for that, I want an apology before you drop your butt back in that hammock.”
Travis shot her an impressed glance. The woman must be better versed in Smart-Ass than the last admiral he’d answered to.
“Or?”
She stopped on the path that led from the beach to the restaurant and gave him a long study. Then her smile flashed, sassy and challenging.
“Or I’ll keep bugging you until you do.”
Damned effective threat, he silently acknowledged as she continued with surer steps toward the boardwalk, then up toward the side door of the bar.
Smarter than the front entrance, he supposed. The fewer people who saw her, the less flak she’d get later. He knew enough about the local policía to know they weren’t going to be too thrilled at being hauled out of their comfy chairs on a bogus call.
“Get your apology ready,” she said, giving him a snotty look over her shoulder as she grabbed the doorknob. Travis didn’t bother to tell her to forget about it. The doors around here automatically locked on both sides.
She gave it a twist and tugged it open just an inch.
“Quiet,” she whispered. “They might still be in there.”
Huh. Travis frowned at the door, then touched the Glock nestled at the small of his back. He silently followed her inside, first looking toward the door to the kitchen, then toward the office.
“The door wasn’t closed before. And the body? It was lying there in the doorway. Where is it?” she asked, her words so quiet they barely floated on the air. Her gaze slid to his just long enough for him to see the sick dance of nerves in her eyes, then with a sharp breath, she started for the office.
He liked the way she didn’t back down, despite her fear. But Travis still laid his hand on her arm, halting her steps. He drew in a long breath through his nose, noting the faint scent of solvent.
“Wait.”
She stopped and bit her lip, looking at the door, then back at him, then at the door again.
Nobody stormed out with guns blazing, but Travis still had a nasty tingle dancing down his spine.
He didn’t know if they really were standing in a murder scene or not. But his senses told him that something definitely wasn’t right here.
Maybe she felt it, too. Or maybe she simply realized that safer was smarter. But Lila gave him another considering look, then took two steps back and to the side to place his body between her and the door.
“Why aren’t the police here yet?” she whispered.
“They probably don’t see this as a priority.” He didn’t bother to keep his voice down.
“Murder isn’t a priority?”
“We take murder quite seriously, senorita.”
As one, Travis and Lila looked back. A short man stood—posed, was more like it—in the doorway to the kitchen, giving them both enough time to take in his leather pants, waxed mustache and slicked-back hair. Standing behind him was a man so nondescript, Travis was surprised he didn’t simply fade into the background. A handy skill for a cop, he supposed.
Lila gave a relieved sigh, but Travis didn’t figure it was either cop’s looks that had her tension lowering even as his rose. It was more likely the shiny silver badge hanging from the waistband of the man in the lead. The shorter man murmured something they couldn’t hear, but whatever it was sent the other scurrying away.
“Montoya.” Travis grimaced when it was just the three of them.
For a brief second, he considered shifting positions with Lila. The fact they stood at an alleged murder scene where possible killers had been carried less potential threat than the man walking toward them.
“Senor Hawkins. Why would you be involved in this, might I ask?”
“I asked him to come with me,” Lila said, walking forward with her hand outstretched. “I’m Lila Adrian, and I witnessed a murder.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Dismissing her in a single glance, Montoya studied Travis out of dark, beady eyes. “And you, Senor Hawkins? Did you witness this, as well?”
Travis debated. He’d had run-ins with Montoya before. The man had a serious hate-on for members of the US military, considered them all cocky hotshots who should stay in their own country and off his beach. Still, the whole helping a damsel in distress thing was simple enough. But he suspected that the minute he said he hadn’t seen jack, Montoya would toss him out the door, intimidate Lila into recanting anything that’d disturb his comfy existence and maybe grab a drink before heading back to his carefully structured office.
Then Travis could head back to his own carefully unstructured hammock and comfy nonexistence. Which was, after all, priority number one.
He glanced at Lila, noting the way her brow furrowed and the frustration in her eyes at Montoya’s dismissal. He could practically see the smart-ass remarks balanced on the tip of her tongue; she was just waiting for a chance to jump in Montoya’s face. Which was all the excuse he’d need to toss her in a cell and make his point to the town council about the trouble with tourists.
Travis sighed. Looked like his hammock was going to have to wait.
“I’m here with the lady,” he told Montoya. “You want the details of what happened, ask her. She can fill you in.”
* * *
Okay...
Lila’s stomach clenched. Her nerves, already frayed near to breaking with the events of the evening, jangled dangerously. She didn’t know what had caused the tension between the cop and the beach bum, but it felt significant. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
Lila looked from one man to the other and back again. She couldn’t read either’s expression, but there was enough malice in their words to make her throat dry.
“Senorita?” After a long stare at her companion, the policeman gave her a questioning look. “Why do you claim to have seen a murder?”
“What?” Why? Claim?
Nerves forgotten, Lila scowled. Her fists clenched at her sides. Before she could snap at him to kiss her butt, the beach bum—Hawkins, she had to remember his name was Hawkins—touched her. Just a single finger to the small of her back for barely a second. But it was enough to warn her to reel it in.
So she gritted her teeth and tried to do that.
“Earlier this evening, I saw a man killed in the doorway. That doorway.” She pointed her still clenched fist toward the office. “Someone shot Chef Rodriguez.”
“How do you know Chef Rodriguez?”
“What difference does that make? I saw him fall to the floor covered in blood, right there in that doorway.”
The policeman held her gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before
