Some large men in dark suits ran up to Marco and started arguing with him. She tried to go to him, but the paramedic had her pinned down in the ambulance with a blood pressure cuff and an oxygen mask. She yanked off the mask. “Marco!”
He shrugged off the man in charge and hurried to her side. “Rey, these men are with DEA. They’re not happy that I skipped out on them a few weeks ago, so I have to go with them now.”
“Now? How did they even find you?”
“They followed Rodríguez to Chicago, but he gave them the slip. They had just about tracked him to your loft when all hell broke loose.”
“We could have used some help.” She gave the largest man an evil glance.
He came over to them. “Flores, if you don’t move your ass, we’ll cuff you and move it for you.”
“You leave him alone, you asshole.” She got off the stretcher, her knees wobbling. Marco steadied her.
Black Suit said, “I guess I don’t have to ask what you’ve been doing while you were on the run, huh?”
“Shut up.” Marco gave him a deadly look. “I said I’d go with you but only if she’s protected.”
“We’ll take care of her. Let’s go.”
Marco released her reluctantly. “I’ll call you as soon as I can. I love you, Reina.”
“I love you, too.” She stood alone on her street, emergency lights spinning sickening blue-and-red swirls on the neighboring buildings. The firefighters brought out Rodríguez on a gurney.
She turned away from the destruction of her home and let the paramedic wrap her in a scratchy blanket. “It’ll be okay, ma’am, you’ll see,” he reassured her.
She shook her head. It wouldn’t be okay until Marco came back and she was in his arms again.
20
REY WAS STRAIGHTENING her desk. It always had to be clean before she began an important project. The clean space helped clear her mind. The disaster-restoration service had removed all the smoke and fumes from her working area and had scrubbed the mortar between her antique redbrick walls. The workers had even installed a central vacuum and ventilation system. She thought her father must have paid for it, because the insurance wouldn’t have covered the cost.
He and her mother had come home early from their extended vacation, fussing over her for the past several weeks. Rey’s mother had dropped her usual self-centered attitude and had focused on her daughter. After a few mother-daughter talks, Rey thought her mother finally understood how important her art career was.
And here was the next step in her art career—the block of marble for the Stuart commission. Fortunately the stone hadn’t been delivered until after the cleanup. She hated to think how the soot would have damaged its pure whiteness.
She picked up a head shot of Marco. No, make that Francisco, his younger brother. That mystery was solved. She pitched the photo into her wastebasket.
She had filed a few more invoices and thrown away some old invitations to gallery openings when she found the letter from the mortgage company approving her loan. Her hefty down payment as well as the new commissions that Evelyn had found had impressed the lender. According to her agent, there was no such thing as bad publicity. Several days of Local Artist Fights Off Insane Drug Lord headlines and TV stories had boosted her name recognition and the value of her artwork.
The letter read, “Congratulations for many happy years in your new home!” Funny, she wasn’t very happy, even though she had her new mortgage, had tons of work and even got a thank-you phone call from the federal attorney in Miami, sounding almost gleeful to have his case “settled out of court,” as he’d put it. She was also relieved that Rodríguez had the uncharacteristic decency not to die in her loft, instead succumbing to his injuries at the Loyola University Medical Center Burn Unit a couple hours later. She wasn’t superstitious, but who wanted to take a chance on evil spirits? And if there was evil in the world, that old bastard had been its embodiment.
But it had been a month since the other federal agents had rushed her lover away. She had feared for him until she’d found a short article on the Miami Herald Web site detailing how Marco’s testimony and evidence had brought down the rest of Rodríguez’s drug smuggling operation.
She hadn’t heard a single word from him since. If he couldn’t dial a phone by now, he probably never would.
The marble block sat on a tarp. Rey blinked back moisture. The stone dust must be irritating her eyes. She got up from her desk and circled the marble, examining the pure whiteness faintly streaked with creamy brown mineral veins.
She remembered the explanation that Michelangelo had written to an admirer who had wondered how he did his sculptures: “I saw the angel in marble and chipped until I set her free.” She tipped her head, trying to see Marco in the untouched stone. He was no angel, but with his help she had chipped herself free from her fears. Fears about her past, fears about her art, fears about her own sexuality and passions.
And now it was time for her to chip her statue free and maybe chip Marco out of her heart. If her heart cracked in two, well, it wasn’t made of marble. It would heal. Eventually.
She chose her favorite cold-tempered two-inch steel chisel, kissed it for good luck, and raised the mallet for the first blow.
21
MARCO WALKED THROUGH THE French doors of the Stuarts’ brand-new Roman rotunda and stopped to stare at the ten-foot-tall statue of himself. Actually Mars, the god of war, shield and sword at his feet. Rey had done a magnificent job, even using his short haircut. It looked just like him. Except for the fourteen-inch penis. Oh, well. As his beautiful Reina had said, who wanted trouble walking?
He’d already had enough trouble the past three months. Trouble sleeping at night. Trouble breathing when he thought of her during the day. Trouble getting his heart to start beating again when he saw a tall blonde and thought for an instant that it was her.
He wandered through the throng of guests celebrating the statue’s grand unveiling and found its creator in the hallway leading to the private bath. The sight of her knocked the breath out of his lungs, reminding him it had been three long months since he had kissed her goodbye on the snowy street in front of her scorched loft.
Rey wore a sleeveless pale pink dress made from some material that floated around her trim thighs and calves. Its V-neck dipped low between her high, full breasts, highlighting her creamy skin. God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered, her pale golden hair piled on her head, pink cheeks flushed. A silver necklace with pink stones couldn’t compete with the sparkle in her eyes. Her face glowed with excitement as she spoke with her friend Annike from the Swedish museum. He watched her, drank her in, until her friend walked away.
He came up behind her. “Hello, Reina.” The words came out huskier than he’d expected.
Rey spun around at the sound of his voice. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously when she saw him. Her full rosy lips opened and closed silently. He wanted to kiss her but knew he had some explaining to do first.
“Marco.” She didn’t look glad to see him. All the color drained out of her face. “What are you doing here?”
“Your agent told me where to find you. The Stuarts were happy to send an invitation to the model for their new magnificent statue.”
She pointed to the door. “Now that you’ve seen it, you can leave.”
“I need to talk to you, Reina.” Oh, God, he didn’t know what to do if she didn’t hear him out, let him ask for forgiveness.
“Now’s not a good time, Marco. I have to mingle with people.” She stared blindly past him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.
“Please, corazón,” he began.
“Corazón?” she parroted. “What does that mean anyway? Does it mean ‘gullible artist who actually thought her male model was something special’? Or does it mean ‘woman who hasn’t heard from you in three months and didn’t know if you were alive or dead’?” Her voice broke on the last word and she stepped back, bumping into a waiter carrying a tra
y of empty champagne glasses.
Marco winced and steadied her. “It means ‘sweetheart.’ I’m so sorry I couldn’t call. I had to go to a safe house until the agency dismantled the rest of El Lobo’s organization.”
“Save it for some other sucker, Mr. Model.” She leaned in, her eyes glittering like blue ice. “Francisco’s agent wants to sign you as a client. She was practically coming in her pants when she saw my photos of you.”
He noticed a few heads turning at her rising voice and tugged her into a palm-screened alcove. “I’m not going to be a model. In fact, I don’t even work for DEA anymore.”
“Did they fire you, too?” she jabbed.
“They don’t have much use for an undercover agent who’s had his picture printed in major newspapers. Rather than ride a desk, I’ve taken a job with a private company that provides security advice for U.S. Customs.”
“Congratulations. Now go back to Miami.” She turned to leave.
He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in, his lips only an inch from her creamy neck. “I can’t. My job is near O’Hare Airport.”
She stiffened. “Why stay here in Chicago? You’ve been chased, shot at and almost burned alive here. Miami’s probably much safer for you.”
“Because the woman I love lives in Chicago and would never leave her fantastic loft studio.”
“The woman you love?” Rey couldn’t believe what he was saying. How could he have left her for so long if he loved her?
“Reina, I must admit something.” He sighed and ran a hand over his head. His hair had grown back from where the turpentine explosion had scorched it. He looked wonderful. He looked miserable. Good. “One reason I didn’t call as soon as I should have is because I was ashamed.”
“Ashamed?” She wasn’t expecting shame. She had expected, Honey, I was busy saving the world from narco-terrorism or even Honey, I was busy wrestling alligators in the Everglades or worst of all, Rey, I found a new lover and don’t want you.
“Yes, because of my pride, my desire for vengeance, I brought destruction to my mother’s house and your loft. Destruction to mi familia, which means everything to me. But most of all, you.”
“Me? I’m just fine.” Just fine, except for a heart that had shattered like an alabaster vase dropped ten feet onto concrete.
A muscle jumped in his cheek as he met her eyes. “He hit you, bound you, would have raped you right in front of me, and I was powerless to stop him.”
“What do you have to be ashamed of? You did your job, that horrible man is dead and you saved my life.”
He barked a bitter laugh. “No, Rey, you saved my life. I was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and would have roasted in the fire if you hadn’t dragged me outside.”
She lost patience with him. “The only reason you were tied up was because you threw down your gun to keep Rodríguez from killing me!” Unable to stand still any longer, she turned her back to him. “So you didn’t call me for three months because of your stupid Cuban machismo?”
“Not machismo.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “It’s ironic. The Spanish words for vengeance and shame are almost identical. Venganza and vergüenza. I volunteered for undercover work because of my desire for revenge. For thirteen months I became one of them, watched them smuggle drugs, watched them kill people. I had such hate in my heart.”
“It was your job. If you hadn’t seen them do all those horrible things, you wouldn’t have been able to testify against them.”
He leaned closer. “I rejoiced in the killing of the other drug dealers.” His voice was a gritty whisper. “My papá would be ashamed of me.”
“Oh, Marco.” She grabbed his clenched fist. Slowly he relaxed his fingers enough to entwine them with hers.
“Since they released me from protective custody, I have been working on my mother’s house, which Rodríguez firebombed as soon as he realized who I was.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders moving up and down in his navy blazer. “Doing the rehab by myself is only a small penance, but I have done my best to make it up to my mother and you.”
“Wait a second. My loft has a new central vacuum and ventilation system. Do you know anything about that?”
A ruddy flush crept up his tanned neck. “You told me once that you wanted a central vacuum more than anything.”
“Not more than anything! You! I wanted you more than anything!” She added a couple Spanish insults. “Idiota! Pendejo!”
His eyes widened. “Querida, where did you learn that?”
“My neighbors. And don’t change the subject.” She made a fist with the hand he wasn’t holding and shoved his chest, pushing him against the wall she’d faux-painted to look like pink marble. “You left me for eleven weeks and four days and thought a vacuum cleaner would make it up to me?”
“No, I never thought that. But maybe this will.” He cupped the nape of her neck and captured her mouth with his. His warm, soft lips weakened her knees until he wrapped his arm around her waist to catch her. All the loneliness, passion and love that had built up in her since she last saw him bubbled into a great geyser. She didn’t even realize she was crying until he lifted his head.
“Oh, mi amor, my love, don’t cry.” He gently wiped away her tears with a thumb. She reached up and brushed the damp tracks left on his cheeks from her own tears.
She sucked huge gulps of air between sobs. “At first I thought you were dead. Then I thought you didn’t love me anymore. And God forgive me, I don’t know which made me cry harder.”
“Oh, God, Reina. I’m so sorry.” He blinked rapidly, and she realized he was as overwhelmed as she was. A tear spilled down his cheek and she caught it with her fingertip. He stared at her hand. “I haven’t cried since I left Cuba on that raft.”
“Marco.” She threw her arms around his neck, their wet cheeks sliding across each other as she kissed him hungrily. He grabbed her bottom and lifted her against him, her thighs settling eagerly against his growing erection. He left her mouth to trail kisses along her neck and between her breasts. He nuzzled down her organza-covered belly until he was on one knee in front of her.
“When I promised to come back to you, I promised something else, as well.” He pulled a small Tiffany aquamarine box from his jacket pocket.
She gasped as he took her left hand in his.
“You know I wanted to ask you before but wouldn’t until we were out of danger. Well, the only danger left is to my heart if you don’t say yes.” He cleared his throat and popped open the box. “Rey, mi reina, my queen, will you marry me?”
She ignored the outstretched box and dropped to her knees so they were eye to eye. His warm golden gaze drove away the chill that had frozen her for the past eleven weeks and four days. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” She grabbed him and kissed him until he finally pulled away.
“Are you sure?” He laughed. “You haven’t even looked at the ring.” He held it up in front of her, the large round diamond shining like a star in the platinum band.
“It’s beautiful.” She slipped it on her ring finger and turned it so the gemstone caught the light.
“The diamond is set flush so you won’t catch it on your art projects.” He snapped the box shut.
“Perfect.” The ring was perfect and so was he, so she kissed him again. “We have to find my parents and tell them.”
“They’re here?” He looked around nervously, no doubt expecting her father to descend on him in a berserker rage.
“Won’t they be surprised to meet you!” Her father would be polite but a bit frosty to the man she’d cried over, and her mother would just look knowingly at the ten-foot naked likeness of him and congratulate her. Rey caught his hand and dragged him out of the alcove.
“And after I meet them, we’ll go to Miami to meet my mamá. She has lots of comfortable poolside furniture.”
Rey lost her breath at his sexy grin, wanting to drag him into the alcove and have a private engagement party. �
�Will you take me there?”
Marco caught her innuendo and kissed her new engagement ring, his hot breath tickling her skin. “Here, there, anywhere. Because I am yours and you are mine.”
“Forever,” she promised and took her new fiancé to meet her parents under the gleaming white statue. Her hands had created its beauty, but their love would create something even more beautiful. A life together.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5944-1
HER BODY OF WORK
Copyright © 2005 by Marie Donovan.
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