Like No One Else

by Maureen Smith

  She’d gotten sidetracked when Paulo informed her that his cousin Naomi had called to invite him and Tommie to dinner on Sunday evening. Tommie didn’t know what shocked her more: the fact that his family thought she was important enough to warrant an introduction, or the fact that Paulo obviously agreed. She didn’t know what to make of his willingness to introduce her to his cousins. She was afraid to read too much into it, but it was hard not to. Guys like Paulo Sanchez didn’t take women home to meet their families—unless they believed the woman in question had a future in their lives.

  It scared Tommie to realize just how much she wanted a future with Paulo.

  Still, the thought of meeting his family struck sheer terror in her heart. Although Paulo was unquestionably his own man, she knew how important his cousins were to him, knew what an influence they’d had in shaping his life. It would be naive of Tommie to think their opinion of her, good or bad, would make absolutely no difference to Paulo. She knew better.

  So she’d been a nervous wreck since yesterday afternoon, fretting over what to wear, how to style her hair, and how much makeup to apply. After much deliberation—and a desperate phone call to her sister, who’d squealed with excitement upon hearing about her evening plans—Tommie had settled on a simple yet elegant black silk sheath and a pair of Christian Louboutin stiletto pumps she’d splurged on back in New York and had been saving for a special occasion. Because she wore her hair scraped back into a tight bun or ponytail five days a week when she was teaching, she decided to leave it down that evening, loose and caressing her bare shoulders. When she finally emerged from the bedroom and saw the stunned look on Paulo’s face, she knew all the hours of agonizing had been more than worth it.

  She smiled at him now. “I really enjoyed meeting Cesar yesterday. And you say I have interesting friends.”

  Paulo chuckled. Not taking any chances with her safety, he’d arranged for one of his longtime friends to stay at the loft with her while he ran his errands. Cesar Ortegon was a former bodyguard who now moonlighted as a nightclub bouncer while attending college full-time. Tall, burly, with a shaved head and tattoos covering his thick arms, he could easily have portrayed an inmate in a prison movie—which made his ability to quote Aristotle and Shakespeare at the drop of a dime all the more disarming. While Tommie caught up on her bookkeeping, Cesar had stayed out of her way, working quietly on his midterm paper until she, needing a mental break, had drawn him into a friendly poker game. When Paulo returned to the loft, he’d found them laughing and talking trash to each other like they’d been buddies for years.

  Tommie’s case of nerves returned as she and Paulo reached his family’s palatial Mediterranean-style villa in River Oaks.

  “Relax,” Paulo murmured when he came around to open the door for her. He kissed her gently, taking care not to smudge her lipstick. “They’re going to love you.”

  The family was waiting for them, crowded expectantly around the front door. Ignacio and Naomi Santiago, a handsome couple who’d graced many magazine covers as Houston’s most influential power duo. And their daughters Angela, Rebecca, and Daniela, three gorgeous, confident women who bore just enough of a resemblance to one another to leave no doubt that they were related. The two elder sisters were accompanied by their spouses and children, five offspring between them.

  Paulo and Tommie were greeted with huge, welcoming smiles, enveloped in warm hugs, and ushered into the sweeping grandeur of the house. Paulo plucked his youngest cousin off the floor, hoisted the little girl into the air, and spun her around while her delighted squeals bounded up to the vaulted ceiling. Observing the tender expression on Tommie’s face as she watched the touching display, Naomi slipped her arm companionably through hers and said, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  Tommie turned and smiled at the regally beautiful, dark-skinned woman. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a lovely home and a wonderful family.”

  Naomi’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “You know we’re always looking for additions.”

  Before Tommie could respond—assuming she could have formulated a response—Daniela latched on to her other arm, leaned close, and whispered, “Fabulous shoes!”

  By the time dinner was under way in the formal dining room, Tommie realized her fears about Paulo’s family had been unfounded. While there was no disputing their wealth and status, the Santiagos were completely devoid of pretension. Although they dined on expensive china and the gleaming mahogany table was draped in fine linen, the laughter and conversation that filled the room was anything but refined. It was loud, animated, blissfully chaotic. While Ignacio Santiago was indisputably the captain of the ship, his wife and daughters were equally strong-willed, outspoken, and fiercely devoted to their family. They adored Paulo, alternately doting on him, teasing him, and admonishing him whenever he said or did something outrageous. There was a unity among them all that flowed from one end of the table to the other. A simple, strong, steady flow of love that touched a chord in Tommie and filled her with a sense of belonging.

  She was perfectly at ease answering questions about herself, never feeling like she was being interrogated by a team of lawyers—which, in essence, she was. She told them about working for Crandall Thorne, whom they knew personally, and about her dancing. She and the Santiago women reminisced about their various travels abroad, the food and music, the art and culture. When Tommie and Daniela wandered into a conversation about fashion, the men rolled their eyes at one another. Trading conspiratorial grins, the two women agreed to continue their discussion later, when they wouldn’t be rudely interrupted.

  Through it all, Tommie was aware of Paulo watching her from across the table. She knew that he’d been watching her almost from the moment they’d sat down to dinner. She could feel his gaze on her, a tactile touch that heated her skin and left her nerve endings tingling. More than once she’d deliberately turned her head to catch him staring at her. He’d winked, the edges of his mouth curving in a secret smile that made her heart lurch crazily.

  One such private exchange was caught by Naomi, who gave them a knowing smile before saying conversationally, “So, Tommie, I understand that you and Paulo met at your sister’s wedding four years ago.”

  “That’s right.” Tommie looked at Paulo, her lips quirking and her eyes glimmering with a veiled threat to tell his family all about his scandalous behavior with the brunette. “It was a beautiful wedding, wasn’t it?”

  “Absolutely.” His own eyes glittered with wicked challenge, daring her.

  Naomi sighed. “I suppose the two of you owe a debt of gratitude to Frankie and Sebastien for introducing you to each other. If they hadn’t gotten married, you may never have met.”

  Their gazes softened on each other. “That’s true,” they murmured in unison.

  Conversations around the table died down as eleven other pairs of eyes turned to watch them.

  Naomi took another languid sip of wine. “So, do you have any other weddings you’re planning to attend in the near future?”

  As Tommie started to shake her head, Paulo, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin and rising from the table, said, “Now that you mention it, Naomi. We do.”

  Tommie froze, staring at him as he rounded the table and came toward her.

  The hushed silence that fell over the room was deafening. Silverware stilled, glasses stopped tinkling, no one breathed.

  Holding Tommie’s gaze, Paulo pulled out her chair, knelt in front of her, and took her trembling hands in his. He raised them to his lips, tenderly kissed her fingertips.

  “I love you,” he said in an achingly husky voice. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  Tears welled in Tommie’s eyes, blurring her vision. If she hadn’t been sitting down, shock would have sent her swooning to the floor. “What are you saying?” she whispered, heart lodged in her throat.

  “I’m saying I want you to be my wife, Tommie. Will you do that? Will you marry me?”

  “
Oh my God…Paulo…oh, baby…”

  He smiled. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

  As Paulo crushed his mouth to hers, loud cheers and applause erupted around the room. Forks tapped against glasses. Two of the older kids drummed excitedly on the table. Naomi, Angela, Rebecca, and Daniela dabbed at their eyes and exchanged teary, triumphant smiles.

  Oblivious of the commotion around them, Paulo and Tommie kissed deeply and passionately. When they at last drew apart, the dining room was empty. Everyone had quietly cleared out, giving them privacy.

  Tommie smiled into Paulo’s eyes, her arms looped around his neck as he lifted her from the chair, then sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “I can’t believe you just did that,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you proposed.”

  “Neither can I,” he admitted, stroking a hand down her hair and touching her face. “It wasn’t planned. But the moment the words left my mouth, I knew it was right. Nothing in my life has ever felt more right.”

  Tommie’s heart swelled with emotion. “I love you,” she said fiercely. “I want to have your baby.”

  Paulo’s eyes glinted with tender mirth. “Even if it means you’d have to eat hospital food?”

  She let out a whispery laugh. “Even if. Although I seem to recall telling a certain someone that I expect my loving, doting husband to bring me food from outside the hospital.”

  Paulo groaned. “Damn. I forgot about that.”

  She grinned. “Too late. You’ve already proposed. No going back.”

  “No,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes as he gently slanted his mouth over hers. “There’s no going back.”

  The stranger was infuriated. Trembling with a rage as black as the night.

  Hidden in the shadows outside the small, brick building, he watched as Paulo Sanchez helped Tommie out of a dark Dodge Durango. The cop was smiling, looking like a fool in love. And she, too, was smiling, her face aglow with happiness as she gazed at him. He folded her into his arms, then lowered his head and kissed her. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair. As the kiss deepened, Sanchez pinned her against the truck and gently wedged his thigh between hers.

  The stranger gritted his back teeth so hard his jaw ached. His blood pounded, throbbed through his brain, left him feeling weak and nauseated. He felt betrayal of the worst kind, watching Tommie locked in a passionate embrace with another man. Oh, he was no fool. He’d always known there would be others. But it was one thing to imagine her stripping off her clothes and spreading her legs for another man. Being forced to watch the lewd act was another matter altogether. But that was what he’d done. He’d forced himself to watch via the hidden cameras he’d placed throughout the converted warehouse. He’d watched their naked, sweaty bodies writhing against each other, heard their guttural, animal sounds of lust. They’d defiled every corner of the building. The stairwell, the bedroom, the bathroom, even the studio where he’d installed a camera so he could enjoy the simple pleasure of watching her dance, a pleasure now forever tainted.

  But even as fury and revulsion had consumed him, he’d been aroused by their savage lovemaking. He’d stroked himself, masturbating as he imagined that it was he, not Sanchez, having his way with her. As he came violently, tears burned his eyes and a familiar shame engulfed him.

  Even now, the memory of it sickened him. She had done this to him.

  And he would make her pay.

  After an agonizing eternity, the two lovers reluctantly pulled apart. Tommie made a teasing comment and pointed at her left hand. Sanchez laughed.

  The stranger’s eyes narrowed, speculating. What had she said to him? he wondered uneasily. It almost looked like she’d told him to put a ring on her finger. But, no, that couldn’t be. Surely she didn’t want to marry someone like Paulo Sanchez? It wasn’t even possible.

  Yet something had changed between the couple. There was a certain closeness, a new level of intimacy between them.

  His muscles tightened. He clenched his jaw as an awful suspicion took form in his conscience. He refused to identify it, refused to give voice to it. Because if he did, it would send him over the edge, and he’d come too far to lose control now. Not when he was so close to achieving his goal. If anyone knew the lengths to which he had gone, the sacrifices he’d made in order to claim her, they would think he was insane. But he knew he wasn’t. He and Tommie Purnell were meant for each other. There were no coincidences. Everything had happened according to plan.

  And she had seen him. She’d sensed his presence when he was hiding in her closet. She’d known he was near.

  He’d vowed to himself that when she saw him, really saw him, he would know it was time.

  The time had arrived.

  But first he would make Sanchez suffer. The filthy, arrogant bastard would learn the hard way not to take what didn’t belong to him.

  Just then, the sound of her sultry laughter floated over to him, snaking around him like sinuous curls of smoke. As he watched, Sanchez swept her off the ground, lifted her into his arms as if she were weightless, and strode toward the building.

  The stranger’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He knew what was to follow, knew that Sanchez would spend the rest of the night making love to her, kissing her, stroking her. Defiling her.

  If only he could have put a stop to it now, the stranger fumed. If only he could have charged across the street, wrenched her out of the cop’s arms, and slashed his knife across Sanchez’s throat, severing his jugular. Ending his miserable life.

  But, no, he couldn’t act on the violent urge, no matter how strong or tempting it was. He had to maintain control. He had to be patient.

  Sanchez had reached the front door when suddenly he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

  The stranger shrank against the tree, his heart thudding.

  Sanchez’s eyes swept the darkness. For a moment his black brows furrowed, as if he sensed another presence nearby, hiding in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

  The stranger held his breath until his lungs screamed for air.

  Finally Sanchez turned and carried Tommie inside the building, closing the door behind them. Locking out the unseen threat.

  But not for very long, the stranger thought, an icy, feral smile spreading across his face. I’ll be back soon. And no one will ever see me coming.

  Chapter 23

  Monday, November 16

  On Monday morning, Paulo was in his office poring through Ashton Dupree’s case file when his phone rang. He snatched up the receiver on the first ring. “Sanchez.”

  “Detective Sanchez, this is Norah O’Connor.”

  “You must have read my mind,” Paulo told her. “I was just about to call and badger you. Got something for me?”

  “I do,” O’Connor said grimly, “but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

  Paulo frowned, his nerves tightening. “What do you mean?”

  “I put a rush on the trace results from the Dupree crime scene. The spare key used by the killer to get inside the house had been wiped clean, but not clean enough. We were able to lift a partial print, and we found a match in our database. But not where we expected to find one.”

  Cold unease slithered down Paulo’s spine. Every muscle in his body was stretched taut. “Who did the print belong to?”

  There was a heavy pause. “You.”

  Paulo’s heart slammed against his larynx. “That’s impossible. I never touched that key.”

  “The results suggest otherwise.”

  “The results are wrong,” he snapped, dread twisting in his gut. “By the time I arrived on the scene, the key had already been bagged for evidence. I never laid a finger on it.”

  “Unless you handled it beforehand.”

  Paulo went very still. “What are you saying, O’Connor?” he said softly, tightly.

  “Did you sleep with her? Were you having an affair with Ashton Dupree?”
>
  “No!”

  “You told us you knew her. If you were sleeping with her, and you used the key to get into the house at some point, I need to know.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping with her,” Paulo said, his jaw clenched so tight the words were barely more than a growl.

  O’Connor sighed harshly. “Damn it, Sanchez. I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me. I’m trying like hell to keep this development under wraps. You and I both know what’s going to happen if it leaks out to the press.”

  “Then I suggest you contain the leaks in your department,” Paulo bit off tersely.

  Bristling, O’Connor shot back, “You have a reputation, Sanchez. Everyone knows you chase anything in a skirt. Ashton Dupree was a beautiful woman, one you just happened to know. When word gets out that your print was found on that key—a key piece of evidence—you’re gonna have a helluva time convincing anyone you weren’t screwing her. And if you were screwing her, that means you could have killed her.”

  “I wasn’t screwing her, goddamn it, and I didn’t kill her!” Paulo exploded.

  An officer walking past his open doorway eyed him warily.

  Shit!

  Lowering his voice, Paulo snarled into the phone, “Someone’s trying to set me up. Someone planted my fingerprint on that key.”

  “Like who?” O’Connor sounded skeptical.

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” Paulo slammed down the phone, his hand trembling violently. Acid churned in his stomach, and his head throbbed as he struggled to process what he’d just learned. Someone with access to his fingerprints was trying to frame him for murder. Someone who knew that he’d once befriended Ashton Dupree, someone who was trying to cover his own tracks.