Sins That Haunt

by Lucy Farago

  “You’re not wearing the lipstick I left you.”

  “It’s not really my color.” It was his wife’s.

  “But I saw you wear it in Boston. And, it suits the dress.”

  She’d hoped he’d forgotten and wasn’t keen about stepping into another woman’s shoes. But suspected this had been his intention with the dress.

  “I insist,” he said.

  And something in his expression said he meant it. “Okay.” She forced yet another smile and returned upstairs to apply the lipstick. Did he always have a thing for blondes and red lips, or had his obsession started with his wife?

  When she was done he met her at the bottom of the stairs, a stupid grin on his face, his hand outstretched and waiting. The idea of touching him repulsed her. Thankfully, he let her go to pour them both red wine without asking what she preferred to drink. He handed her one.

  “To a memorable evening,” he toasted.

  She clinked his glass and made a silent toast of her own—to his rotting in jail.

  “That dress is beautiful on you,” he said.

  It made her want to tear it off and throw it at him. She’d never been this creeped out before. She wished she were wearing the gorgeous gown for Noah instead of this asshole. “Thank you. It’s not often I get dressed up.”

  “Come to Miami. I’ll take you out every night.”

  “Sorry, I’m not a fan of Florida. It’s too humid.” And he was there.

  He made his way toward the dining room table. His back to her, he said, “But you’d come if I told you to.”

  “I’m sorry?” He might be holding the cards, but no one told her what to do.

  He held out a chair. She stared at it, then him, and waited for him to reply.

  “I said, you’d come if I asked you to? Please.” He motioned to the dining chair. “Sit.”

  There it was again, that creepy … mold. Her grip on her wineglass slipped and she had to use two hands to stop herself from dropping it. The contents spilled onto her fingers, which shook as realization dawned on her. Suddenly Santos was frantically patting her hands with a napkin. Even that simple act, which should read as kindness, on him read crazy, as if she were on fire and he had to put it out.

  “It’s fine,” she said before he broke one of her fingers. “I’ll just use the bar sink to rinse them off.”.

  How had she missed it—again? William Wright, the creep who’d tied her to a chair and made feeling exposed and vulnerable a daily part of her life for months, had been that same kind of crazy. She hoped she was wrong, hoped being forced to parade in a fancy dress and have dinner with a man who could easily make her disappear was making her paranoid. Because the alternative wasn’t good. Reluctantly, she sat at the dining table when he motioned her over.

  More than ever she wanted to know who the diamond earring had belonged to. She thought back to the pictures of the women Noah had shown her. All of them had been pale imitations of Elena Santos. And she’d been the only one adorned in jewelry. Money didn’t buy love … or forgiveness. Beneath his suave exterior festered something sinister. This wasn’t the type of man who would be happy with a woman leaving him. Was it her earring?

  As Andre lifted the stainless dome off her plate, the aroma of dill and lemon wafted from the salmon.

  “It’s your favorite,” he said.

  She thought back, trying to remember what she’d ordered at the Grille. The men had ordered steak and she fish. Was that why he assumed it was her favorite? Or was he that obsessive? Was this her favorite? Perhaps her imagination was working overtime. There’d been no blood on the carpet. If he’d done something terrible to the woman, wouldn’t there have been evidence to that? Then Shannon remembered. She’d ordered sea bass, not salmon. Could it be that easy? He was confused and this was simply paranoia?

  With a nod from Santos, Andre left and they were alone. She forced yet another smile and choked down a fork of rice. She wished he’d ordered her steak. Then she’d have a sharp knife. He, however, ate steak. What were the odds she could get his knife without him noticing?

  “So, do you like being an attorney?” He sliced into his meat.

  “It’s a steady paycheck.” She wasn’t about to tell him she loved it. Loving Dorothy might have completed Jerry Maguire, but practicing law had done it for Shannon. She got to give instead of take. It made her feel less of a pariah. “Can I ask how you found out?”

  “I don’t see why not. Shelley Hyatt. Her husband is a business associate of mine.”

  Hyatt? Goddamn. Santos didn’t know the real reason Hyatt had been questioned. Was this woman related to him? Married to him?

  “I don’t know a Shelley Hyatt.” How the hell did she know Shannon?

  He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and took a sip of wine. “No, I believe her name used to be … what did she say it was,” he said thinking out loud. “Alberts, no, Albertson?”

  “Albinson?” She was the teller JJ paid off not to report the large deposits, and Shannon was certain he’d been sleeping with her.

  “Yes, that’s it. She knew your father,” he said, cutting into a potato.

  “She did,” she agreed. And she was on her list. “She married a business associate of yours?” She wanted to make sure she’d heard right, because Hyatt hadn’t lied. His wife had been the one to transfer the money to the thug she’d paid to steal Shannon’s file.

  Santos nodded, taking another bite of his steak. “You haven’t bumped into her at the casinos? She spends much of her time there.” He shook his head. “She’s not worth the trouble she’s brought her husband. He should have gotten rid of her a long time ago, but then he and I would have no need for each other.”

  “How did she know you were looking for me?”

  “Her husband got himself arrested for a hit-and-run. He claimed to have no part in it but needed bail money she didn’t have, and I needed him out jail. She came by to pick up the check and overheard Tomás and me talking. Imagine my surprise when she said she knew you.”

  “Yes, what a coincidence.” Great; her life was like a movie, a series of one unfortunate event after the other. And what bail money? He hadn’t been formally charged.

  “Is there something wrong with your food?”

  She glanced down at her plate. “No.”

  “You’ve barely touched it.”

  “I guess I’m not that hungry. So you gave her money to bail him out of jail? That’s generous of you.”

  “Not really. What you said earlier, win-win? Let’s take our wine and enjoy the view. Every room has one. The one from my bedroom is the most breathtaking.”

  Too bad she’d never see it. “Every room? How many rooms does this place have?” She should have taken her time and eaten the stupid fish—slowly. Now she’d have to find another way to stall until Noah arrived to arrest him.

  “Three bedrooms, the living, and this space. There’s a dining room, a massage room with a private gym, and a pool room.”

  Pool? “Do you play?”

  “On occasion. You?”

  She grinned. Some fathers taught their kids to ride a bike or throw a softball but not JJ. He’d chosen the fine sport of pool. She’d been hustling players since she was ten. She had to admit it was the only thing she’d enjoyed doing with JJ. Any adult coldhearted enough to bet a kid deserved to lose their money. “A little.”

  “Care to play?” he asked, the amused look on his face failing to hide what he clearly had intended for later.

  “Sure.” She pushed her chair out and stood. “But you have to go easy on me. This dress isn’t exactly made for eight ball.”

  “No, but it was made for you.”

  Gag. “Oh, how sweet.” Dangerous and cheesy; what a great combination.

  He led the way and she followed, glancing over her shoulder to see if Andre or Tomás were anywhere to be seen. “Where are the Bobbsey Twins?”

  “Who?”

  “Andre and Tomás.” She wasn’t keen on being alone w
ith him, nor did she want backup in case she managed to break a cue over his head.

  “I sent them to their own rooms. I don’t think we need a chaperone. Do you?”

  “They’re not staying with you?” She asked, wanting to make sure own room didn’t mean this suite.

  “They’re on another floor. Why do you ask?” He handed her a cue.

  She took it, resisting the urge to weigh it in her hands. “This is a big suite. Too big for one person.”

  “I like my space,” he said, blinking several times.

  Maybe because she was so proficient at it or maybe because it took one to know one; whichever it was, she knew he was lying. Why? “Do you want to break?”

  “Ladies first.” He grinned like he was so certain how this evening was going to end.

  Why wasn’t this bust going down? Where were Noah and the police?

  They played three games. She let him win the first two and screeched when she won the third. If she was going to convince him to play a fourth, she had to make him believe what a thrill it had been to win. She clapped her hands and begged for another game. “Please, this is more fun when I win.”

  “How can I say no? Winner breaks.” He racked up the balls and motioned to the table when he was done.

  Shannon grabbed the white ball and lined up her shot. She leaned over the table and aimed her cue, debating whether to sink a ball or not, when a hand settled over her ass. Time was up. Would he let her go or had hell come knocking at her door? She didn’t set the cue down, rather held it firmly in her hand as she straightened.

  His gaze dropped immediately to the deep vee in her gown. She’d caught him staring several times but said nothing. Normally, she’d tell a guy off, but she hadn’t wanted to draw attention to his leering at her. Call her a coward; she wasn’t eager to have this conversation. If she’d read him right—and there was no reason to think she hadn’t—he wasn’t a man you could screw with. And she’d already seen … heard his temper in dealing with Tomás. “Look, this has been fun,” she lied, “but I don’t—”

  Santos slammed his mouth over hers, his tongue insistent as she tried to get him off her. The harder she pushed, the more aggressive he became, pinning her against the pool table. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He had her trapped, her back in such an awkward bend she couldn’t draw up a knee to nail him in the balls. Finally, he drew back but only to grab her arms and yank her off the table. The pool cue in her hand clattered to the floor.

  Eyes glassed over, he searched her face. She knew what he wanted and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him see. Fear. Guys like this got off on scaring women, and if it meant surviving, she’d dig up every dirty trick JJ had taught her. She’d lie, cheat, and con her way out this. And while this went far beyond her mother’s issues, Shannon understood crazy—she’d been weaned on it.

  She forced her breath to slow, dropped her gaze, and made her arms go limp. She’d had to fight Wright. That man had one thing on his mind—to kill. This man was all about power, and what he wanted was her. She’d have to wait for an opportunity to get the upper hand. Praying it would come sooner rather than later, because not a chance in hell was this mad mother getting what he wanted.

  He crowded her against the table, his fingers digging into her bare arms. Then one hand lifted and she had to close her eyes and flood her mind with images of Noah to stop herself from flinching as his knuckles brushed her cheek. Power, she reminded herself; he wanted power. So, for now, she’d give it to him.

  “You are so beautiful, Elena,” he murmured. “I fell in love with you the day I saw you.”

  Oh hell, she was in deep shit.

  “Please, mi vida,” he begged, “understand. Those other women, they meant nothing to me.”

  She didn’t doubt that for a minute. Needing him to see her, not his Elena, she met his eyes.

  “Tell me you forgive me.” His other hand clamped tighter around her bicep.

  “Miguel,” she grimaced, “you’re hurting me.”

  “But I didn’t mean to. If only you’d listen.” He shook her a little, making the tip of a shoe bump into the fallen cue. “Why don’t you listen?”

  He was growing agitated. She had to find a way to calm him. “I forgive you, Miguel. I forgive you. Now let me go.”

  The slap was so fast she didn’t see it coming.

  “I will never let you go,” he shouted.

  Her cheek stung and she had to blink several times before her vision cleared. She tasted blood and worse … for the third time in her life, helplessness. First with the pervert JJ had thought to barter her with, only she’d been faster and him too fat and slow to avoid the lamp she’d beaned at his head. Then with Wright, where she’d been too slow in reacting. But no more. She drew on every violent emotion, her pent-up anger, all her resentment toward a father who’d used her for his own selfish gain. She balled up every unspoken curse and regret and fisted them in her hands. She spat in Santos’s face. Catching him off guard, she yanked her arm free and shoved with every ounce of hatred inside her. And when he stumbled back, she picked up the cue and ran.

  Flipping the stick in her hand, she made it into the living room, where he caught her by the full skirt. She heard a tear as she drew back her arm, turned, and swung. The pool cue broke in half over his head. From the momentum, she stumbled back and over the coffee table. He fell on top of her, pinning her to the floor. Enraged, he yelled at her in Spanish as they wrestled for control. Unable to capture her pummeling fists, he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed. Already out of breath, she felt her lungs struggle to expand as the corners of her vision blurred. If she didn’t do something soon, she’d be dead. Prying his fingers off was useless. She fumbled for the broken cue, felt the sharp edge of the splintered wood and curled her fingers around it. Stars blurring her vision, she had one chance. A loud blast rang out and suddenly she could suck in air. She blinked with each gasp and saw the wide-eyed expression on Santos as he tumbled off her.

  She scrambled from beneath him, kicking at his limp body, unable to get away from him fast enough. What the hell had happened? She pushed herself up onto her knees, one hand around her sore throat, ready to bolt should he move. It was then she saw it: the red stain spreading across his chest. Scurrying back, she ran into the armchair, where she swung her head around.

  If she hadn’t seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have believed it. The pictures had clearly not shown how much they looked alike. The only difference was, Shannon didn’t have a gun in her hand, a gun pointed in her direction.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Noah heard the gunshot riding up in the elevator. He drew his weapon and paced circles around Lopez in the slow seconds that followed. By the time the doors opened and he reached the hallway, four marksmen were lined up outside Santos’s hotel room, two on bent knee, armed and ready, two standing, one holding a battering ram, the door to Santos’s room hanging off its hinges.

  He heard Diaz yelling, “Gun down.”

  He closed the gap faster than he thought possible when Shannon’s panicked voice echoed into the hallway. “Don’t shoot her.”

  Inside, a blond female had a gun pointed at Shannon, who was on her knees, a man’s body some four feet away. He relaxed a fraction, knowing she was alive. The relief was, however, short-lived when the woman didn’t lower her weapon.

  “Don’t,” Shannon repeated. “You’ll frighten her. She doesn’t want to hurt me,” she said, her voice a rasp as she turned her full attention to the woman who he now recognized as Elena Santos.

  She was sporting a nasty shiner and a confused gleam in her eyes and, on his second glance at Shannon, he realized that she too had been hurt. Blood trickled from her swollen lip where something had hit her in the face, and a nasty red mark circled her neck. He wanted to kill. He wanted to hold her. And fuck be damned, he couldn’t do either.

  “It’s all right, Elena. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Shannon glanced over to where the body la
y, then back at Elena. “You didn’t save my life only to harm me, did you?”

  She finally lowered the gun, but Shannon held up a hand to Diaz, who had taken a step toward Mrs. Santos. Shannon struggled to her feet, her face contorting in pain. Damn, what was she trying to do? She kept her eyes trained on Santos’s wife as she took a step forward and then another, until she could reach out and touch the other woman.

  Mrs. Santos tipped her head to the side. “You’re the lawyer,” she said, “the one he was trying to find.”

  “Yes.” Shannon tried to clear her throat. “That’s right. I think it’s better to put the gun on the floor. That way no one else gets hurt. Okay?”

  She nodded once, then bent her knees and followed Shannon’s suggestion.

  Shannon took the woman by her hand and began to lead her toward the back. “Why don’t we get out of everyone’s way? We can go in here,” she said, pointing to the open bedroom. “And we can tell one of these gentlemen everything that happened.”

  “He hurt you.” The woman reached out and touched Shannon’s face.

  “He hurt you too,” she said, nodding to Elena’s injury.

  “It wasn’t the first time.”

  “But it will be the last,” she assured her and, looking over at Santos’s prone body, she was right.

  There’d be no arrest. Not his anyway.

  *

  It took everything he had to wait patiently for Diaz to question Elena Santos. For some reason he understood how important it was for Shannon to be with this woman, someone she didn’t even know. It was the kid in the police station all over again. Mrs. Santos admitted to shooting her husband after seeing him try to strangle Shannon. Which made Noah all kinds of mad, but he kept it to himself. This was neither the place nor the time, and kicking a prone body, no matter how good it would feel, was beyond unprofessional.