Like No One Else

by Maureen Smith

Almost immediately his mind went to Ted Colston. Colston, who’d been lying and evading questions from the very beginning. Colston, who owned a strip club where his foster sister had worked until a week ago. Colston, who might have had any number of motives for killing her. Colston, who’d conveniently been out of town over the weekend, even after Paulo had specifically warned him not to go anywhere without clearing it with him first.

  Suddenly Donovan burst into the office, staring at Paulo in wide-eyed disbelief. “I just came from the captain’s office. I’ve never seen him so pissed! Did you assault a church deacon on Saturday?”

  “Fuck,” Paulo whispered hoarsely, ramming stiff fingers through his hair. His day was going to hell in a handbasket.

  Taking the epithet as confirmation, Donovan shook his head at him, appalled. “What the hell were you thinking, man? Assaulting a deacon in a church parking lot? That’s just crazy—even for you! I’m a preacher’s kid, so you know I don’t play that. I mean, did you actually think you’d get away with it? The man just got off the phone with Boulware. He gave him an earful about police brutality and demanded your badge!”

  “I don’t have time for this right now,” Paulo muttered impatiently, his mind racing with questions that had nothing to do with Roland Jackson. How had Colston obtained his fingerprints? When had—

  And then it struck him. He’d given Colston his business card!

  “You’d better make time,” Donovan advised, interrupting his thoughts. “The captain wants to see you. When I left his office, he was just taking a phone call from the DA. There’s a serious shit storm brewing, Sanchez, and it’s got your name written all over it.”

  Paulo stared at his partner, gripped by a chilling sense of foreboding. Had word already got out about his fingerprint being found on the spare key at Ashton’s house? Had someone in the crime lab already leaked the information?

  “What have you heard?” Paulo demanded sharply.

  “As I was leaving Boulware’s office, I heard him say something about calling a press conference to address any rumors or speculation before they got out of hand. He told the DA that you have a good service record, said he was sure you had a perfectly good explanation for it—whatever it is.” Donovan regarded him suspiciously. “What the hell’s going on, Sanchez? If you’re up to your ears in some nonsense, I have a right to know as your damned partner.”

  Paulo didn’t answer. The foreboding had tightened like a noose around his throat, strangling him. If the district attorney already knew about the evidence found at the crime scene, that meant the media was all over the story, too. Which meant—

  Shit!

  Tommie!

  Donovan frowned at Paulo as he shot up from the desk, grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, and strode determinedly from the room.

  “Where are you going?” Donovan called after him. “I told you Boulware wants to see—”

  But Paulo was already gone.

  “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  Those were the first words out of Richard Houghton’s mouth when Tommie answered her office phone shortly before noon. Her surprise at hearing his smooth, cultured voice quickly turned into annoyance.

  “Zhane told you about my engagement?” Damn that Zhane, she silently fumed. I don’t care how happy he is for me! I’m giving him a piece of my mind when I see him later!

  As if reading her mind, Richard chuckled softly. “Please don’t be mad at Zhane. I couldn’t help overhearing him on the phone with you when he was in the studio warming up this morning. He squealed so loud I think everyone in the building must have heard him. As you could obviously tell, he was quite thrilled by the news of your engagement. He told me he was heading over to your place this evening to pop open a bottle of champagne and help you start planning the wedding.”

  “That’s the plan,” Tommie murmured. “We have a lot to celebrate.”

  “Of course. He told me the doctors expect his nephew to make a full recovery, and the police caught the man responsible for shooting him. That’s wonderful news.”

  “Yes, it is. And don’t worry,” Tommie said sourly, “Zhane’s coming over after rehearsal tonight.”

  Detecting the note of resentment in her voice, Richard said, “You know, Tommie, just because I didn’t let Zhane perform on Friday evening doesn’t mean I’m insensitive or that I don’t value him as one of my dancers. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said coolly. “That’s between you and Zhane.”

  “If that’s true,” Richard countered, a fine thread of anger tightening his voice, “then why did you boycott Friday night’s performance? Renee was there. Why weren’t you?”

  Tommie bristled at his accusatory tone. “I don’t have to answer to you, Richard. In fact, I was in the middle of something important when you called, so—”

  “If you’re going to boycott our productions simply because your best friend isn’t performing, at least have the courage to say it to my face.”

  Tommie’s temper flared. “How dare you! I don’t owe you a damn thing! But since you insist on having this conversation, then yes, I did have a problem with your decision not to let Zhane perform. I thought it was tacky, punitive, insensitive, and it showed an appalling lack of compassion on your part! But as Zhane pointed out to me, it was your call to make as artistic director, so what difference does it make what I think?”

  A low, mirthless chuckle filled the phone line. “I think you already know the answer to that question, Tommie, so I can’t even imagine why you’d choose to pretend otherwise. It’s no secret that I’m attracted to you, that I’ve been interested in you for the past several months. The only reason I haven’t asked you out on a date is that every time I come anywhere near you, you look at me as if I’ve got sharp fangs and horns coming out of my head.”

  “I do not,” Tommie grumbled, even as she felt a pang of guilt, because she knew he was right. Heaving a resigned breath, she decided to level with him. “In all honesty, Richard, I’m not comfortable with the way you look at me sometimes. It’s unnerving.”

  “I see.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I wasn’t aware that I made you uncomfortable. Please accept my apologies.”

  Tommie hesitated. “Apology accepted.”

  “Good. Zhane is an important member of my dance company, and obviously a very important person to you. I would hate for him to be caught in the middle of our, shall we say, feud.”

  “Neither would I,” Tommie agreed, glancing at her watch. It was 11:47. She had another hour before the locksmith arrived to change her locks. In the meantime, the main door was locked and bolted, the security company was on standby, and the pistol Paulo had given her that morning was burning a hole through the top desk drawer.

  “You know, Tommie,” Richard said mildly, “I really wish you would have given me more of a chance. I think you would have discovered that I’m not such a terrible person. After all, I never told anyone what happened to you in New York.”

  Tommie’s muscles tensed. A clammy chill ran across her skin. “You knew?”

  “Of course,” he said smoothly. “I know a lot of people in New York. It’s a small world—dancers talk. You know that.”

  Tommie swallowed. Indeed, she did know. But the artistic director had assured her that he wouldn’t breathe a word about the videotape to anyone. Obviously he’d done a lot of breathing.

  “But I kept your dirty little secret,” Richard continued in the same calm, placid tone, “because I sympathized with your dilemma. I understood that you’d moved here to start over, and the last thing you needed was an embarrassing scandal from your past following you here. It couldn’t be good for business, not to mention your reputation.”

  Tommie wondered if she was only imagining the veiled threat in his voice.

  “I have nothing but the utmost admiration and respect for the Blane Bailey Dance Company, but I thought they were wrong for letting y
ou go. I think they should have stood by your side, weathered the bad publicity. You were worth it, Tommie. You belong on the stage, not in a classroom. That’s why I was hoping you would come dance for me. But, to my everlasting disappointment, you refused.” He chuckled softly. “I suppose if I ever get desperate enough, I could just blackmail you.”

  Tommie wasn’t amused. “That’s not funny, Richard.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t resist. You’ve already accused me of being tacky, punitive, and insensitive. I figured I’d go for the gusto and add sleazy to the list.” He sighed. “Anyway, I don’t want to hold you up much longer. I just wanted to call and offer my congratulations on your pending nuptials. I hope you and Detective Sanchez will be very happy together.”

  “Thanks, I—” She broke off, stiffening in surprise. “Zhane told you his name?”

  “Well, yes, of course. Naturally I was curious, so I asked. As it turns out, I’m acquainted with Paulo Sanchez. He may not remember, but we met at a function hosted by his family’s law firm two years ago. My parents’ multinational energy corporation is one of the firm’s biggest clients. In case you’ve ever heard of the Houghtons of Houston, that’s my family.”

  “What a small world,” Tommie murmured.

  “Isn’t it?” Richard sounded distinctly pleased. “At any rate, I’m sure my parents will receive an invitation to your wedding. Perhaps I’ll accompany them. Have you and Paulo decided whether the ceremony will be held here or in San Antonio?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far yet,” Tommie muttered, unnerved by his presumptuousness. Unnerved by the entire conversation. “I really have to go, Richard.”

  “Of course. Please convey my congratulations to your lucky fiancé.”

  “I will.” Tommie hung up, then shuddered. Now that she was engaged, with any luck she’d finally heard the last of Richard Houghton.

  Shoving the thought aside, she returned to the paperwork she’d been reviewing before Richard called. She’d dismissed her last class of the day an hour ago, and had vowed to get as much work done as possible before Paulo came home.

  She smiled at the thought, marveling at how right it sounded. As natural as falling asleep in his arms last night, and waking up with him buried deep inside her. She flushed with pleasure as her mind conjured an image of their entwined bodies, the sinewy cords of his muscles straining as he thrust into her, the way his black hair fell over his eyes as he called her name and clutched her as if he’d never let go. Even before he’d proposed she had been fantasizing about what it would be like to spend the rest of her life with Paulo, to live together as man and wife. She had no illusions about his job; she knew the long hours and dangerous nature of his cases would take some getting used to. But the nights, oh, the nights, would be nothing short of spectacular.

  They’d stayed at his cousins’ house until well after midnight, drinking wine and basking in the family’s joy and excitement. By the time they left, Tommie swore she’d spoken on the phone to every living member of the Santiago family. Paulo’s parents and siblings were shocked but pleased that he was taking another chance on love. Tommie, who’d decided to tell her own parents over Thanksgiving dinner, had sworn Frankie and Sebastien to secrecy, because of course she couldn’t keep such a big announcement from her sister. Her ears were still ringing from Frankie’s—as well as Zhane’s—ecstatic squealing.

  Tommie was so preoccupied with her happy musings that she forgot she’d turned on the office television set for background noise. The midday news broadcast had just come on the air.

  “In our top story this afternoon, the police may have a break in the case of two local women who were found brutally murdered in their homes this week, but it’s not the break they could possibly have anticipated.”

  Tommie’s head snapped up, her nerves instinctively tightening.

  The newscaster continued. “In a stunning development in the case, we’ve just learned that investigators have positively identified a partial fingerprint found on a spare key that was used by the perpetrator to enter the second victim’s home. Unnamed police sources have confirmed that the fingerprint belongs to the lead homicide investigator, Detective Paulo Sanchez.”

  Tommie gasped, shooting to her feet even as the blood drained from her head.

  “We’re taking you live to police headquarters downtown, where we’re awaiting a press conference from police captain Shane Boulware. Mika, what can you tell us about this shocking new development in the case?”

  The camera went to an attractive, dark-haired reporter standing outside the bustling police station. “Thanks, Gina. Shock is the right word to describe the mood around here. Detective Paulo Sanchez is a seventeen-year veteran of the police force with an impressive service record. Two years ago, after taking a short-term sabbatical to deal with some undisclosed personal issues, he transferred to the Houston Police Department from his hometown of San Antonio. Colleagues describe him as a sharp, aggressive investigator whose methodical investigative work has provided leads in numerous cold-case murders. It is not known at this point whether homicide investigators believe Sanchez, one of their very own, could have committed these heinous murders, but just to put things in perspective for our viewers, we’re now learning about the details surrounding the murder of a San Antonio woman six years ago.”

  No, Tommie thought desperately, wrapping her arms around her stomach and choking down the bile rising in her throat. No, no, no. It’s not possible. God can’t be this cruel!

  “Hailey Morrisette was brutally raped and murdered, her body found buried in the woods two days after she’d been reported missing. Then, as now, Detective Sanchez was the lead investigator in the case. But what he failed to disclose at the time was that he’d been having an extramarital affair with Morrisette.”

  A hoarse scream of denial erupted from Tommie’s lips as a photo of a beautiful blond woman flashed on the screen. She stared at the picture in horrified disbelief, shaken by the uncanny resemblance between Hailey Morrisette and Ashton Dupree.

  “Morrisette’s killer was never caught,” the reporter continued, driving the dagger into Tommie’s heart with each devastating word. “But three years after her murder, in a dramatic turn of events, Morrisette’s younger sister went on a killing spree, murdering five prominent businessmen she claimed were responsible for her sister’s death. She pled not guilty by reason of insanity and was committed to a state mental hospital. But to this day, prosecutors believe that Hailey Morrisette’s real killer is still at large.”

  Tommie was trembling violently and shaking her head in virulent denial, unable to believe what she was hearing. In just the blink of an eye, she’d been wrenched from her rapturous utopia and thrust into a nightmare reality. She should have known. Experience had taught her that the higher she soared, the harder her fall back to earth.

  “As you might imagine,” the reporter was saying, blissfully oblivious of the torment she was causing Tommie, “the Morrisette case has fueled speculation about Detective Sanchez’s possible involvement in the recent murders of Maribel Cruz and Ashton Dupree, both of whom he knew. According to an anonymous police source, Dupree, a stripper at a local nightclub, was arrested for soliciting an undercover cop four months ago. When she was brought to the police station for booking, she and Sanchez had what one eyewitness described as a ‘passionate reunion.’ Sanchez later intervened on Dupree’s behalf, getting the charges against her reduced to a fine. Shortly afterward, Sanchez and Dupree were overheard having a heated argument, after which Dupree stormed out of his office.” The reporter paused, glancing over her shoulder before turning around and adding, “At the time of our reporting, Detective Sanchez could not be reached for comment. We’re staying on top of this unfolding situation and will bring you live coverage of the press conference once it gets under way. Back to you in the studio, Gina.”

  No sooner had the news report ended than Tommie heard the bell above the main door tinkle softly. Her heart lurched to her throat. Sh
e bolted from the office, knowing Paulo had let himself in with his key even before she saw him striding swiftly toward her with a look of fierce desperation.

  “Tommie—”

  “How could you!” she choked out, her voice trembling with anguished fury. “How could you keep those things from me? How?”

  “You have to let me explain,” Paulo said urgently.

  “Now you want to explain?” she demanded in outraged disbelief. “Now? After you’ve made love to me, made me believe I could trust you, made me fall in love with you? Now you want to explain?”

  “Tommie,” he tried again, reaching for her shoulders.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried, jerking out of his grasp and backing away from him, her hands thrown up to ward him off.

  He stared at her, chest heaving, black eyes glittering with feverish intensity. “I know how shocked and hurt you must be feeling right now, but you have to listen to me, Tommie. I didn’t kill anyone.”

  She glared at him, her heart hammering so hard she thought it would burst through her chest. “I confided in you, poured my heart out to you. I shared a painful, humiliating secret with you that I’d never told anyone else! Why didn’t you trust me enough to do the same?”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled, jaw clenched.

  “You don’t know,” Tommie mocked bitterly. “So it never occurred to you that I might want to know that the man I was falling in love with had cheated on his first wife with a woman who wound up brutally murdered? And when you were telling me about Ashton Dupree’s murder, you didn’t think it was worth mentioning that you and she were lovers?”

  “No,” he growled, “because we weren’t lovers. We were childhood friends, nothing more!”

  “That’s not what some of your colleagues seem to think,” she flung at him.

  “I don’t give a damn what they think!” Paulo roared, his face hardening with fury as he advanced on her. “All I care about is what you think, and if you stand there and tell me you actually believe I’m capable of murder, I’m walking out that door right now.”