you the hero,” she muttered, turning her back on him and pulling out her cell phone.
“What’re you doing?”
What did he think she was doing?
“I’m calling the police,” she said, shooting a defiant look over her shoulder before pressing the keys. One. One. One.
Before she hit the seven, a hand reached over her shoulder to take the phone.
“You sure you want to call the cops?” he asked, his voice a slow rumble vibrating against her back. Irritation made it easy to ignore the sensations coiling in her belly, but Lila figured it was smarter to step away regardless. No point in letting her body get stupid ideas.
“Look, buddy,” she snapped, turning to face him rather than leave all that temptation hulking at her back. Mistake, she realized as soon as she stared up into his dark eyes. Big mistake. But she was good at ignoring mistakes, she reminded herself before taking a deep breath.
“I don’t know how things are handled in your world. But in mine, murder means we call the cops. So get out of my way and let me do that, then you can get back to your beer and your beach and whatever the hell else actually matters to you.”
Lila wished that her voice wasn’t shaking almost as hard as her hands, but a person could only take so much.
“You need to calm down,” the man said, obviously impervious to her nasty tone and cutting words.
“You don’t believe me?” she accused, slapping her hand on his bare chest to keep him from walking away. “Why? Why would I make something like that up?”
His eyes locked on hers for a long heartbeat, then dropped to her hand. Her fingers tingling, Lila dropped it to her side. His gaze met hers again and he shrugged. A slow shrug that was just as indifferent as the rest of his attitude.
Years of being ignored, of having her simplest wants and needs and thoughts dismissed as inconsequential exploded in Lila’s head.
She used both hands this time, not to stop him from walking away, but to shove him back a step. Ignoring the look of amused surprise on his face, she gave him another shove. There was something about having a man’s full attention that filled her with a feeling she barely recognized as power.
God, it felt good.
“Call the damned police. Call them now,” she ordered, her voice vibrating with fury. “They’ll figure out what happened. They’ll find Rodriguez.”
“You’re sure?”
She slapped her cell phone against his chest.
Ignoring it, he gave her one last, long look, then stepped over to grab the receiver of an ancient rotary dial phone and made the call.
He spoke Spanish in the local dialect, his words flowing too fast for her to make out more than every third. Her eyes widened when she realized he was actually talking to the chief of police.
“Sí. Rodriguez,” he confirmed. “Casa de Rico.”
Lila held her breath, waiting for the rest of the conversation, but the only thing she heard from then on was grunts on her pseudo rescuer’s part until he said goodbye.
“They’ll meet us there.”
“Someone else probably called it in by now,” she mused, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she thought it through. “There’s no way nobody noticed the chef on duty missing and didn’t go looking for him.”
“No calls from that location or in the vicinity.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked.”
Oh.
“Let’s go then,” she said, heading for the door. “We want to be there when they get there.”
“Give me a minute.”
A part of her wanted to unleash that fury again, to yell and demand and see him respond. But he was already doing what she wanted, she realized. So letting loose her anger wouldn’t be a show of power. It’d just be showing her bitch face.
So Lila stayed silent while he stepped out of the room.
She glanced out the window, noting that the baby must have fallen asleep because the swaying woman was indoors now. The forest was a tangle of shadows in the dark, but she could still make out the path to the beach. She squinted, wondering if she could see the ocean from here. Maybe in the daytime.
But she could see well enough that she’d notice anyone coming their way. Cops. Killers. She stared until her eyes watered, but nothing moved.
She was so focused on watching out the window that she almost screamed at the sound behind her.
It was the beach bum, still shirtless but wearing jeans and heavy black boots instead of cutoffs and bare feet. He strode over to a drawer and pulled out a gun. A black, lethal looking weapon that had her breath knotted in her throat so tight she could barely breathe. He pulled out the magazine, checked it, then shoved it back in place before tucking the weapon into the back waistband of his jeans. He snagged a T-shirt off a pile on the chair. Pulling it over his head, he strode to the door and threw it open.
Without a word about the gun.
Why that should make her nervous after everything else that’d happened, she couldn’t say.
“I’ll walk you back to your hotel.”
“I’m going to the restaurant,” she snapped. “You remember, the scene of the crime.”
“Of course you are.” He gestured toward the open door. “After you.”
“Do you have to be such a jerk?” she asked as they headed through the tree-covered path.
“Do you have to be such a drama queen?”
“When I see a man murdered right in front of me, yes. I think I’m entitled to wear the drama crown.”
His lips twitched.
“Yeah, I suppose you are. If you did.”
It took her a couple of seconds to puzzle that out.
“You honestly don’t believe me? Why would I lie? What purpose is there in making something like that up?”
It wasn’t until he’d joined her on the path, his steps just a little hesitant, his gait just a little off, that Lila realized she’d thrown herself into his arms, gone with him into a strange place, leaned on him for emotional support and was dragging him back to a murder scene.
And she didn’t even know his name.
* * *
“Who are you?”
What difference did it make? When Travis shot the blonde a questioning
