by Cherry Adair
Cruz didn’t want to hear another word from this asshole. He put his foot not so gently over the man’s mouth and broken nose. Latour gave out a pained, muffled shriek and his eyes rolled. “Not such a fucking macho man now, are you? Don’t like someone bigger, stronger, and smarter than you getting the upper hand? Too bad, shithead. You’re going to jail for a long, long time. Get up.” Cruz hauled Latour up by twisting his hand behind his back with slightly less force than necessary to break it, then held him tightly as he struggled and blubbered.
Mia, white-faced, hands shaking, reached across the rumpled bed, snatched up the phone, then punched out the three numbers with a hand that shook.
“Detective Hammell, please.” Her legs gave out and she dropped to her knees, elbows braced on the mattress as she waited.
Cruz wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into his arms and hold her. But he had a little lesson to teach Latour before the cops arrived.
“I’ll be right back. Stay put.” He heard her speaking to the detective as he frog-marched the struggling Latour down the hall, arm twisted high on his back.
• • •
Five minutes later, Cruz was back in the bedroom, Mia on his lap, his face buried in her hair. Her sob wrenching up through her chest tore at her throat.
“Hey. I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“I’m so f-fricking . . . furious!”
Well, that was better than scared or in pain. He’d considered knocking Latour unconscious, but then the bastard couldn’t feel any pain, so he’d opted for him to sit it out until the cops arrived. “He’ll be in custody soon where he can’t hurt anyone.”
“I’m f-furious at m-myself! I can’t believe I allowed that—that low-life piece of shit to terrorize me. I’m strong and smart and resourceful, damn it.”
Cruz gently brushed his hand over her hair. “Jesus, sweetheart, he was drunk, has fifty pounds on you, and was determined as hell. You did what you could to prevent him killing you. I’d say that was a win.”
“I know how to shoot. I should’ve shot the son of a bitch.”
Cruz didn’t point out that the gun’s lockbox was secured, the key in the bedside table.
“I hate that I froze instead of fighting back. Hate it. I took self-defense classes, for God’s sake. I know how to defend myself. To be honest, I shocked myself. I would’ve thought I could’ve handled that situation, if not with ease, then with smarts. I failed myself on all counts.”
“Different in a real-world situation when your adrenaline is pumping and your opponent has nothing to lose. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“Believe me,” she told him, voice grim, eyes flat, “my pity party is already over. I’ll never be caught like that ever again. Forget learning how to frigging pole dance. I’m going to master self-defense and kick the next attacker’s ass. Better yet, I’m going to learn how to become an expert marksman so I can shoot whoever is coming after me.”
“Excellent sentiment. But there won’t be a next time. I won’t leave you alone again when a crazed wife abuser’s on the loose.”
She frowned. “There are plenty of other threats out there, and you know it. Someone might still be trying to kill me for one, in case you’ve forgotten. You won’t always be with me, will you?”
Fortunately, it was a rhetorical question. She obviously knew the answer. “I won’t leave you until the matter’s resolved,” he told her, yet it was the hardest promise he’d ever made. He had to leave her, and he had to do it as soon as he knew she’d be safe. Urgent departure was required, because if he didn’t leave her soon, he’d never be able to. He enjoyed being with her too much. And that thought scared the crap out of him. One day she’d find out what he was. Then she’d hate him. Hate everything about him.
“Then for your sake I hope everything is resolved by Monday. I have to decide where to go from there.”
Cruz had a not-so-short list of priorities to focus on. All essential.
1. Keep Mia alive.
2. Find out who’d paid for the hit before they hired someone else to finish his job.
3. Deal with them.
4. Discover who else had been hired.
5. Stop them.
6. Save Daisy and Charlie.
7. Deal with Latour.
8. Don’t fall in love.
Detective Hammell and two other cops showed up twenty minutes later. “What happened to him?” he asked Cruz, who leaned against the counter, drinking a cup of tepid coffee.
He’d worked Latour over, so that, besides his bloody, swollen nose, he had lacerations and bruising on his arms. Sick of listening to the man whine and berate him, his wife, Mia, and the entire universe for how shitty his life was, Cruz had used duct tape to bind him to a bar stool, then slapped a piece over his mouth. Latour’s eyes were feral over the silvery tape.
Cruz shrugged. “Drunk. Fell down the stairs. I have one for you. Why isn’t he in jail?” Hammell, a slightly overweight fifty-something with a hangdog expression and light eyes that had seen it all, cast Latour an unsympathetic glance. “Cousin twice removed is police chief. Posted bail.”
Shit.
As his men cut away the tape around his chest, arms, and legs, the detective gave a nod of approval. “Nice job,” he told Cruz as the last of the tape was tossed aside and Latour was secured with cuffs. “He’ll probably trip again a couple of times on the way to the squad car. He’s pretty tanked, and some people are just accident-prone.”
Cruz’s lips twitched.
Chapter Fourteen
After Mia grabbed a shower and applied some antiseptic to the scratches and makeup to the bruises Latour had inflicted, they loaded an ecstatic Oso into her truck. Cruz drove, and they went to pick up Charlie from his foster family in Metairie, a suburb of New Orleans located on the south shore of Lake Pontchartrain, then headed to the hospital.
Because of the heat, Cruz stayed with the dog in the air-conditioned truck, letting Mia and Charlie go in together. His heart twisted as the child slipped his hand into Mia’s as they walked.
She was wearing a summery dress the color of crushed strawberries that bared her shoulders, and high-heeled strappy sandals that showed off her toned legs to perfection. He knew where each and every bruise was, but she’d covered the smudges with makeup, and from where he was sitting she looked flawless, fresh, and sexy as hell.
Charlie tugged on her hand, and they stopped at the entrance to the hospital. Mia paused to crouch down, smoothing back Charlie’s hair as they talked. After a few minutes, the little boy flung himself at her, his arms tight around her neck. Mia soothed his back, then rose and took his hand again. They disappeared inside.
Cruz swallowed the damn lump in his throat. “Now what?” he asked the dog, sitting upright and alert in the passenger seat. Oso swiveled his head to give him what Cruz was sure was an inquiring look. “Never mind.” Oso cocked his head.
Never mind because Cruz had no intention of putting anything emotional out into the ether that could come back later to bite him in the ass.
Just like he didn’t tear up at pictures of cute cats and dog tricks, seeing Mia showing an unexpected maternal side shouldn’t have any emotional impact on him. He didn’t do sentimental, and he never noticed shit like that.
Cruz turned up the air, cooling the cab and directing a vent in Oso’s panting direction. “I need to make a couple of calls, then how about we get out and stretch our legs?”
Clearly realizing there’d be more waiting, Oso sighed lugubriously, then lay down with his head on his paws to stare as Cruz took out his phone and speed dialed Lì húa Sòng in Beijing.
“What updates do you have on the factory?” There was a twelve-hour time difference, and since he knew she was a night owl, he wasn’t concerned about waking her at eleven at night.
“Even for you this is no civilized greeting, băobèi,” she responded tersely, still using the endearment she’d used years ago when they’d been lovers. “Five more
children died. The investigation appears to be closed. Faulty wiring, unsafe conditions, not uncommon in situations such as this. As of yesterday, Blush China is back in business. More children hired. Everyone working extra hours to make up for the loss of time.”
“Jesus. That’s cold. Will the families be compensated?”
There was a pause. “No. The children were disposable. Most came from— Never mind. No. There will be no compensation. On the other matter. I did facial rec on the woman at the airport.”
Lì húa Sòng’s government contacts had proven invaluable over the years. Cruz no longer wondered in what capacity she worked, just that she had pull and could get answers. Just as she’d never delved into what he did for a living. They’d lived in the moment, and both, he’d thought at the time, been content.
“And?” Cruz clenched his fingers on the steering wheel. Don’t tell me conclusively that the woman was Mia.
“Very similar features and bearing, but the woman who visited here was not Amelia Wentworth.”
He straightened in the seat. “All three times? You’re sure?”
“Positive. I believe the woman who came here wore expertly fabricated prosthetics.”
Jesus. With the sudden lightness of relief came the grind of concern. Someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to implicate Mia. Who? Why? “Xiè xiè nĭ bāng wŏ,Lì húa.”
“You are most welcome.” There was a pregnant pause. “Why she so important this woman? Are you sleeping with her, Cruz?”
“You lost the right to ask that question many years ago,” he reminded her gently.
“This is true,” she said with quiet regret. “I wish you well, qīn ài de nĭ. Call me if there is any other service I can provide.”
He was no longer her dear, and Cruz was sorry to hear sadness in her voice. He knew he had been the love of Lì húa’s life, but he’d had nothing but a deep respect and fondness for her when they’d been lovers. He’d been with her for half a year, then left Beijing when—after pressing him for a more formal relationship—she announced her engagement to a family friend. He hadn’t been heartbroken, he’d just moved on.
There was no chitchat or catching up. They said goodbye and Cruz wondered if he’d ever speak to her again.
“I’m not the hearth-and-home kinda guy,” he told Oso, clipping on a leash to take him for a walk while they waited for Mia and Charlie to return. The dog’s eyes tracked his every move, and his slowly wagging tail became an entire body wiggle, with lashing tail and perked ears.
Cruz found a tree-shaded grassy area and let the dog sniff around. Had whoever hired him tried at first to discredit Amelia/Mia and, when that hadn’t worked, put out the hit? It didn’t make sense, but neither did the way things had gone down. The factory fire had only happened this week. He’d taken the job and been paid a shitload of money as a deposit weeks ago.
It made sense if this was all about her leveraged buyout. If someone wanted to prevent that from happening, they could feasibly want her discredited so the stock prices went down. The same if she unexpectedly died.
But by tomorrow all the speculation would be over. Once she signed those papers, it would all be over.
“Which means,” he told the dog, who’d stopped exploring to come and sit at his feet, looking expectant, “that if I was going to kill her, I’d do it before she got her hands on those papers, right?” Oso wagged his tail just as Cruz’s phone vibrated in his back pocket. He checked the number. The person who’d hired the hit. Cruz turned off the phone.
• • •
“I think you were supposed to turn two streets back,” Mia told Cruz. Charlie sat between them, but he kept squirming to scratch Oso’s head.
“We have to stop at the store.” Cruz pulled into the parking lot of a PetSmart. “Oso wants a ball.”
She raised an eyebrow at him over Charlie’s dark head.
“A ball?” Charlie’s voice went up several octaves. “How come he wants a ball?”
“He’s got a boy,” Cruz said, expression serious. “Every dog needs a boy and a ball, right? Hop out on this side, kid.”
“I’m a boy,” Charlie whispered, cheeks flushed, eyes bright as he turned to Mia as if for confirmation.
Her heart squeezed; there was so much longing, so much hope, in that look, and yet the child was already anticipating that this would not go as hoped. “Perfect,” she told him cheerfully, eyes stinging behind her sunglasses. “And you’re exactly the right boy to help Oso pick out the best ball in the whole store.”
Cruz lifted the little boy out of the truck and shot a smile at her, a real smile that showed the long dimple in his cheek and sent rays of light to every part of Mia’s body.
Opening the back door, he grabbed Oso’s leash and let the dog jump out, all happy panting and wagging tail. “Let’s go find him the best ball they have. It might take some time,” he told Mia, straight-faced. “Kick back and turn up the air. We have men’s work to do here.”
“Yes,” Charlie told her, peering at her very seriously as he stood on tiptoe so he could see into the big truck from his position beside Cruz on the curb. “Men’s work.”
A couple of hours in a local park, a stop at a fast-food burger place for Charlie, and the boy and dog were worn-out.
Cruz had a quick talk with Joann Follmer when they dropped Charlie off at his foster family. Permission asked for and granted for an overnight stay for Oso, and they left the two playing tag in the front yard. “That was sweet of you.” Mia threaded her fingers through his as he drove away. “Oso will protect him and help him not be so scared when he goes to bed tonight.”
“Every kid has the right to not be scared every fucking night.”
“Don’t yell. I agree with you one hundred percent.”
• • •
He parked the car in a lot behind Café Du Monde, then guided her along the walkway that bordered the Mississippi River. She said she’d never been to New Orleans, but he’d been here several times. The noisy crowds starting to wander between the bars, nightclubs, and tourist-crowded restaurants over one block to Royal Street. While many of the shops had already closed for the day, some were still open, selling everything from shot glasses and sunscreen to Mardi Gras masks. Here and there the hum of conversation and clinking of dinnerware and the sultry, soulful sounds of jazz music came from the open doors of restaurants, and tourist groups milled about, waiting for tours of the French Quarter to begin.
It was the kind of city through which all kinds of people traveled, a hard-hitting city with a high enough crime rate that locals were immune to shocking news and officials were too busy to care much about murders that looked like accidents. It was a great place for a Cruz-style hit.
Mia’s fingers tightened in his. Her personality was so big, it always surprised Cruz how small her bones were. His fingers closed around hers as they walked along the river, then turned onto Conti, a side street that led toward Royal. They wove between the musicians and street vendors who dotted the sidewalks along the gated gardens of St. Louis Cathedral.
He knew just where he wanted to take her to dinner, and had called ahead and set it up. For now they joined what felt like a party as they strolled the streets of the French Quarter. “You made Charlie’s day,” she told him. “If not his year.”
“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t take a damned tennis ball and an hour in the park to make a kid’s day.”
“When I talk to my cousin tomorrow, I’ll ask him to set the ball in motion for a place for Daisy and Charlie to live. Something temporary until she can get her feet under her. I’d offer to let her stay with me for a while, but something tells me she’d refuse.”
Not if he had anything to do with it. But that was a ways off. Daisy needed to stay put for several more weeks. And the longer she was stuck in that hospital bed, the more chance Latour had of finding her. Even with the round-the-clock security Cruz had hired. “Hungry?”
“Not yet. Oh! Look, a fortune-teller.” She tugged his han
d and walked faster, toward an antique store that fronted on Royal Street. The shop had closed for the night, and the covered entrance, slightly off the busy sidewalk, became premium space for the woman, who had purple streaks in long, inky black hair, a crimson halter, and a flowing blue skirt.
She couldn’t be more clichéd if she tried. Cruz allowed himself to be tugged along. Mia happy was worth spending time with a tarot reader or whatever she was going to profess to be.
Her table was covered with a black velvet cloth, on which sat tarot cards, rocks, a crystal ball, and a dozen flickering tea lights. A black cat on a rhinestone leash sat at her feet, licking its paws. Very atmospheric.
Mia tugged at his hand, a little harder this time. “Come on.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“It’s just for fun.” She paused, giving him a quick quizzical look. “Scared?”
“Terrified,” he told her dryly. “I’ll pass.” He was sorely tempted to pull Mia along, away from the street performer, but once she’d made eye contact with the woman, it was too late.
“You want your fortune read by Madame LaBelle, pretty lady.”
Mia plopped her butt in the chair. “Yes.”
With a small shake of his head, Cruz took up position behind her chair.
“What kind of reading of the cards would you like: something fast and quick, or something more in-depth?” The woman’s gaze never left Mia’s. “Five dollars for a past, present, and future reading, twenty-five for the full spread of the cards.”
“The simple read, please.”
Cruz handed the woman five bucks. “If she’s a mind reader, she wouldn’t have to ask,” he whispered as he reached over her shoulder to hand over the money. The woman took it as fast as a Venus flytrap snapped up a hamburger. She spared Cruz a back-off-and-shut-up glance, then focused on Mia.