She Can Kill

by Melinda Leigh

  Cristan suppressed his surprise, along with a surge of hurt and concern. She’d been keeping this from him for a month. How? Why? Was she concealing anything else? “How did I not know about this?”

  She picked at her cuticle. “I might have intercepted the letter and forged your name on the permission slip.”

  Shock silenced him. His daughter had gone beyond not telling him about this event. She’d passed lying and embraced outright deception. “Why didn’t you want me to know about this spelling bee?”

  Lucia leaned away from him, her attention shifting to the window. Through the glass, snow-covered athletic fields rolled by. “I know you don’t like me to stand out.”

  He struggled with a response. She wasn’t wrong, but the truth wasn’t an option. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because when I won that award in sixth grade in Miami, you packed up and moved us here a week later. I don’t want to move again. This is the longest we’ve ever lived in one place.” She turned her hand and examined her ragged, obviously chewed fingernails.

  Cristan waved off her very accurate deduction. “We moved to take advantage of a business opportunity.”

  Her body stilled, and her attention shifted back to him. Her focus intensified. Her posture and tone challenged his statement. “You manage your real estate investments all over the country from your home office every day. I don’t think we needed to move a thousand miles to buy a property.”

  “The house has a great view,” he said, but his argument sounded weak. “And there were other opportunities. It turned out for the best, didn’t it? You seem happy here.”

  “I guess.” Her shoulder gave a quick lift. Her eyes were wary, as if she didn’t want to admit, even to herself, how much she liked living in Westbury. “I like having a horse. I like living in the country. Having friends is nice.”

  “See? It all worked out.” The move to Florida had been a mistake. Every time he heard Spanish spoken, it reminded him of Argentina—of his past—of events he wanted to forget, and put him on edge. He heard the language here occasionally, but not as frequently as in Miami.

  Lucia picked at the peeling glitter polish on her thumbnail. “So if it was just a business decision, then this time we won’t have to move, right?”

  And now Cristan was paying the full price of keeping secrets from his daughter. “Not right at this moment. Unfortunately, my business requires frequent relocation.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated.” Lies generally were.

  “I’m not stupid.” Behind her impudent tone, Lucia’s voice rang with heartache. “There’s this really convenient thing out there called the Internet. You know all about it. It’s the place where you do ninety-five percent of your work. You don’t go to meetings. Why does it matter where we live?”

  He didn’t reprimand her for her disrespect. She was sad and hurt, and he bore the blame. Perhaps he should have been more honest with her, but he’d wanted her to have as normal a life as possible, which he now realized hadn’t been very normal at all. Good intentions could indeed lead one in the wrong direction.

  “I know that you are very intelligent.” He just hadn’t realized she was also perceptive and mature, or that she was just as good at keeping secrets as he was. “I am very proud of you.”

  “I’ve been invited to compete in the state competition next month. The winner goes to the national competition in Washington, D.C. in May.” Lucia crossed her arms over her chest. “If you don’t have an issue with attention, then I can go, right?”

  What should he do? Could they stay in Westbury, at least until Lucia finished high school? In twelve years, no one had come looking for them. Was that because he’d moved them frequently, kept a low profile, and maintained his vigilance, or because Aline Barba had no interest in them? Cristan wasn’t conducting any business that would compete with hers or draw her attention. Eva was dead. But the feud between the two families was long and ingrained. One violent killing spawning another. The back-and-forth acts of retribution had continued for decades, each side seemingly intent on wiping the other from existence. The last conflict, the one he believed had initiated the Vargas massacre, had cost Aline her son. Did she know Cristan wasn’t responsible, even though he’d been there that day? Or would she find him guilty by association regardless? It had been Eva who’d pulled the trigger. These were the unanswered questions that had kept him in hiding for more than a decade.

  He’d changed their names. Lucia would hardly be recognizable. She’d been an infant when they’d left Argentina. The years of worry had left their mark on his face. He no longer resembled the shaggy-haired young man he’d been at that time.

  If his paranoia was unfounded, they could live a more normal life—or at least as normal as possible for two people living under false identities, something Lucia did not know.

  Still, answering her question nearly choked him. Once he agreed, there would be no going back. But hadn’t they already crossed that barrier by staying here for two years? He had to change the way he treated his daughter. She was no longer a small child. The days when she could make new best friends in a single afternoon on the playground were over. Uprooting her now without a concrete threat would be cruel. “I don’t see why not.”

  “Really?” Lucia’s voice rose with excitement. “We aren’t leaving?”

  He chose his words with care. “I have no immediate plans to move.”

  “Omigod.” The stunned look on her face told him she’d been prepared for an argument. “I can’t believe it. You mean it?”

  “Yes.” When his daughter was desperate enough to hide important events from him, when she lacked the very childhood he strove to protect, then it was time to reevaluate his decisions. “But you have to promise not to keep secrets from me. I would have liked to have seen you win this afternoon.”

  Her head bobbed. “I’m sorry. Next time I promise to tell you. But you have to promise me the same thing.”

  “And there will be consequences for signing my name on that document. Except for babysitting and taking care of Snowman, you are grounded for a month.”

  “OK.” She didn’t seem upset by her punishment. Her happy chatter filled the car—and his heart—during the short drive to Sarah’s house. This was the reason he hadn’t moved. Lucia was flourishing here. The only thing tainting the beauty of the afternoon was the knowledge that he could never be totally honest with his daughter.

  Secrets could be deadly, but he knew how easily the truth could also kill.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The stuffed kangaroo on the foyer floor nearly brought Sarah to tears. One marble, brown eye stared up at her, forlorn. Threadbare patches and a lumpy body attested to her three-year-old’s attachment. Em dragged that animal everywhere, but she’d refused to take it with her today.

  Hoppy might be scared.

  Were Em and her five-year-old sister, Alex, as nervous as Sarah? Work had been a welcome distraction. Her job as a sous chef for the Main Street Inn kept her busy, but now that she was home again, she could think of nothing else. Today was her ex-husband’s first court-ordered unsupervised visitation with their two small daughters. They should be home safe any minute. But every Tuesday and Thursday, plus entire alternate weekends, this was her new reality.

  Looping the convenience store bag handles over her wrist, she stepped over the threshold and dropped her keys on the hall table. Her little black-and-tan spaniel mix, Bandit, hopped on his back legs, greeting her like a wagging, furry pogo stick. He put his front feet on her thigh and let her stroke his head. When his paws dropped to the floor, she bent and picked up the kangaroo. She held it toward the dog. “Did you bring this down from Em’s room?”

  At the sound of Emma’s name, Bandit ran to the storm door and looked out the glass. He glanced back at Sarah and barked.

  “Sorry, buddy. The girls aren’t with me
.” Pulling off her gloves, Sarah went to the kitchen and stowed the milk in the refrigerator. Out of habit, she plucked the receipt from the bottom of the plastic bag and smoothed it between her fingers. She stopped mid-motion. She no longer had to submit receipts to justify every penny she spent. With a deliberate curl of her fist, she crumpled the slip of paper and dropped it into the garbage can. If the house had a fireplace, she would have burned it in a more symbolic gesture.

  She stood in the center of the kitchen, lost. The girls should be here, washing up, helping her make a simple dinner. The kitchen was too small for a table, but Em should be kneeling on her stool at the counter, hugging Hoppy and decompressing from daycare while Alex gave Sarah a detailed rundown of her entire day from drop-off to pickup. The house was too quiet without her oldest’s constant chatter.

  The dog cocked his head in question. She scratched behind his ears. “I’m not used to silence, and I’m sure you need to go out. Let’s wait for the girls outside.” Anything was better than sitting inside alone, waiting and worrying. She went back to the door, lifted the leash off the wall hook, and snapped it onto his collar.

  Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She fished it out and read the display. Troy.

  Her heart rattled. Something had happened to the girls. Terrible possibilities reeled through her mind. Fear clamped around her lungs. She pushed the Answer button with a shaky finger. “What’s wrong?”

  “Where are you?” Anger radiated through the connection.

  She froze, startled by the hostility in his tone. “Is something wrong with the girls, Troy?”

  “I want to know where you’ve been.”

  Sarah paused, her thoughts racing. Her location wasn’t any of Troy’s business. Their divorce was final, and he’d lost all rights to ask about her whereabouts the night he tossed her down a flight of stairs five months before. But she couldn’t make him angry while he was alone with three-year-old Emma and five-year-old Alex.

  She let out a frustrated, frightened breath. Before the judge had ruled in his favor last week, Sarah had refused to answer his calls. But the moment her two little girls had climbed into his truck that morning, she’d unblocked his number. He had control again, and he knew it.

  Her words tasted like defeat. “I was at work. Now I’m home.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Bandit growled up at her, as if he could sense the animosity in Troy’s tone.

  “You can hear the dog, Troy,” she said in a tired voice.

  “You were supposed to be home from work twenty minutes ago.” His voice rose.

  Conditioned to make peace, Sarah almost replied. Placating him had become a habit, and she wasn’t hiding anything. She’d stopped for milk. But she couldn’t let him drag her back into his control games. “Are the girls all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “You aren’t supposed to call me unless it’s about the girls, and you’re ten minutes late.”

  “Maybe they just wanted to know where their mother is.” He had an answer for everything. He’d gotten clever when he’d sobered up. “Or maybe I wanted to make sure you were home before I drop them off.”

  In the silent moment that followed, she heard the faint voices of her daughters in the background. Her lungs expelled the breath she’d been holding. The girls were all right. “I have to take the dog out, Troy. I’ll see you soon.”

  Gathering her courage, Sarah pressed End. The phone wasn’t even in her pocket when it buzzed again. She glanced at the display to make sure it was Troy and let the call go to voicemail. Her gaze drifted over the interior of the small house. The 1980s oak and country-blue furnishings were dated, but she didn’t mind. She hadn’t wanted anything from the house she’d shared with Troy. Her sister’s fiancé, the local police chief, let her and the girls live in this little house rent-free. He’d insisted on installing an alarm, but she’d refused to allow him to renovate. He’d done more than enough. Her entire life had changed since she’d moved to this house. She had a job and her independence. Until today, her girls had been happy and safe. This was her haven, her sanctuary. It had taken Troy months of legal finagling to violate it. She’d gotten her swift divorce, but there was no way to sever her ties with him, not when they shared two children.

  Easing onto the boot bench by the door, she scooped the dog into her lap. He leaned into her, and she wrapped an arm around his sturdy little body. “What are we going to do?”

  She allowed herself two minutes of canine therapy before she set the dog on the floor and stood. “Come on. I’ll take you out to do your business before I call my lawyer.”

  She would not—could not—let Troy take control. Her lawyer wasn’t as useful as she’d hoped. Troy knew how to phrase his words so that without hearing his tone, his message could be interpreted innocently. But there was nothing innocent about anything Troy did.

  Back in the house, she took off her coat, unleashed the dog, and changed into jeans and a sweater. Then there was nothing to do but wait until Troy’s truck pulled to the curb fifteen minutes later. Standing on the back of the sofa, Bandit went ballistic. She’d wanted a little time with the girls before she had to leave for her self-defense class. No chance of that now. Her babysitter would be here any minute. By the time she settled the girls with Lucia, she’d have to leave. But she refused to show her irritation. A response of any kind would only encourage Troy.

  He sat in the truck for a few seconds, glaring at her through the passenger window. Draping his wrists over the steering wheel, he twisted his heavy school ring, the same ring that had made solid contact with her head five months before. Sarah touched the scar on her temple, her fingers tracing the small indentation. Troy’s gaze caught hers, and a smug half smile turned up the corner of his mouth. Sarah tensed as he got out of the pickup.

  The girls popped out of the backseat like toast and raced toward her. Pushing the irate dog firmly back into the house, Sarah went out onto the stoop to greet Alex and Em. The girls ran up the driveway, and she crouched to hug them both. Holding their little bodies close, she breathed in the scents of sweat and No More Tangles. They were OK. Relief swept through her. “Go on inside. Don’t let the dog out.”

  They went into the house. Alex pulled the storm door closed just as Bandit’s feet hit the glass, muffling the dog’s angry barks.

  “Did everything go all right?” She’d be pleasant to him if it killed her.

  “Fine.” Troy took a step toward her. “But you have to stop spoiling them.”

  Sarah didn’t respond, but feigning confidence, she widened her stance and stretched her head toward the sky. Do not back down.

  “I’m serious, Sarah. Alex is defiant, and Emma cries all the freaking time.” Troy stopped. Irritation and indecision flickered in his eyes.

  Sarah clamped her molars together. What was she going to say? She doubted he’d be receptive to the truth. Your children are afraid of you. “What time will you pick them up on Thursday?”

  “Same as today.” Troy scowled, but he turned toward his truck.

  “See you then.” Sarah backed toward the house, praying he left before her babysitter—and her hot father—arrived. But she was destined to have the worst luck in the universe. At that very same moment, Cristan Rojas turned down her street and parked behind Troy’s truck.

  One more minute and Troy would have been gone.

  Lucia leaped from the car and loped across the grass on long legs. “Hi, Sarah.”

  “Hi, Lucia,” Sarah said. “You can go on in.”

  Cristan climbed out of his Mercedes and leaned on the closed door, his phone pressed to his ear, his eyes following Troy as he got into his pickup. Tension between the men was palpable in the chilly air, which was ridiculous because Sarah wasn’t involved with either of them.

  Troy pulled away from the curb. The moment the pickup disappeared
around the corner, Cristan started toward Sarah. His athletic body was encased in jeans and a black wool coat that pegged him as foreign in a town where everyone else wore down and flannel. She tamped down the pleasure that sparked inside her as he walked up the driveway.

  “Hello, Sarah.” His smile softened otherwise hard features. He was dark and Latin, and the only thing sexier than his lean, chiseled face was his faint, slightly formal, accent. And Sarah realized she was staring. Again. Why did that always happen with him? She blinked and cleared her throat.

  “Hello,” she said. “Thanks for waiting. I don’t know what he’d do if he saw you come into the house.” Jealousy, no matter how unfounded, would make Troy even angrier.

  “I know you wish to avoid provoking him.” But the flash of anger in Cristan’s eyes said he would welcome a confrontation with Troy. Fortunately, Cristan possessed the self-control of a monk. His voice never rose above a carefully modulated pitch, and he gave both his actions and words careful consideration. But under that steely control, his posture always suggested that he could explode in an instant.

  “I just want what’s best for the girls. Their needs have to come first.”

  “Of course.” His expression relaxed with understanding and compassion. He was a widower and single father, and she had to admit that the bond between Cristan and his daughter was just as attractive as his dark eyes and broad shoulders.

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  He acknowledged her comment with a slight incline of his head, but his eyes didn’t break contact with hers. His focus intensified. “But I am at your disposal if you should change your mind. You deserve better. Much better.”

  Sarah’s skin flushed. Cristan often appeared aloof and cool, but at that moment he radiated pure heat. The wind shifted, the damp chill reminding her that her life was complicated. Troy was already hostile. If he thought Sarah was flirting with another man, no amount of court-ordered anger management counseling would help.