by Nina Bruhns
Ms. Hidalgo considered. “Well, that’s true, I suppose.”
“Was there anything else onboard?” he asked. “Something of value besides the shipment?”
She looked baffled. “Not that I can think of. Are you saying you think the plane wasn’t stolen because of the chips?”
He shook his head. “Not necessarily.” Then he asked her a few questions about Clyde and his employment record with Hidalgo, which seemed to be straightforward and uneventful.
“Still, the timing works for him to be involved. The plane disappeared the night after the robbery at the Soffit and Dickson Law Offices.”
“I can’t imagine Mr. Tafota would be involved in either the chip theft, the office robbery or anything else criminal. He’s been a model employee for over thirty years,” Ms. Hidalgo said.
“I agree it’s not his style. And his family hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, which you’d think they would if he’d made such a sudden change in ethics.”
“I just can’t see him stealing a plane with a military shipment on board. He’d have to know that would involve significant federal charges. It would make no sense if the other things you’re looking at him for aren’t that serious.”
Philip tended to agree, and he said so. “But maybe he’s been dragged into something against his will. Do you happen to have a photo of the plane? I’d like to fax it around to various airports with Clyde’s picture to see if they’ve been spotted.”
“Of course, but the sheriff’s already doing that. I gave them one when I reported the theft.”
“If they’re following the chips, they’ll be concentrating on different locations. I’d be following Clyde.”
Ms. Hidalgo nodded and opened a desk drawer, extracting a printout showing a small aircraft in side and top views.
He stood and took it from her, glancing at Luce. She sprang to her feet, as well, shifting back and forth as Ms. Hidalgo came around her desk to escort them back to reception.
“Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?” Luce blurted out as they walked down a thickly carpeted hallway.
Again, Ms. Hidalgo looked surprised. “Well, I—”
“Are you related to the woman they found out in the desert? Maria Hidalgo Santander?”
A sad smile came to the other woman’s face. “So you heard about that? Yes. Unfortunately, Maria was my aunt. Though I was too young at the time to remember her or her husband, Peter. I was only four or five. A horrible story.”
Luce looked as if she was about to ask something else, but just then a man burst out of one of the offices along the hall.
“Anna!” he nearly shouted, despite being only a few feet away.
“¿Sí, papa?”
The older man, apparently her father, spoke to her in rapid Spanish, none of which Philip understood. At first glance he’d thought the father was gray-haired, but with a start realized his hair was ash blond. It was strange hearing such fluent Spanish being spoken by a blond. It didn’t sound like the usual California or New Mexico Hispanic Spanish he was used to hearing, either.
Ms. Hidalgo turned to them. “May I present my father, CEO of Hidalgo Industries, Donald Hidalgo.” She introduced them in turn. “They’re looking for Clyde Tafota.”
Donald Hidalgo spun to them abruptly, pinning Philip with an assessing glare. When he saw Luce his face froze, and Philip could swear it went a shade paler.
But Hidalgo recovered quickly. “Tafota?” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “What do you want with him?”
Philip offered his hand politely, but kept his silence, counting on Ms. Hidalgo to fill it. Which she did, explaining their presence and interest.
“In the future, I’d prefer all inquiries to go through our attorney,” Donald Hidalgo stated in a flowing, sophisticated English, then strode back into his office. He didn’t once look at Luce again.
“Sorry about that.” Ms. Hidalgo continued toward reception. “My father has been under a lot of stress lately, what with the theft of the shipment and the investigation of his sister’s murder.”
“No problem.” Philip put a hand to the small of Luce’s back and urged her along when she just stood staring after Donald Hidalgo. At the front desk he passed Ms. Hidalgo his business card. “Please, give me a call if you think of anything else.”
He propelled Luce out to the Jeep with an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t object, so he knew she must be miles away.
“Okay,” he said when they got there. “What gives?”
“Did you see them?” she asked edgily.
“What?”
“The pictures. In her office.”
He was embarrassed to admit he hadn’t noticed any pictures out of the ordinary. Just some family photos on Ms. Hidalgo’s desk. “Uh, no. What were they?”
“Family photos.”
“Okaaaay…”
“Half of the people in them were light-haired. Even some blondes.”
“Ah. Like Donald Hidalgo.”
She locked eyes with him. “They all looked like me,” she said, almost desperately. “Not exactly like me, not like Maria. But close enough. I could be…”
“A long-lost cousin,” he completed when she didn’t.
She squeezed her eyes shut, wrapped her arms around her midriff, and let out a soft noise. Suddenly she started walking away. Rapidly. Increasing to a run.
He was so stunned that for a moment he didn’t move. Not again. Where the hell was she going?
He took off after her. “Luce!”
“Go away!”
“Luce, stop!”
“No! I have to leave.”
He caught up to her easily. He grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her rigid body. She was panting. And trembling.
She struggled against his hold. “Let me go, Philip.”
“I have no intention of letting you go anywhere.” He cursed when her foot whacked into his shin.
“I don’t need you!”
“Damn it, woman! I swear I’ll get out the handcuffs!”
She made one last attempt to wriggle out of his arms, then the fight went out of her. She sagged against him, burying her face in his neck.
“Why?” Her voice was muffled, her breath hot against his skin.
“Because I care about you,” he said. “You may be able to run away from me and our attraction, but you can’t run away from this.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she muttered.
The woman had some major denial issues. “If you think these people are your birth family, you have to do something about it.”
“They’re not my family.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just am.”
“Then what in the world has you so upset?”
“They’re not my family,” she repeated, and for a moment he didn’t understand. Then he got it.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, and hugged her closer. He could think of any number of arguments he could present on both sides, but experience had taught him a thing or two about women. Right now was not the time to convince her she needed more information to go on before making that decision.
He kissed her hair. “I know just what you need,” he said.
“Oh?” She raised her head. Her expression was skeptical, but at least the look of desperation had fled. “And what’s that?”
“You need to go shopping.”
Her forehead pleated in surprise. “Huh?”
“Come on. Let’s be tourists.”
Hidalgo Industries was on the outskirts of Santa Fe, so he drove first to Starbucks and double-parked while he jumped out and bought her a decaf mocha latte with double whipped cream, and then to the lot next to St. Francis Cathedral.
Personally, he hated shopping, and he’d long ago made the rounds of the Santa Fe historic district with its tasteful Southwestern galleries and artsy-fartsy clothing and jewelry boutiques. However, Luce needed a break from reality, and if there was one thing his mo
m and sister had taught him it was that for most women, shopping cured a multitude of ills.
They strolled around the Plaza where street vendors hawked their wares from Mexican blankets on the sidewalk, and through the pricey but fun and colorful shops that lined the narrow, uneven streets around it.
His uniform drew stares from the other tourists, which Luce played up by insisting he buy a pair of those silver reflector aviator-style sunglasses and donning them. She thought it was a hoot. At least she couldn’t see him roll his eyes. And he’d put up with anything if it made her smile.
In return, he made her try on about a hundred embroidered dresses and woven tops and velvet skirts with concha belts, in twenty different stores. It didn’t take long before Luce totally forgot her threat to escape custody as soon as she got the chance for a clean getaway.
In one patchouli-scented, meandering boutique, she tried on a particularly luscious number made from some silky grape-colored material that clung to her curves like a second skin and made him seriously think about peeling it off her an inch at a time.
“You should buy that one,” he said with a whistle, lifting his aviator glasses for a better look.
She gave a humorous snort while admiring it in the mirror. “Yeah, right. It would cost me half the finder’s fee for Clyde.” But he could see she was tempted. He was more than tempted. Her eyes met his in the reflection and skittered away. “Besides—” she touched the teeny straps and low neckline “—it’s too cold this time of year for a dress like this.”
“Funny, it has the opposite effect on me,” he remarked, coming up behind her. “It’s definitely warming me up.”
“Philip,” she warned on a whisper as he reached out and grasped her hips, tugging her back against him.
“Let me come in the dressing room with you,” he murmured into her ear, folding his arms around her. “I’ll help you with the zipper.”
She gave a breathless little laugh. “You’d have to arrest us both.”
“Would I?” he asked softly, and turned her in his arms. He bent his head for a succulent kiss, smoothing his hand over the silky fabric of the dress and the delicious curves of her body. “What would you do that I’d have to arrest you for?”
“Philip,” she breathed his name again, but this time it came out more like a gentle pleading. Her beaded nipple poked into his palm as he skimmed it, tantalizingly hard under the supple satin, and he realized she’d had to remove her bra to try on the dress.
He sighed out a low groan, all too conscious of the public setting. He kissed her again, shallow but intense, and let her go.
“Maybe you’d better not buy it, after all,” he said on a low growl. “I doubt you’d ever see St. Louis again.”
Luce’s fingers shook as she fumbled with the invisible zipper and spaghetti straps of the dusty-mauve charmeuse dress. For an insane second she thought about asking Philip to help, but shot that thought away, far and fast, as soon as she caught herself thinking it.
Oh, man, she was having one hell of a day.
Between the painful push of the Hidalgos, the guilty thought of Arthur and the devastating pull of Philip O’Donnaugh, she didn’t know which way to turn.
She sank onto the narrow bench in the dressing room and bent over at the waist, taking deep breaths. The dress slipped from her shoulders and she slid her arms free.
She had to pull herself together. Take hold of herself. Get a grip. And decide what to do about all three of those situations.
She’d just gotten the shaking under control when two boots appeared under the dressing room curtain, and it parted a crack.
“Are you okay?” Philip asked, peering in at her.
She sat up hastily. Only to realize she was naked from the waist up. Philip realized it a fraction of a second later. His gaze fastened on her bare breasts for an endless moment, then raised to her eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a whole battle played out in his expression.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say, making no effort to conceal her nakedness from him.
What was the use? The damage had been done. The impact of his regard sizzled like lightning from her tingling breasts straight down between her legs.
He didn’t say another word, but took a step back and closed the curtain.
She let out a long breath. How could she ever face him again, after this?
She knew that look—the look that said as soon as she set foot outside the dressing room he’d ask her for sex again. Hot, sweaty, passionate, breathtaking sex. And she wouldn’t know what to answer.
She wanted him.
He was so good. So handsome and sexy. So honorable. So everything she’d ever wanted.
But so wrong for her.
Already she could feel the picket fence sprouting up and closing in around her. Despite his logical reasons, the fact was he had prevented her from leaving town that morning. And again after the disastrous Hidalgo interview.
Philip wasn’t going to let her leave until she’d slept with him. She could feel his determination in her bones.
The problem was, she was beginning to doubt she’d be able to leave him afterward if she did sleep with him. Not until she’d stayed just long enough to take his heart and crush it to pieces when she went.
Not deliberately—never that. But already she was feeling restless, like she had to leave. Now. So how could she ever think she’d be able to stay a lifetime?
She slipped off the dress and returned it to the hanger, put on her clothes, straightened her spine and walked out of the dressing room.
Philip was nowhere to be seen. The sales girl took the dress from her with a smile, and she went in search of him. She found him standing with feet spread on the sidewalk outside the front door, hands in pockets and gazing into space.
The bell tinkled sweetly when she went out, and he turned to look at her.
She nearly melted at the expression in his dark eyes. Black lashes rimmed a look of stark longing. The scent of patchouli drifted out from the boutique, and she knew she’d never smell that scent again without thinking of this moment and how her very soul ached for this man.
“Hi,” she said, and was suddenly scared to death.
Scared that she would give in to the overwhelming need.
But he surprised her by sliding his reflector glasses on, and saying, “I just talked with Renata,” like nothing had happened. “She put together a map for us, showing the ruins in the area where we’re looking for the box canyon. Feel like taking a walk up to the museum?”
She’d expected him to grab her and demand she sleep with him, or kiss her and make a comment on her brazenness, or at least crack a joke about walking in on people. Something. Anything but ignore it. She was thrown for a loop.
Had she totally misjudged his interest?
It was all good. She was grateful for the reprieve. If he had pressed her, she would probably have given in. A woman could hold out only so long against what she really wanted. And the more she was with him, the more she knew what she really wanted.
Him.
The fact that a future with him was impossible had kept her out of trouble up until now. Well, relatively so. But seeing the look on his face when he saw her in the dressing room, the undeniable longing had slammed into her like a runaway train.
He shifted, waiting for an answer to a question she’d forgotten.
“Listen, um…” She gathered her thoughts. On the other hand, if he could ignore what had happened, so could she. “You were right about this morning.”
He tilted his head, his glasses reflecting her own nervous image back at her. But he didn’t say anything. He did that silent routine a lot, she’d noticed. He must be a killer interrogator.
“About the Hidalgos and the Santanders,” she clarified.
“Yeah, huh,” he said noncommittally.
Hat low over his eyes, arms crossed over his chest, his Beretta holstered at his hip, he looked like a character out of a Clint Eastwood movie.
“I should go to the library,” she said, “the newspaper archives, and do some research. Find out more about both families. And the murders,” she added, proud of how calm she sounded. “I don’t know what good it’ll do…” Other than getting her away from him, of course. “But, um…” She shrugged. “You never know.”
She couldn’t see his eyes behind those stupid glasses—why had she ever made him buy them?—but his mouth softened. He had such a beautiful mouth. Strong, masculine, sculpted but not curvy like a woman’s. Well-defined lips that she loved to run her tongue over. Smooth and firm, capable of the most tender kisses, but able to deliver such powerful pleasure it made her quiver inside to remember.
She jerked her gaze back to his eyes—um, his glasses.
“Okay,” he simply said.
“Okay,” she said back. And since there was nothing else to do, after an awkward pause she turned away to walk down the sidewalk, hopefully in the direction of the library. But she wasn’t sure because for some reason the street signs were all blurry.
“Luce,” he said, and she halted but didn’t turn around. “I’ll come get you. How long do you need?”
She swallowed, a queasy sense of relief sputtering through her. She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t been certain he would come for her. Ever.
“Give me a few hours. Two or three.” She looked at him over her shoulder. Took in his proud, towering stance and square-jawed face, his black hair and serious mouth. Tucking it all into her memory.
In case he changed his mind and didn’t come for her.
“I’ll be there,” he said, and walked off in the opposite direction.
Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. Because she couldn’t shake the horrible sinking feeling in her gut.
The one that told her he didn’t really mean it.
Chapter 9
In front of the microfiche machine, Luce peered at the fuzzy screen, then sought the print button and pushed it. A few feet away the hum of the printer sounded. She stretched her arms and her aching back.
By now she had read through quite a stack of newspaper articles concerning the all-American, up-and-coming middle-class Santander family, the murder of their oldest son, Peter, and subsequent disappearance and hunt for his wife, Maria, one of the heirs to multimillion dollar Hidalgo Industries, and their daughter, Constanza.