The Sheriff of Heartbreak County

Chapter 11

He kissed her eyelids first, the taste of her tears cool and briny on his lips…and so sweet it made his heart ache. He heard her breath catch and his muscles quivered with response, even as his mind was being slammed with the full realization of what it was he was doing.

It hit him like a power surge-the awareness that this wasn’t his wife’s face he held, cradled like a precious treasure between his two hands. It froze him for a moment, shorted out his circuits, so he couldn’t think about who this woman was…only that her face was damp and warm from the tears she’d shed, the ivory perfection of her skin delicately blotched with pink like the petals of some exotic hybrid flower. He couldn’t let himself think about who he was, either…only that the woman he held in his arms smelled good…felt good…tasted good…and he’d been hungry a long, long time.

He wiped away the dampness on her cheeks with his thumbs, let his lips caress that gentle curve…find the corner of her mouth and sip the drop of salt-sweet moisture pooled there. He felt her lips part…her breathing cease. And he paused…hovered there, his lips not quite touching hers, the suspense and the yearning an ache in his bones and a quivering in his muscles…a prickling behind his eyelids and a tingling in his skin. Breathing her in…lost in the forbidden wonder of it all.

He heard the faint sound she made-a whimper of impatience. And then her head moved in his hands…turned slightly…seeking. Not moving closer, not demanding, simply feeling. Waiting…breathless…the way the world at dawn seems to hold its breath in anticipation of the sunrise.

I can still turn back…I can stop this…now.

But, it seemed, he could no more stop it than he could have stopped the sun from rising.

He moved…or she did…just a little, enough so that their lips touched…breath mingled…and again he froze there, each of his heartbeats a hammer blow. He hadn’t known how painful it would be, this coming back to life after being numb…asleep…dead for so long. The blood running through his veins was like wildfire; there wasn’t any part of him that didn’t feel the burn. The roar of it in his ears drowned thought. All he knew was pain…and a need that was a thousand times greater than pain.

He felt her trembling but couldn’t let himself wonder or care why she did. He knew she could have moved away from him if she’d wanted to. But she seemed as spellbound by what was happening as he.

To test himself-and her-he let his hands fall away from her face, not holding her, still not claiming her mouth, neither moving away from her nor closer, releasing her if that was what she wanted. But she didn’t move, and pausing there with only breath between them, he let his hands come to rest on her shoulders…then move inward to caress her neck before making the return journey, taking the edges of her robe with them.

He didn’t ask, but of her own accord, and moving no other part of her body, she slowly lowered her arms to her sides. Delicately, like someone trying to mold moonlight in his hands, he eased the robe over her shoulders, over rounded flesh the velvety texture of rose petals, and heard the fabric rustle as it fell to the floor. It whispered to him like a blessing.

He didn’t know how long they stood like that, facing each other, eyes closed, lips and bodies scarcely touching, hands down at their sides. Mary’s face was tilted up to his and her hair streamed down her back, and he thought they could almost feel each other’s hearts pounding. And then, like lovers finding one another in the dark, their hands came together…fingers touched…twined…then joyfully clasped. A gasp came from her lips-and at the same instant from his-and at last, at long last, he brought them together, his mouth sinking into the sweet welcome of hers like a lost soul coming home.

The sense of profound relief and pleasure he felt lasted only a second. It hit him like a bomb blast-first the white-hot flash of awareness, the heavy thump of need in the bottom of his belly. Then desire blew through him like a shock-wind.

He felt powerless against it…didn’t know when he let go of her hands. He was aware that they touched him, though only on the edges of consciousness. He had already lost himself in her…the taste of her mouth, the texture of her skin, the sweet moist warmth of her body. It had been so long since he’d held a woman’s body in his arms.

He gathered her in, his hands roaming hungrily, sweeping across the valleys, swells and plains of her body that was at once strange to him, yet seemed achingly familiar. His hands were marauders, roving where they pleased…pillaging her lush curves…taking…wanting more. Wanting his clothes and her nightgown gone, wanting her skin touching his skin and her long sleek body under his and the rich, dark mystery of her female body folding close around him…embracing him…inviting him in. It had been so long since he’d lost himself in a woman’s body.

Thoughtlessly, heedlessly, he gathered the nightgown’s silky fabric in greedy handfuls, gathered it until he’d uncovered what he wanted. He heard her gasp when he cupped her nakedness with his hands, and she clutched at the back of his neck as if the earth had dropped out from under her feet. He took advantage of the moment to plunge his tongue deep into her mouth and felt her fingers tangle in his hair and her soft breasts pillow against his thumping heart.

It shocked him to realize how close he was to taking her then and there, how much he wanted to make love to her in her frilly pink kitchen with sunshine streaming through the windows and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee in the air. Shocked him…but not enough to make him stop.

Stop him? Mary could have, but she was as lost as he.

And then, suddenly, they did stop. Both of them. Stopped, looked down and stared like dazed crash survivors at the moth-eaten yellow-orange tomcat doing drunken figure eights around their ankles.

For a few moments, except for those sinuous movements and the sound of raspy purring, everything seemed to stop. And as shocked as she’d been when Roan kissed her-and she’d kissed him back-for Mary the shock of stopping was a thousand times worse. It had been so long since she’d been kissed. So long since she’d been touched. So long since her body had felt the sting and ache of desire.

She felt her nightgown slither down to cover her naked bottom, a cool, silky caress where a delicious rough warmth had been before. Her fingers cramped and ached when she withdrew them from the crispy softness of his hair…and oh, how hard it was to tear herself away from that warmth…that strength…from his hands, his arms…his chest…his mouth.

It might have been easier if he hadn’t still been holding her, hands firm but gentle on her arms, as if he feared she’d topple over if he let her go. She heard a rumble that must have been an apology. She made similar noises and was careful not to raise her eyes too far. Not far enough to meet his. She couldn’t bear to see what was in those keen blue eyes now. Would it be desire still? Or perhaps only contempt now…or worse, pity?

A moment ago she’d prayed he would go on holding her, touching her, kissing her, forever. Now she prayed for him to let her go-quickly, before he could feel how devastated she was. Before he could know the power he had over her…the power to make her tremble and ache…the power to make her cry. It had been a long time since anyone had held such power over her. She’d forgotten how terrifying it was.

But she couldn’t hide it-the shaking, at least. He must have felt it, because he muttered, “You’re cold,” and bent down and picked up her robe and draped it around her shoulders.

She murmured an acknowledgment…a thank you, and managed to salvage enough pride to pull herself away from him. She felt stiff and awkward as she made herself busy, getting out a can of cat food, opening it, filling Cat’s food dish.

Her face felt hot, and every muscle in it hurt. She wanted, desperately, to crawl into a hole somewhere and cry.

It had been a long time since she’d cried. She hated to cry. Crying was defeat. Crying was giving in, letting the loneliness win.

But you did cry.

Yes, she’d almost forgotten! She’d cried because he’d told her about Joy. The once-loved name blew into her mind like a breeze bearing promises of spring. She dropped the cat-food can in the sink, turned on the water…took a breath, cleared her throat. Miraculously, words came. “You…said you…talked to Joy?”

She heard him take a breath…clear his throat. When it came his voice sounded normal, as if nothing untoward had happened between them. As if he hadn’t just turned her world upside down. “I talked to her husband, Scott. He said to tell you Joy sends her love. I’m supposed to tell you she knows you didn’t do it.”

The tears were rising again. Mary pressed her fingertips to her lips…fought them down. Laughed instead.

His voice came gently from too close behind her. “The two of you were close?”

She nodded, and after a moment said without turning, “I guess Scott told you everything?”

“He told me enough.” She didn’t have to look at him to know his eyes would have that diamond-bright glitter again. His voice told her. “I need to hear the rest from you.”

Mary nodded, sick, aching inside.

“First, though, you better go put on some clothes.” And now a certain gravelly thickness in his voice made her look at him with quickened heartbeat and questions in her eyes, and when she saw the softening, and the off-center tilt to his smile, felt a new tremor begin somewhere deep inside her. “That’s the ugliest damn robe I ever saw,” he growled. “I can’t be held responsible for wanting to tear it off of you again.”

The squeak that flew out of her mouth could have been laughter. Taking no chances, she touched the back of her hand to her nose and fled.

In the quiet and calm of the bathroom she stared at herself in the mirror…and felt herself go cold. Not because she didn’t recognize the face looking back at her. But because she did.

Flushed cheeks…kiss-swollen mouth…eyes bright with laughter and hope…Yancy’s face.

Gripping the edges of the sink so hard her fingers went numb, she watched the color drain from her cheeks and her eyes go gray as rain. “Stupid…” she whispered. “Stupid…stupid.”

Stupid Yancy, who’d spent too many years chasing rainbows and fairy tales…certain happiness lay just beyond the next hill.

Stupid Yancy. Now stupid Mary…doing the very same thing.

A man makes you feel good…makes you feel safe and cared for…and you’re ready to forgive him anything, go anywhere with him, do whatever he tells you. He kisses you…touches your naked body with his strong cowboy’s hands, and you’re already dreaming of happily-ever-after, thinking he holds the sunshine of your life in his smile.

Stupid-this isn’t a fairy tale and he isn’t Prince Charming. He’s the sheriff who arrested you for murder, the one who showed the man who wants to kill you exactly where to look.

Stupid-maybe for you he’s the forbidden garden, but he’s not your happiness…or your future. Maybe you can trust him with your life-yes, okay, that, because he’s a good man and a good sheriff-but for God’s sake don’t be stupid enough to fall in love with him.

While she was in the bathroom, Roan poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it standing at the kitchen sink, while he stared out the window and watched a jay pull nesting materials out of a brush pile in the yard next door. His body felt bruised…hypersensitized. The coffee felt like whiskey going down. It burned his throat and warmed his belly and he shuddered as if he’d just come in from a blizzard half-frozen to death.

It took a few minutes for the warmth and the caffeine to do their thing and his body to settle down and his brain to start hitting on all cylinders again, which was maybe why it took longer than it should have to occur to him how vulnerable the house was. No fences…wide open to the neighbors’ yards on each side and the cover of trees and scrub behind.

A killer wouldn’t even have to break into the house to get at her. All he’d have to do is park himself out there somewhere and shoot her through the window. Any half-competent hitman could do it and be gone before the echoes died…

His body went cold again and the coffee turned bitter in his mouth.

He turned when he heard Mary’s step and watched her come into the kitchen. She’d put on jeans and a long-sleeved pullover with no particular shape to it, with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her hair was twisted up in back of her head in its usual any-old-whichway knot, but there wasn’t a single thing mousy-looking about her now. Even dressed as she was and with her face scrubbed shiny as a child’s and not a smidgen of makeup, she managed to look both elegant and sexy.

He wondered whether it was just him, that he saw her differently now, or if there really was something different in the way she carried herself…the way her head sat on her neck, and the tilt of her chin…

And it hit him then, what the difference was: She wasn’t trying to hide anymore.

She went straight to the coffeepot and poured herself some, careful to avoid looking at Roan, though the image of him was clear as a color photograph in her mind: Long lean body in a casual slouch propped against the sink, ankles crossed, one hand holding a coffee mug and the other thumb hooked in a pocket of his Levi’s…morning sunshine pouring through the window curtain behind him touching his hair and shoulders with a soft pinkish-gold, like a lover’s blush.

Her heart tripped, her insides twittered, and her legs felt as though they might disconnect at the knees. And in spite of all her resolutions and warnings, her mutinous mind sighed, Yes…this…forever this.

She stirred sugar substitute into her coffee, tasted it, and thus fortified, turned to face him. Leaned against the counter as she sipped, and raised defiant eyes to his.

“You okay?” he asked softly. Kindly.

She lifted her eyebrows and replied in a tone of mild surprise, “Of course.” Pretending she wasn’t quivering inside.

“Feel like talking?”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Would it matter if I said no?”

He drank coffee and regarded her steadily across the rim of the cup, eyes slightly narrowed, but in a thoughtful way, not hard. He lowered his cup, paused a moment, then said in the same quiet rumbling voice, “I’ll put it another way. Are you ready to tell me what I’m gonna need to know so I can protect you?”

She made an automatic gesture of protest and managed to choke out, “I don’t need-” before he stopped her with a firm but patient, “Now, that’s just stupid.” As if she were Susie Grace talking nonsense.

Anger stung her, threatening the delicate web of self-control she’d woven around her emotions. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t know if she could talk without feeling it all over again. And she didn’t want to feel any more, not today. Not right now. Not while he was anywhere near her. Because it would be too hard to keep from crawling right back into his arms, where every shred of sense told her she had no business being.

Far too easy to accept the comfort and kindness he offered and pretend it was something more.

But Roan was at the table, pulling a chair out for her, waiting for her. She went reluctantly, set her coffee on the table and let him seat her-and she thought again, as she had when he’d first given her a ride in his car, what irony it was-as if they were on a date, having dinner together.

“Besides which,” he continued as he took the chair opposite her, “it’s just not true. You sure as hell do need protecting. Look at this place. Look at where you work. If somebody wants to get to you, you’d be a sitting duck, and I’m responsible for your safety whether you like it or not. So let’s quit wasting time. I want you to tell me everything you can about how you got into this mess, and maybe we can figure how to get you out.”

Mary studied her hands wrapped around the coffee mug. She nodded, cleared her throat, using all her willpower to put her anger-and all the less definable emotions-on slow simmer. “Where do you want me to start?”

“You told me about your parents…you were a preacher’s kid.”

She had to use both hands to hold her coffee steady as she lifted it to her lips. “And you asked me how I got from there to being a…what was it you called it?” There was a rasp of resentment in her voice she couldn’t hide, and she allowed her mouth to tilt in a sardonic little smile. “A mobster’s…girlfriend? But you leapfrogged right over the part where I ran away to the wicked city at seventeen to be a model.”

“All right, let’s start there.” His eyes were resting on her again, narrowed in appraisal, keen as ever, but once again without that all-seeing cop look she’d come to dread.

Relaxing a little, she stared into her coffee for a moment, then took a deep breath and began. Though not where she’d expected to.

“You’ll probably find this hard to believe, the way I am now,” she said lightly, even laughing, “but when I was a little girl I was in love with pretty clothes. My own were hand-me-downs, ill-fitting, years out of style, and I hated having to wear them when I knew what beautiful clothes could look like. And I did know, because I used to steal catalogs from people’s mailboxes-” she threw him a glance “-probably a felony, I know-and I’d sneak fashion magazines wherever I could find them and look at them at night under my blankets with a flashlight. I had to be careful-my father would have punished me if he’d known.”

“He’d what-make you kneel in the church and pray for your sins?” Roan’s voice was tight.

“Or worse.” She smiled; it was getting easier, she could suppress the memories even while she spoke of them, now. She felt only a faint chill, like a frosty breath on the back of her neck. “But he could have done just about anything to me, it wouldn’t have made any difference. I wanted the world I saw in those magazines, and I was determined to have it.

“Anyway, I was in my last year of high school when I answered this ad-some sort of model search-in a magazine. I nearly died when I was accepted. Then it was completely crazy, trying to keep the secret. I had to ditch school to go have pictures made. Borrow money from classmates to pay for them. But in the end it was worth it, because I was offered a scholarship to a modeling school in New York City-room and board and everything.”

Roan pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” she said flatly, “I was thrilled. Then I had to break the news to my parents.”

“How’d that go?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.

Her hands had gone clammy. She drew them slowly from the tabletop and into her lap, and began to rub them methodically on her thighs. Shielding herself, she said evenly, “I don’t think it matters, does it? It doesn’t have anything to do with what happened after.” She tightened her lips, clamping down on the pain. “Suffice to say, I left home that night and haven’t been back.”

“What’d you use for money?”

She gave a brittle laugh and shifted in her chair. “Oh, well, now that I’m not proud of.”

He put a hand over his eyes. “Lord-don’t tell me-you robbed the church poor box.”

“Something like that, yeah.” She picked up her coffee cup, discovered it was empty and set it down again. “Anyway,” she added, a surge of righteousness bubbling up inside her, “I paid it back-and then some-out of my first modeling check. It’s not one of the things I still lose sleep over, that’s for sure.”

Without comment, Roan got up from the table and went for the coffeepot. He refilled her mug and his and brought her two packets of a sugar substitute and a spoon-a man who was comfortable in the kitchen, she noticed-then sat back down, picked up his coffee and blew on it. “So-you were a success at it? The modeling?”

“Oh, yeah.” She managed a smile, but it slipped awry. “It happened pretty quickly. In fact, after the sheltered life I’d led, everything in the city came at me hard and fast.” She lifted her coffee, frowned at him through the steam and said darkly, “And in case you were thinking about asking, I’m not going to elaborate on that, either. It was a tough time, and it’s got nothing to do with anything now.” She paused, looked down at her coffee cup and blinked. “I’m not sure I’d have survived it, though, if it hadn’t been for…Joy.” She clamped a hand over her mouth as the tears welled.

He didn’t crowd her, she gave him credit for that. Just waited a moment to give her time to regain control, then said quietly, “The two of you were roommates?”

Mary gulped a swallow and nodded. “She advertised, I answered, we hit it off right away. She was…” She paused once more, cleared her throat. “She was the big sister I’d never had. There were times she seemed more like the mother I’d never had.”

“What do you mean by that?” Again, giving her time, she thought. But she’d given up trying to stop the tears.

“Because,” she whispered, blotting them with her fingers, “she loved me. Unconditionally. Nobody had ever given me that-unconditional love. Nobody.” She touched her nose with the back of her hand, then scrubbed angrily at her cheeks. “God knows, my parents never did. I’d had friends, growing up, but I always felt like I had to put up a front for them-be somebody I wasn’t. Same with the people I met, working in the city. But not with Joy. She knew I wasn’t perfect and loved me anyway. She’d have given her life for me-she almost did.”

“Ah,” said Roan. “Tell me about that.”

She gave her head a fierce little shake. “Not yet. That comes later. That was after I met Diego DelRey.”

“So, tell me about that.”

“Uh-uh-that comes later, too. First I have to tell you how I got to there. You have to understand…why.”

“Okay-make me understand.” He said it gently. She was smiling at him now, winsomely through her tears, like a child hoping for a stranger’s approval. And at the same time she seemed calmer…stronger, he thought, as if even the memory, the thought of her friend’s love nurtured her.

“It’s hard to explain,” she said, intently studying her hands and the coffee mug they cradled. “The modeling career was going well, I had the job I’d always wanted, but I wasn’t happy. I found out I really hated modeling, if you want the truth. I always felt like a…a product, rather than a person.

“Anyway, Joy was trying to become a writer, and she got me started writing, too. First it was just a journal-personal stuff. Then, one day during a break on a photo shoot for this huge fashion magazine, I was off in a corner writing in my journal, and one of the photographers saw me and wanted to know what I was writing. I told him it was just stuff about the shoot, and he asked if he could read it. I felt really shy about giving him my personal writings, but he was pretty persuasive. Then, after he’d read some of it, he asked if I’d mind if he showed it to his editor at the magazine. At this point, I figured, how much difference could it make?

“Well…as it turned out, a lot.” She answered her own question with a dazed laugh. “The editor liked my stuff so much she decided to make an article out of it to go with the photo layout-kind of a model’s diary of what a photo shoot was like.” She shrugged…drew a hitching breath.

“That was it-the beginning of Yancy Lavigne, fashion reporter. Again, it came at me faster than I knew how to deal with it. Before I knew it, I’d entered this…this whole new world, filled with beautiful, glamorous, rich, exciting, famous people. I was talking to people whose faces everyone in the world knows-and getting paid for it. Me-poor, homely, awkward Mary Yancy from Nowheresville. It was like some kind of drug, I guess. Intoxicating. And, like drugs do, it really messed up my head. Because the more I was around that world, the more I wanted it for myself-not just to report on, but to belong to.”

She jumped up from the table and paced restlessly to the window, rubbing at her upper arms. Roan shoved back his chair so he could watch her, his belly clenching with the urge to jump up, drag her away from those windows. Using all his self-control to keep his butt in his chair, he told himself to relax. The news just broke a couple of hours ago-if they come for her, it won’t be this morning. Not yet.

Her soft voice drifted back to him; he had to strain to hear it. “I’m not proud of this. But…I knew I’d never be able to enter that world on my own, so I thought-I decided I could marry into it.” She gave her head a little toss that almost…almost made him smile. “I’d never had any trouble attracting men-I just figured I needed to go where I could attract the right kind of man. Someone rich. Maybe even famous.”

“Didn’t you meet enough of that kind on the job?”

She threw him another one of her lopsided little smiles. “Oh, sure, but I was the press, the media. In that world, that’s kind of the equivalent of the hired help-you’re necessary, they treat you with courtesy, maybe even kindness…sometimes even what passes for friendship. But they don’t make you part of the family. Like…they might have an affair, but they don’t marry you.” She didn’t sound bitter about it, just matter-of-fact.

“Anyway, I decided on this resort down in Florida-new, very hip, very posh, a very hot destination for the rich and famous. I saved every penny I could scrape up, then I took a couple of weeks vacation time, and off I went-chasing the rainbow. Or a fairy tale, I guess. You know-Prince Charming.”

She turned and came back to the table. Sat down and faced him again, back straight, no longer smiling, the way she’d faced him in his interrogation room…face pale, eyes cold and bleak. It was hard, seeing her that way. Remembering that evening left him with a sour, heavy feeling in his belly.

“And, I found him,” she said. “At least, I thought I had. Diego DelRey was…everything I’d hoped for…dreamed of. He was handsome and charming, of course-very sweet, really, like a little boy, sometimes. A spoiled little boy. He was incredibly rich-or his family was. They actually owned the resort, and Diego managed it for the family. At the time, that’s all I knew about Diego-that he was from some South American country, well-known and liked in the world of the rich, famous and beautiful people. And very, very rich. That, and the fact that he was crazy in love with me.” She paused to glare at him. “And I don’t care who you are, Sheriff, you don’t need details about that, either.”

“Fine with me,” Roan growled, in complete agreement with her on that point, for reasons that had nothing to do with him being sheriff. He cleared his throat-not that it helped much. “Just one question, though. Were you in love with him?”

She smiled, a little sadly. “I wanted to be. You have no idea how much I wanted to be. At the end of my two weeks, when he begged me to stay, asked me to marry him, I said yes. He gave me a hugely expensive ring, and took me to his family’s estate, on this private island.” Her smile vanished-as suddenly as if she’d put her foot down and discovered the ground wasn’t there. So suddenly, Roan had to fight an urge to reach for her. She gulped coffee. “Then…things changed.”

“Changed? How so?” He leaned forward, focused on her, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. Heart quickening.

She waved a hand…frowned. “Oh…it’s hard to remember now. Hard to put my finger on what it was, at first. The atmosphere just felt…wrong. Diego’s father-they called him Señor-and his uncle…they were nice enough to me, I guess, but for some reason they scared me. Maybe it was their eyes…they seemed so hard. The fact that they never smiled. And there were all these dangerous-looking men around-I know they carried guns, I’d seen them-and everywhere I went, one of them seemed to be right there, watching me. I wasn’t allowed to leave the island unless Diego was with me-I didn’t mind that so much; after all, he was my fiancé, I didn’t have any reason to go places without him. But then…they wouldn’t let me use the phone, not even to call Joy. I didn’t understand that. I knew she’d be worried about me when I didn’t come home after my vacation. She’d even given me a prepaid phone card to use to call her.” A smile flickered. “That was the way she was.

“Anyway, I began to realize I was pretty much a prisoner on that island. Diego tried to tell me it was just temporary, that the family was getting ready to close down the estate and leave for their home country-just for the summer, he said, and so I’d have a chance to meet the rest of his family. He told me we’d be married down there. I told him I wanted Joy to be there-to be my maid of honor. He promised me that once we got to his family home, I could call Joy and have her come for a visit. I really missed her-and that was another thing; there weren’t any other women on the island-except Anita, the housekeeper.” Her throat rippled, and she continued in a whisper, “She was nice to me. I liked her. She-”

“She was the one they killed-the DelReys?”

Mary nodded. She spoke rapidly, trying to get through it. Her voice shook. “And her husband, Eduardo. He took care of the grounds. They-I think they killed them just to cover their tracks. As if they were nothing-loose ends to be tied up, trash to be thrown away. Because the feds were closing in on them and they didn’t want to leave any witnesses behind. Or maybe they thought they knew things. They-” she swallowed again “-the DelReys-they’d rigged the whole island with explosives, probably to take out as many of the federal agents as possible when they came for them.

“I didn’t know any of that at the time, of course, except…I knew Anita and Eduardo were unconscious, because I’d seen them-or maybe they were already dead. Anyway, that was when I understood, finally, who-and what-the DelReys were. All I could think about was how I was going to get away from them. How to keep them from getting suspicious of me. I knew they wouldn’t hesitate to kill me too, no matter how Diego felt about me.”

Her eyes focused on something far away, she picked up her coffee cup and took another thoughtless gulp. He could hear her swallow. “That evening a helicopter came for us-all of us. We were flying away in it when the house blew up-the whole island was exploding. It looked like a movie. Señor DelRey said the feds were responsible for it. Meanwhile, I was trying to act like I was so crazy in love with Diego I didn’t care about anything else. Flying away in that helicopter…watching the fire, and the explosions…knowing Anita and Eduardo were down there-” Her voice rose to a squeak. “I didn’t know Joy was there, too-on the island. She’d come looking for me. She was there-she almost got killed-because of me.”

“Easy…” Roan gave up fighting it and reached for her hand.