tommie suppressed a mild shudder. Another thing she hated about hospitals. Cafeteria food.

  She glanced down to find a pair of big dark eyes regarding her solemnly.

  Tommie smiled. “What’s up, Kay-Kay?”

  “Do you like my uncle Zhane?”

  “Sure do. He’s my best friend.”

  “Kadeem says Uncle Zhane only likes boys,” Khadija said matter-of-factly.

  Tommie made a strangled sound of shocked protest. What on earth was that crazy boy thinking, telling a three-year-old child something like that?

  A woman seated nearby, overhearing Khadija’s pronouncement, raised a brow at Tommie. Tommie stared the woman down until she looked away, frowning with disapproval.

  “Is it true?” Khadija pressed.

  Tommie faltered, casting about desperately for a safe, age-appropriate answer. Damn it. This was why she didn’t teach children under twelve. They were too inquisitive. Too unpredictable.

  Choosing her words carefully, Tommie said, “Your uncle Zhane has a lot of friends who are boys, so yes, technically he does like boys. We both do, actually. Boys are a lot of fun.”

  She held her breath, silently praying that Khadija wouldn’t ask her to elaborate. For several moments the little girl said nothing, her fine brows furrowed together as she mulled over Tommie’s words. After an interminable length of time she nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. Tommie inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

  In a small, tremulous voice, Khadija asked, “Is Kadeem gonna die?”

  Tommie’s heart constricted. “Oh, sweetie,” she whispered, her arms tightening protectively around the child’s soft, warm body. “The doctors are taking good care of your brother. As soon as they finish patching him up, you’ll be able to see him.”

  Khadija stared up at her, her small chin quivering. “I don’t want him to die. Mommy will be sad.”

  “I know, baby. Everyone will be. And your brother knows that. So he’s going to do his very best to get better so he can come home again.”

  “Do you really think so?”