Secure Location

chapter Two

When Cruz opened the car door and slid inside, the edges of his dark hair were damp with sweat. He flipped the air on high, and turned to face Meg. “We’ve got a little bit of a situation here,” he said.

Meg’s stomach clenched. Cruz’s voice was soft, not giving anything away. But he wasn’t able to control the emotion in his eyes, as well. He was pissed.

“What?”

He put his hand on her arm. “Somebody was in your condo and they did a real job on it. I called Myers and he and his people are on the way. I want you to stay here until they work the scene.”

In her condo. A real job. She let out a deep breath and sank back into the seat. Cruz dropped his arm, giving Meg the chance she needed to wrench open the door and bolt across the street. He didn’t catch her until she was at the steps.

“Meg, damn it,” he said. “It’s bad.”

“I have to know,” she said. “Please.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. But please don’t touch anything.”

The cupboard doors were open but the shelves were empty, save one lone cup that was so far back that it had escaped attention. Shards of new blue Crate and Barrel plates strewn from one end of the ceramic countertop to the other made a crazy kind of confetti when mixed with the remnants of the sturdy brown stoneware that she’d had since college. The refrigerator door was also open, wrenched so hard that it now hung crookedly. On the top shelf, a plastic pitcher lay on its side, the orange juice pooled around it, contained by the upturned edge of the shelf. The eggs she’d bought two days ago had been thrown at the stove and yolk and shell and slimy egg white had dried on the black front.

On the small table that separated her kitchen from the living room, the plant had been upturned, sending potting soil flying. What she could see of the living room didn’t encourage her to look further. The cushions were still on the couch but each had a haphazard slice in the fabric. The entertainment center had been pushed over and the television was facedown on the carpet. It looked as if someone had hacked the back of it with an ax.

“I...I’ve been...wanting a flat screen,” she said. She forced a smile at Cruz and knew she’d failed when his mouth tightened even more.

“Well, then,” he said. He paused. “It’s gonna be okay, Meg. I promise.”

Her chest felt tight and it was hard to breathe. What if she’d been home? What if she’d been sleeping and had awakened to find this kind of madness looming over her?

Would she be dead?

Cruz stepped in front of her, maybe to get her attention, maybe just to block the room. “And you still have no idea who might do this?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said. This was so destructive, maybe even hateful. No one hated her.

Did they? Someone had, but it had been years ago. Twenty, in fact. Margaret Mae Gunderson had let everyone down. And there had been hate.

But how could anyone believe that the price she’d paid had not been dear enough?

A car door slammed. Then two more in quick succession. Cruz was already at the front door. “Myers and his team.”

It took them over two hours to work their way through the mess. Meg followed them from the living room back to the bedrooms. The spare room, which served as her office, had the least damage. The carpet was wet and her books sat in a sodden pile in the middle. The bucket the intruder had used to carry water had been tossed in the corner.

“Your bucket?” Detective Myers asked.

“Yes. From under my kitchen sink.”

“Tag it and bag it,” he said to the female officer.

The damage in her bedroom was much worse. Her clothes had been pulled from both her closet and drawers and sprayed with the horrible red paint. The bedcovers had been pulled off and her mattress had been sliced multiple times. The mirror above her dresser was cracked.

When she entered the bathroom, the smell almost knocked her back. Perfume bottles had been smashed in the sink. On top of the shards of glass lay more rotted fish. The mirror was cracked and across it, written in red paint, was BITCH.

Her knees felt weak and her vision narrowed.

Cruz grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. “She’s seen enough,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Detective Myers. He gently prodded her back to the kitchen and sat her down on the chair. “Put your head between your knees,” he said.

She waved him away. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

Detective Myers gave her three minutes before he followed her. “It’s probably hard to tell but do you know if anything is missing?” he asked.

“I...” She licked her lips and wished she had water. “I don’t think so.”

The man nodded. “To do this kind of damage, the intruder was here for a while. Maybe one of the neighbors saw something. My team will canvas the area. We’ll check the street cameras, too, and maybe we’ll get lucky there.”

“Thank you,” she said. He seemed like a good cop. Straightforward. She was going to have to tell him everything. Just in case. But not with Cruz standing there. Not with him in the same town. Even if Detective Myers swore to keep her secret, she knew Cruz’s ability to compel even the most reluctant of witnesses to speak up. Could she gamble that he wouldn’t prod and needle Detective Myers until the man surrendered the information?

“We dusted everything for prints,” Detective Myers said. “I’ll need yours and whoever else has been in your apartment for the last several months to rule them out.”

“I’ll get you the names,” she said. She’d had Charlotte and her mother over for dinner a month ago. That was it.

Detective Myers turned his attention toward Cruz. “I suppose you can account for your whereabouts since seven this morning?”

Cruz pulled his travel itinerary out of his shorts pocket and handed it to the older man. “Arrived at the airport, rented a car, drove I-95 to the River Walk. No stops in between.”

Detective Myers nodded, tucked the itinerary into his notebook, and put his pen in his shirt pocket. Meg had no doubt the guy was going to check it out, maybe look at a few more street cameras along Cruz’s route. “I’ll be in touch,” the man said to Meg. “I’ll let you know when you can start cleaning this up. Where will you be staying until then?”

“I...uh...guess I’ll stay at the hotel. In the summer we’re not as full as usual so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

The detective turned toward Cruz. “And what about you, Mr. Montoya?”

He needed to point the nose of his rental car toward Chicago and not stop until he ran into Lake Michigan.

“I’ll be at the hotel, too,” he said.

Meg whipped her head in his direction. “That’s not necessary,” she said.

He waved away her argument, clearly not wanting to discuss it in front of Detective Myers. The older man looked at Cruz, then at her, speculation in his eyes. Evidently not seeing too much that disturbed him, he motioned for them to leave. “We’ll finish up here. I’ll be in touch.”

When they were back in the car, the seat was so hot that it burned skin. Meg tucked her skirt under her legs and gingerly reached for the metal clasp of her seat belt.

Cruz started the car and cranked up the air-conditioning. He didn’t pull out. Just sat in the driver’s seat, looking forward. Finally he turned toward her.

“Your car. This. You know I had nothing to do with it, right?” His voice cracked at the end.

She stared at him and wanted to tell him that of all the people in the world, he was the person she trusted the most.

Instead, she turned and faced out the window. Two beat cops were stringing up yellow crime scene tape across her door. “Of course not. I mean, it’s been a year,” she added, still staring at her condo. “And it’s not like our divorce was a nasty one.”

No. It had been very civilized. Probably because she’d insisted the two of them only communicate through their respective attorneys. Once the house had been sold, they’d split the proceeds and that had been the end of it. Very, very civilized. A perfect divorce, really.

“Look,” she said, turning partway back but not quite enough to meet his eyes. “It’s nice of you to offer to stay for a few days. But I’m sure it’s hard to get the time off. I’ll be fine, really. I just need to be a little more careful until they catch the person responsible for this.”

“I’m staying,” he said.

“No.”

He shook his head. “Last time I checked, you weren’t in charge of who gets to vacation in Texas.”

She pressed her lips together. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m looking forward to visiting Elsa and her family. They built a new house about forty miles north of San Antonio.”

“They finally did it, huh?” she asked before she could think better of it. His sister Elsa had been the sister that Meg had never had. And always wanted. Her husband had been transferred from Chicago to Texas a few years after Meg and Cruz had married. “You know, I thought about calling your sister after I moved here. But I wasn’t sure anybody in your family wanted to hear from me,” she admitted.

Cruz shrugged. “The two of you were friends. Just because we’re no longer married, that doesn’t have to change.”

He was wrong. Everything changed when you got divorced. Family banded together and friends had to pick sides. At least she hadn’t stayed in the same town. Their friends hadn’t had to choose whether it would be him or her that got invited to the next dinner party.

She wondered how many invitations he’d accepted. He was too good-looking, too nice, to be alone for long.

“Really, Cruz,” she said, her voice sounding loud in the small car. “I insist. It’s too much for me to ask. You should go home.”

“I’m staying,” he repeated.

He’s staying. Part of her wanted to get down and kiss the hard, sunbaked ground. Cruz was a good cop. Even when he’d been young and fresh out of the academy and his friends were still idiots on Friday nights, he’d taken his responsibilities to serve and protect seriously.

Don’t you dare lie to me. His buddies on the force used to tease him after a few beers. It was well-known that whenever Cruz interrogated a witness or a suspect and hissed those words, that he was dead serious. The man hated being lied to. And given that her entire life was one big lie, she was the absolute worst person for him to fall in love with.

She’d loved him since their third date. He’d taken her to Wrigley Field, bought her hot dogs and cold beer, and broken the third finger on his left hand protecting her face from a fly ball. They spent an hour in the emergency room and another twelve in his bed. She’d married him that Christmas and six years later they were still on the road to happily ever after. She’d actually begun to believe that her past didn’t matter, that maybe it was possible to put it all behind her.

He didn’t want children. She’d assumed it had something to do with growing up poor and having had the responsibility of helping raise his younger brothers and sisters. He told her on their second date that he’d changed all the dirty diapers he intended to ever change. No procreation for him.

It was perfect. And it stayed that way for a long time.

Then his brother’s wife had gotten pregnant. Then his sister. Another sister-in-law. It was an avalanche of babies. And he’d suddenly started hinting around that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they had a little Montoya of their own.

She’d had no alternative but to leave. She couldn’t tell him the truth. She’d spent a lifetime weaving a series of lies so tight that no one would have ever guessed the havoc she’d wreaked. It had been a wide path of destruction. Broken marriages, families fleeing their houses in the dark of the night and a thing so horrible she never said the words out loud.

If he knew the truth, he’d have never trusted her with any child and definitely not his child.

“What are you going to do about clothes?” he asked, whipping her back to the present. “I don’t think there was much in your closet that wasn’t sprayed with paint.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got some suits at the dry cleaners. I keep an extra pair of shoes at work, too. I can pick up the rest of what I’ll need in the short-term.”

“You’re being pretty calm about this,” he said.

She wasn’t calm. She felt exposed and dirty and it was a terrible thing to believe that somebody wanted to deliberately hurt her. When the threats had started, she’d been shaken. Who wouldn’t have been? She’d picked up her voice mail only to hear some distorted voice ramble on about killing her. Then she’d gotten a letter in the mail. Words cut out of a magazine and pasted on a page, just like in the movies. The message had been short but not sweet. You need to pay for what you did.

She’d wanted to tear up the letter and pretend that it had never come. But Charlotte had seen the mail—there was no going backward. Meg had shown Scott the letter and told him about the telephone message. Together, they’d called the police. When Detective Myers probed about possible suspects, she’d told him the truth. She had no idea.

She’d never suspected Cruz. Certainly hadn’t given Scott any reason to think that Cruz could be involved. But now he was caught up in it.

He deserved better. He’d always deserved better than her. The only solution was to get him to leave San Antonio.

“I need to see Scott,” she said, as he pulled the rental car into a stall in the parking deck. She could see the tightening of his jaw muscles.

“Do whatever you need to do,” he said, his voice stiff. “I’m going to get a room.”

She put a hand out, grabbing his bare arm. His skin was cold from the blasting air-conditioning and the muscles in his forearms were tight. It brought back sudden memories of cool naked skin and him balanced over her, weight on his arms, just before he took her.

She jerked her hand away. “Our rooms are really expensive,” she warned, her voice cracking.

He raised his eyebrows. “You think I couldn’t tell that from the lobby? I can afford it, Meg. I haven’t had much else to spend my money on this last year.”

She’d hurt him badly. It made her ache. “Well, you shouldn’t spend what you have here. Detective Myers seems very capable.” She got out of the car, shut the door hard, and quickly walked toward the garage elevator. He caught up with her in just a few strides.

“Why the hell don’t you want me here?” he demanded.

She whirled on him. “I hurt you, Cruz. I know that. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But we both need to move on. And neither one of us can do that if you’re here.”

She could see the rapid beat of his heart in the hollow of his neck. “I won’t leave knowing that you’re in danger. I’m a good cop, Meg. I can help Myers. Let me start with the list of people who’ve been fired from this hotel in the last year.”

“That’s confidential information.”

“I don’t care. You’ve got an in with the boss,” he said, his voice getting loud. “He’s got the authority to give me the names. Ask him. Or I will.”

She let out a big huff of breath. Then she raised her index finger and pointed toward the lobby. “Fine.”

“I’m not sure what Myers asked for but I want name, address, phone, emergency contact information, title, dates of employment and reason they were let go. I imagine you’ve got all that in some database.”

They did. She nodded.

“Pictures, too,” he said.

“We don’t keep that in the human resources system.”

“Yeah, but I bet you do in your security system. Every time somebody gets their picture taken for a swipe card, a copy is probably stored in your system.”

“I’ll have to check. Detective Myers didn’t ask for them.”

“He should have,” Cruz said, shaking his head.

“He seems competent,” she said, not knowing exactly why she felt compelled to defend the detective. Maybe because she hadn’t been married to him and he didn’t have the ability to make her want the things she couldn’t have. “I’ll talk to Scott about the list.”

“Thank you.” His voice was softer now. “When you find out what room you’re staying in, I want the one next to it. Make sure there are interior connecting doors.”

She started to protest but he held up a hand. “It’s not going to do me much good if something happens and I’m sixteen floors away.”

Meg resisted the urge to scream in frustration and went to find Scott. He was talking on the telephone but he waved her into the room and motioned for her to take a chair.

Scott Slater was a nice man. He worked hard, treated his employees fairly. They’d been peers in Chicago and she’d been genuinely happy for him when he’d gotten the promotion and a chance to run a hotel in San Antonio. When she’d had to suddenly leave Chicago just months later, he’d been a godsend. She’d called and inquired and he’d offered her a job without asking any questions.

In the past year, they’d worked hard to build the infrastructure that it took to keep a six-hundred-room hotel operating smoothly. In the past three months, they’d had dinner a few times. They’d talked about work, mostly.

It had been fine. And wasn’t that enough? She’d had a great love. Now what she needed was companionship. Common interests. Strong regard.

Ugh.

Maybe she should get a dog.

Scott hung up the phone. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My condo was vandalized. Really wrecked, actually.” She said it calmly, as if she were reporting on the monthly financials. Nobody needed to know that her insides were churning and every time she closed her eyes she could see the cascade of broken cutlery strewn across the kitchen counter. “I’m going to need a place to stay. I was hoping I could have a room here.”

He stood up and came around the front of the desk. He stood close. “Of course. I’ll give you one of the executive suites. But, Meg, this is getting ridiculous. First your car, then your apartment. What do the police think?”

“They don’t know what to think.”

“I’m worried about you,” he said. “You know that...I care about you.”

She did. On their last date, two months ago, they’d gone to one of the new Japanese restaurants. When he’d taken her home and tried to kiss her, she’d tensed up like a board. Embarrassed, she’d mumbled something about needing more time and he’d backed off.

They hadn’t been out again and Scott had never mentioned it. When they were in public, he was always absolutely appropriate. But when they were alone, his glances lingered, his smile was more intimate.

He was being a gentleman, biding his time.

It made her feel even worse that she’d let him be the fall guy when she’d needed an excuse to leave Cruz. During their marriage, Cruz had mentioned a couple times that he thought Scott was interested in more than her work ethic. So he’d readily believed her when she’d told him that Scott had asked her to be with him in San Antonio. Had let Cruz believe the worst.

She was going to be walking a tightrope with both of them in the same city.

“I mentioned Cruz to the police,” Scott admitted. “I know you were adamant that he couldn’t have had anything to do with the threats but I couldn’t be as sure.”

“I understand. It’s okay. He thinks he might be able to help. He’d like the room next to mine. Just in case, you know.”

Scott drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, now I’m a little sorry I offered up his name.”

She nodded. That made two of them. “He’ll be here a few days at the most,” she said.

Scott picked up his phone and arranged for Meg’s and Cruz’s rooms. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.

“Can I share the list of terminated employees with Cruz?”

Scott nodded. “Give him whatever you think will be helpful. I want this to be over. And I want him back in Chicago,” he added wryly.

“Me, too,” she said. She turned and walked out of the office. Cruz Montoya had been the first man she’d loved. She suspected he would be the only man she’d ever love. And Scott deserved better than that. Once this craziness was over and Cruz was back in Chicago, she was going to tell him so. Maybe it would mean the end of their working relationship. If so, she’d have to deal with that.

As she walked down the hallway, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She was surprised when Charlotte picked up.

“Hey, what are you still doing there?” Meg asked. “I was going to leave a message for tomorrow.”

“Just finishing up some things. I checked your speech for tomorrow night, made sure the changes were there. Then I ran the financials that you’ll need next week.”

Meg was insanely glad to be talking about work. Where she felt in control. Competent. Energized.

Or she used to, anyway. Someone was intent upon spoiling the salvation she’d clung to for the past year.

“Thank you so much,” she said. Charlotte was amazing. If Meg worked a twelve-hour day, Charlotte stayed for thirteen. “Well, go home soon,” Meg ordered lightly. “Your mom will be worried.”

“I promise. She won’t call you again.”

“You know I didn’t think anything of that,” Meg said. “She’s sweet.”

“Maybe,” Charlotte said, her tone noncommittal. “That’s what I get for letting her move in. Anyway, what’s with the salad on the desk?”

Meg had forgotten about that. “I’ll get it in the morning,” she said.

“Already done,” Charlotte assured her. “Everything okay? I heard about your car.”

That hit a nerve. She hated it when people talked about her. “From?”

“Sanjoi in Security. I think he figured I knew.”

She said it casually but Meg caught the inference. I should have known.

Charlotte liked to be in the know. And in control. The woman was practically a machine when it came to running the office—details didn’t get missed, appointments didn’t get forgotten, reports were never late. Well, sometimes she did forget to tell Meg that Scott had called but the woman handled a frightening amount of work with relative ease.

“Do the police think it has anything to do with that letter you received?” Charlotte asked.

“Perhaps. They’re investigating. In fact, that’s why I’m calling. Can you run me a report? I need...”

Meg gave her the details, including the need for pictures from the security system. Charlotte assured her that she’d get the information right away and put it on Meg’s desk.

Meg ended the conversation without telling Charlotte that she was staying at the hotel, with her ex-husband a mere doorway away. She’d have to tell her eventually but after the day she’d had, she just didn’t have the strength to stand up to Charlotte’s inevitable questions.

She took the elevator back to the lobby, turned the corner and saw Cruz standing to the left of the gleaming wood and marble registration counter, feet spread hip-distance apart, arms crossed over his chest. Six feet of hard muscle and grim determination watching everybody and everything that was going on. His medium-sized duffel bag was sitting next to him. She suspected it was filled with more T-shirts and cargo shorts.

“Everything settled?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ll get your room key and you can get unpacked. If you’re hungry, the restaurant in the hotel has pretty good food or there are all kinds of places along the River Walk.”

He studied her. “What are your plans?”

“Well, I guess my first stop is the dry cleaner. I want to get there before they close. Then I’ll swing by my office, do some work for a while, and pick up the list you requested. I’ll slide it under your door.”

“I’m going with you,” he said. “Dry cleaner, then dinner. Together.”

Didn’t he understand? She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of slipping back, even an inch, into the past—to when things had been easy between the two of them. “I don’t think so,” she said.

“Come on, Meg. Cut me some slack. And yourself, too. I’ve been traveling since early morning. I missed lunch and you didn’t eat much of your salad. Can’t we just run the errands and have dinner? Can we keep this simple just for tonight?”

She wanted to say no. But what he said made sense. And she didn’t want to stand in the lobby arguing about it. A couple of the registration representatives were already craning their necks, hoping to get a better view. The grapevine was alive and blooming and the story would grow exponentially by morning, until the truth was unrecognizable. Meg Montoya had a fight with a guest. She pushed him, he fell backward, hit his head and now the hotel is getting sued. Or some version of that.

“Oh, fine. But don’t expect me to give in this easy every time.”