The Hidden

Didn’t matter. It had to be one hell of a unit if they’d gotten here in less than twenty-four hours simply because she’d asked her ex-husband for help.

She’d heard—the whole country had heard—about the Miami zombie case, and she’d known that Diego and Brett had been assigned to it. She had to assume that Matt and Meg had worked it, too, and that it was somehow connected to whatever made their special unit, well, special. She’d thought several times about calling Diego, just to see how he was weathering the stress. The pressure on law enforcement must have been terrible. She knew how he took his cases—or, really, the people who were part of them—to heart. The temptation to pick up the phone had been almost overwhelming at times.

But then she’d reminded herself that maybe he’d moved on. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Diego was a natural flirt. He simply liked people in general, despite what he did for a living and the kinds of people he so frequently had to deal with. Women, especially, naturally liked him. It was those dark good looks and killer smile. They couldn’t help themselves.

He had never betrayed her during their two years together, but they weren’t married anymore. She hadn’t just left him, she’d left the state.

He’d had the right to move on.

The thought that he might well have done so disturbed her more than she wanted to admit, and that, as much as anything else, had kept her from making the call. Being so far away, cradled by the mountains, had acted like a buffer zone. It was almost as if she was looking back at a story about two other people.

But after Brett, Matt and Meg had left for the police station, and Ben and Trisha had headed back to the main house to check on their five remaining guests, Scarlet discovered that she suddenly felt incredibly awkward with the man she had once known better than anyone else in the world.

Admittedly, she’d been drawn to Diego at the outset because of the way he looked. He was tall and fit, and there was something of the aristocrat about his features, as if he was descended from a line of Spanish kings. She could see him wearing a conquistador’s helmet and posing for a gold coin.

He was also charming, and quick to make her laugh. They were opposites in many ways. He was daring and quick to make friends, to dive into a situation or experience. She had been decidedly shy, at least at first, always wanting to know what made things tick. At first it had been great. He had taught her to be spontaneous, as daring as he was. She had taught him to look beneath the surface of things. They’d both learned about compromise.

She had believed then and still did that the reason they’d stopped talking was that they were trying to be considerate of each other, to avoid upsetting each other. She’d told him that she didn’t need an explanation when he needed to work all hours. And she didn’t. But maybe that had made him think she didn’t care about his job, so he tried too hard not to bring work home.

And then she’d lost the baby. A baby he hadn’t even known existed.

She knew this was not the time to analyze where and why they’d gone wrong, or why she had felt the irresistible need to flee from their marriage and from him, to ask for the divorce.

And still he was there for her the minute she called.