Like No One Else

by Maureen Smith

  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 doorwa
y 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.

  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 w
ord 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 you 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?”