by Pamela Clare
A knock brought Joaquin awake again, and Holly stepped inside, walked over, and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, my God, look at you! You’re all tubes and wires. I hear you blew the bastard away. Good for you. Nick is still in Istanbul, but he told me to tell you to get better. I brought someone else who wanted to see you.”
Holly stepped outside the door and came back in pushing a wheelchair.
“Mia.” Joaquin’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her.
One of her cheeks was bruised and swollen, her right arm bandaged and in a sling, a couple of IVs in her left arm. His mother had told him what Meyer had done to her—the fractured sternum, a gunshot wound that had broken her arm, a concussion. But apart from the bruises and the IV, she looked … gorgeous.
Was she wearing lipstick?
“She said she wanted to see you, and the nurses were busy. I figured they wouldn’t mind if I borrowed their patient—well, and a wheelchair.”
“You went to her room?”
Holly gave him a look. “You didn’t seriously think we’d let you keep her to yourself now, did you? After hearing what happened, I had to meet her.”
Holly made introductions, going around the room.
Mia smiled. “I feel like I know all of you already. Joaquin has told me so much about you and your adventures.”
“I’m sure it was all lies,” Matt said.
Mia started to laugh, then grimaced, pressing a hand to her chest. “Please don’t be funny. It hurts too much to laugh.”
“All right. Time to go.” Hunter motioned toward the door. “Let’s give these battered love birds some time alone. They probably have a lot to talk about.”
Joaquin’s friends filed out the door.
“See you later, Ramirez.”
“Nice to meet you, Mia.”
“But I just got here,” Holly whined.
“You can talk to them later,” Hunter said.
“Okay.” Holly kissed Joaquin on the cheek again, then moved Mia closer to his bed. “Get better, okay? Mia, it was lovely chatting with you. We’ll talk again soon.”
And then Joaquin and Mia were alone.
“Holly came to your room?”
Mia reached out with her left hand, laced her fingers through his. “I knew who she was the moment she stepped inside. I told her what had happened and how you saved my life. I told her I had been waiting for a nurse to bring a wheelchair so I could visit you. She pulled a makeup kit out of her handbag, did my face and combed my hair, and then went off after a wheelchair.”
“That’s Holly.”
“Your mother stayed with me for a while—Elena and Mateo, too.”
Joaquin was happy to hear it. He’d asked his mother to look in on her, angry that she was alone with no family to watch over her. “You’re one of us now.”
“That’s what she said. Do I get a page on your website?”
Did Mia know what she was asking? “We’ll have to see about that.”
“I want to kiss you, but I can’t bend over.”
“I’d love to kiss you, but I can’t sit up higher without lots of cussing.”
Mia gave a little laugh. “We’re quite the pair.”
Then her expression crumpled.
She raised his hand to her uninjured cheek, turned her face into his palm, kissed it. “I was so afraid, Joaquin. Those shots rang out, and you fell, and I thought I’d lost you. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“God, Mia, I’m so sorry. If I’d only seen him…”
“How could you? It was nighttime. He was wearing black and hiding behind my black car. No one saw him. Officer Petersen walked past him to the door and didn’t see him. Please don’t blame yourself.”
“I heard him beating down your door. I wanted to get to you, but when I tried to stand, everything went black again. I had to crawl. I thought he was going to tear you to pieces before I could reach you. You fought so hard, but I could hear he was hurting you. When I looked up and saw him aiming that pistol at you… Madre de Dios.”
“You saved my life.”
Joaquin cupped her chin. “You are my life, Mia.”
22
Joaquin was reading Cate’s article about the shooting with Mia the next morning when Detective Wu knocked on the door and stepped into his hospital room. He asked to take their statements so he could close out the case.
“If you’d like we can wait until you’re discharged and arrange for a victim advocate to be present.”
“I’m okay,” Mia said, though Joaquin could see in her eyes that the last thing she wanted to do right now was relive fighting for her life.
“No.” Joaquin was done with this bullshit. He had a bone to pick with Wu anyway. The man had blown him off, and he and Mia had nearly been killed. “You want to talk to either of us, make an appointment after we’re out of here.”
Mia gaped at him, but Joaquin could see that she was relieved.
Wu nodded. “Just to let you know, the blood we found by the elevator at your condo did belong to Meyer. The DNA on the towels and the bath mat belonged to a cat. We’re guessing Meyer came up with the idea of framing you just to be malicious. We spotted him in the background of security footage from the Botanic Gardens making his way toward the mulch yard with a backpack. We couldn’t see his face, but he was wearing that damned hoodie.”
“Did you release Powell?” Joaquin had to know. If that son of a bitch was on the street, Joaquin would make damned sure he went nowhere near Mia.
Wu shook his head. “He’s still in custody. He was found in possession of several illegal drugs, and his DNA matches that associated with three unsolved sexual assaults. The judge denied bail, and the DA is certain we’ll get convictions. Powell is up to his ears in his own shit now, so he’ll be behind bars for a long time.”
Joaquin was happy to hear that. “A rapist, huh? I’m not surprised.”
“That must be why he resisted when you tried to sample his DNA,” Mia said.
Wu nodded, then frowned. “I want to apologize to both of you, but especially to you, Ms. Starr. If I had put a rush on the DNA from those towels at the same time we rushed all the other DNA we collected for this case, we would have known to look for Meyer. When you called the other night, I ought to have listened. Your exemplary service record and your truthfulness during this investigation merited a better response from me. I was so certain that Powell was our guy. I was blinded by that.”
“You weren’t the only one who made those decisions.” That was Mia. With her big heart, she was letting Wu off the hook. “What about Shoals and the FBI? They thought Powell was the one, too.”
“They did, true, but it was my case.” Wu turned to go. “Oh, one last thing. I never really thought you were the killer, Ms. Starr, but at the time you were all I had. If it were up to me, every head that failed you during your time in uniform would roll.”
“Thank you.” Mia watched him walk away.
Joaquin took Mia’s hand. “Are you okay?”
“I was just thinking how hard that must have been for him to apologize.”
Yeah, well, Joaquin was less impressed. “What do you know? Powell is a rapist.”
“I’m not surprised. He was always cruel.”
“It’s not you that Powell hates, Mia. It was never you. He hates women. You were a target in his eyes the moment he saw you were female.”
“I’m sorry for his victims, but I’m glad they’re finally going to get justice.”
“He assaulted you, too. He didn’t rape you, but he assaulted you. It’s justice for you, too, in a way.” Joaquin hoped it would make a difference for her.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“He’s going to discover that prison isn’t a friendly place for rapists, not even West Point grads with rich daddies.”
For a moment, there was silence, Wu’s news a lot to think through.
“That poor cat,” Mia said.
Joaquin caressed her hand with his thumb. “I
wish we’d had that news sooner.”
“I don’t think I can ever set foot in my condo again.”
Joaquin couldn’t blame her for that. “You don’t have to. Sell it. Put your stuff in storage until we’re both healed and have time to decide what comes next.”
“Someone has to clean up all the blood. I have to pack and move my furniture. It’s going to be a long time before I can do any of that. The doctor said it could be three months before I can lift anything, not because of my arm, but because of my chest.”
Joaquin had the solution to this. “We can hire a crime-scene cleanup crew to clean the place. My cousin José Luis—that’s Elena’s older brother—has a moving company. He would be only too happy to show up with his crew, pack your stuff, and move it all to my Uncle Danilo’s U-Store-It. We can call my brother Antonio. He can bring his construction crew in to repair your place. You can put your condo up for sale without setting foot there again, spending a fortune, or doing any of the work.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He watched relief dawn on her face and lifted a strand of hair from her bruised and swollen cheek. “Big families come with benefits, and you’re part of that family now, remember?”
And there was that smile—the smile that lit up his world.
Mia was released from the hospital two days later. She wasn’t ever going back to her place, and she wasn’t capable of doing much of anything with a broken arm and a fractured breastbone. She couldn’t drive or lift more than a few pounds with her good arm. Even brushing her hair hurt.
Holly invited her to stay at her place. “We’ve got a lot of space and top-of-the-line security. Nick won’t be back from his current job for a few weeks. I’m free to drive you to the hospital to visit Joaquin every day, and we can get to know each other.”
“I would like that.”
The four-bedroom condo Holly shared with her husband was posh and luxurious with a fantastic view of Cheesman Park and the city beyond. Holly moved a recliner into one of their guest bedrooms so that Mia could sleep sitting up—the only way she was able to sleep at all. Holly also went to Mia’s condo, packed up her toiletries, clothes, and shoes, and brought them to her place.
“My place is a mess, isn’t it?” Mia asked.
Holly was deadly serious for once. “It looked like a massacre happened there. I’m so grateful that you and Joaquin are alive. I don’t know how he was able to crawl all that way. He must love you very much.”
Mia’s mind flashed to the memory of him lying there, pistol raised. “Yes.”
“But, hey, I need to take you shopping when you’re better,” Holly said. “Did you know that you have three pairs of hiking boots but only one pair of heels?”
Mia had planned to spend all day every day with Joaquin, but the Percocet they’d given her knocked her out. If she didn’t take it, she was in too much pain from both her arm and her chest to function. She was only able to spend a few hours with Joaquin each day, holding his hand and savoring the fact that they were alive and together. The rest of the time, she was at Holly’s place, talking with Holly or trying to sleep.
Holly was exactly as Joaquin had described her—beautiful, blond, and brilliant with a big heart. She had dinner delivered for the two of them each evening and made sure Mia was comfortable. She also taught Mia things she’d never learned, like how to apply makeup. Most of all, she made Mia laugh—even when laughing hurt like hell.
“You have the most beautiful skin, gorgeous eyes, and lips and cheekbones that make me jealous.” Holly gently dabbed concealer on Mia’s bruised cheek. “You don’t need much makeup. In your case, less is definitely more—unless a bad guy has recently punched you in the face, and then more is more.”
Three days after Mia’s discharge they sat by the gas fireplace eating Mexican food that Mateo had delivered in person. He had wanted to let Mia know that he and his wife had started a fundraising drive for Joaquin and Mia to cover any medical expenses that weren’t paid by their health insurance.
“It’s so incredibly kind of you to include me.” Mia hadn’t even thought about medical costs—deductibles and copays and all of that.
Mateo took her hand, kissed it. “I knew from the first night Joaquin brought you to my place that you were the one—even if he tried to play it cool.”
“That sounds like a story,” Holly said after Mateo left, sitting down beside Mia, a glass of wine in her hand.
Mia told Holly how she and Joaquin had met, starting from the beginning. “I was rude to him. I’m surprised he spoke to me again.”
“In his version of the story, he fell in love at first sight, so I don’t think you have to worry.” Holly smiled, as if remembering something funny. “When Nick and I met, we almost killed each other.”
“Really?”
Holly told her how Nick had been sent after her, misled by his corrupt supervisor into believing that Holly had betrayed her country. “His boss thought I knew something I didn’t know and wanted me dead. Nick didn’t know at first that I was with the Agency, too. He kidnapped me, interrogated me, and had orders to kill me. Thankfully, he had a conscience. To his surprise, not only was I with the Agency, but I had higher security clearance than he had.”
“And you both got over that?”
“Strange things happen when bullets start flying.”
Mia knew that was true. Then something Holly said sparked a thought. “Do you still have high-level security clearance?”
Holly nodded. “I need it for the work I do.”
“What kind of work is that?”
Holly gave her a sweet smile. “The kind I can’t discuss, not even with kick-ass former Army officers.”
“I figured.” Relieved to have someone she could safely talk to, Mia shared the entire story of Tell al-Sharruken with Holly from the first time she’d reported Powell for looting to the night Meyer had caught up with her and Joaquin.
“And they buried it—the looting, the mustard agent?”
Mia nodded. “It’s all classified confidential. Frank told me I couldn’t speak about Tell al-Sharruken with anyone. When I realized the murders probably had something to do with what had happened there, I told the police—Marc and Julian and Detective Wu—and then the FBI. Lives were on the line. I couldn’t take care of myself and let others die. But Meyer is dead. Powell is going to prison. Frank is dead. I guess it’s over now.”
Holly gave her a mysterious smile. “We’ll see about that.”
Nine days after the shooting, Joaquin came home from the hospital. His brother Antonio picked him up and drove him and Mia to Joaquin’s condo, carrying Joaquin’s shit for him as they made their way through the parking garage toward the elevator. The glass in the security door had been replaced. From a distance, it looked as if nothing terrible had happened there.
Joaquin slid his key into the lock. “Are you okay?”
Mia nodded, her gaze on the concrete floor.
He’d known this wasn’t going to be easy for her. Her nightmares—even the ones she’d had since the night of the shooting—all started right here with her standing in front of these elevators.
Antonio held the door for the two of them. “Is this where…?”
Joaquin shot him a look that shut his mouth, but Mia’s attention was focused on the elevator doors, where indentations from bullets pocked the steel. The wall hadn’t yet been repaired, either. He reached over, took her hand.
“I’m fine.” The tight lines on her face and her rigid posture said otherwise.
Antonio got them settled, then went down to open the security door for José-Luis and one of his crew, who carried up Mia’s things—her clothes from Holly and Nick’s place and the new recliner she’d bought to sleep in until her chest healed. They put her clothes in Joaquin’s closet, set the recliner up next to Joaquin’s bed, and then moved Joaquin’s flat-screen TV and DVD player into the bedroom, speaking to one another in Spanish until Joaquin reminded them that Mia couldn’t under
stand.
“Mom has been here with Aunt Aleta, so your fridge should be full. Dad and I are going to pick up your truck tomorrow. Anything else, brother?”
Joaquin had to sit, the small amount of walking he’d just done exhausting him. “I think we’re good, man. Thanks. Thanks to you, too, primo.”
“De nada … er… You’re welcome,” José-Luis said. “Call if you need anything.”
Joaquin glanced around. “God, it’s good to be home.”
Mia sat beside him. “The realtor just texted to tell me that my condo is going to be up on their website this afternoon. She thinks it will sell quickly.”
“That’s good news.” Joaquin’s family had pulled together and taken care of her place in a matter of days, all of her things now in storage. If her condo sold quickly, she’d soon be free to move somewhere new. He had ideas about that.
Joaquin took her hand. “I was hoping you’d stay here with me.”
Her face brightened. “Are you asking me to live with you?”
He raised her hand to his lips. “I suppose that seems kind of sudden—”
“No. No, it doesn’t.” She turned so that she could face him. “It’s just…”
“What is it?”
“I love your place. It’s where you kissed me for the first time. The view is incredible. But the parking garage, the elevators … Maybe I’m just weak, but it’s going to take time to get over that.”
He wanted to put an arm around her shoulder and draw her against him, but it would have been excruciating for her. “You’re not weak, Mia. I think anyone who had lived through what you’ve lived through would feel that way. Let’s see how it goes. If it’s too hard for you, we’ll come up with another plan. The important thing isn’t this apartment. It’s that the two of us are together.”
For lunch, they heated some tamale casserole—just one dish in the lifetime supply of meals his mother and Tía Aleta had left in his fridge—then made their way to the table.
Joaquin sat, pressing a hand against his incision. “Getting shot sucks.”