LIKE NO ONE ELSE
Tommie continued up the stairs. Just as she reached the landing, the lights blinked again. Ignoring a frisson of unease, she slipped her key out of the pocket of her chiffon skirt and reached for the door. She inserted the key in the lock, then froze.
The door was already unlocked.
A shudder ran through her, a chilly finger from her nape to the base of her spine.
Had she forgotten to lock the door when she left that morning?
Or had an intruder been inside her loft?
Tommie’s mouth went dry. She stepped away from the door, her heart thudding against her sternum.
Calm down. There’s a perfectly rational explanation for this. You had a lot on your mind this morning. You could have easily forgotten to lock the door on your way out. Or maybe Mrs. Calhoun forgot to do it when she took the peach cobbler up to the loft for you this afternoon. She’s sixty-five years old. Maybe her memory is failing her.
Yes, that was it, Tommie decided. Mrs. Calhoun, bless her dear heart, had forgotten to lock the door earlier. No harm, no foul.
But as Tommie stared at the closed door, she felt a whisper of foreboding. As if an evil presence awaited her on the other side.
Like No One Else
MAUREEN SMITH
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
To every reader who believed Tommie and Paulo
deserved a chance at redemption.
Acknowledgments
My thanks and heartfelt gratitude to Michael Lopez, Amanda Orozco, and Greta Huddleston, who graciously provided the Spanish translations for this book—no matter how weird the request. Muchas gracias!
To my sister and eternal sounding board, Sylvia Hightower, for answering my questions about Houston and lending your medical expertise regarding complications from gunshot wounds. It really pays to have so many registered nurses in the family!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 1
Monday, November 9
Houston, Texas
Fifteen young girls clad in pink leotards and matching tights formed a line at the wooden barre backed by a long wall of mirrors. The dancers’ faces were a study of concentration as their ballet instructor walked the length of the studio floor, inspecting postures and manually correcting positions. Her rare nods of approval elicited smiles from the lucky recipients—smiles that evaporated the moment another rapid-fire command was issued.
“Adagio, ladies! Release on one, demi-plié on two, pas de bourrée on three, close on four!”
Dressed in a black leotard, a sheer black skirt, and black leggings, with her long dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, Tommie Purnell watched as her students executed the steps with fluid, graceful movements.
“Good,” she called above the music flowing from a baby grand piano tucked into a corner of the room. The pianist, a stout, elderly black woman with skin the color of almonds and a tight cap of gray curls covering her head, had been hired shortly after Tommie opened her dance studio six months ago.
“And now for the petit allégro combination,” Tommie announced, facing the class as she prepared to demonstrate. “Stand in first position, demi-plié, straighten the knees—” She broke off suddenly, her gaze snared by a darkly handsome Hispanic man who had appeared in the open doorway of the studio. A battered leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders, and black jeans hung low on lean, narrow hips. Dark, penetrating eyes met and held Tommie’s in the mirror.
Her pulse thudded.
Abruptly the music stopped, and in the ensuing silence, one last dissonant chord rang out.
Tommie spun around in her pointe shoes to face the newcomer. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Paulo Sanchez inclined his dark head. “Hello to you, too, Miss Purnell.” Even from across the room, his deep voice made Tommie’s stomach clench, a familiar reaction she didn’t care to explore.
Seized by a sudden, terrible fear, she stared at him. “Is it my sister? Or Marcos? Did something hap—”
“Francesca and your nephew are fine,” Paulo assured her. “And so are your parents and Sebastien.”
Tommie inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t think she could handle another crisis, not after everything she and her family had already been through. Besides, she’d had no reason to panic. If there had been a family emergency, someone would have called her immediately, black sheep or not.
Belatedly she remembered her students poised at the barre. They were staring at Paulo, undoubtedly struck by the incongruity of the good-looking, dangerous-edged man who seemed as out of place in that bastion of femininity as a Spanish conquistador at a tea party.
Tommie glanced at her watch and saw that the hour was up. After she issued a stern reminder to her class to practice what they had learned
