Dancing in a Hurricane (50 page)

"No, not at all."

As he opened her car door, he said, "I've been lonely since Cloe's gone."

She gave him a quick, half-hug. "Thanks for your help. And have fun." She slid into her car and drove off. In her rearview mirror, she glimpsed him walking to the club's front door. Why did nice guys end up lonely?

She looked at herself in the mirror. Why did good girls end up with lying rats? Turning toward home, she cleared her mind of any emotion and planned her confrontation with Sixto.

***

Sixto heard her car pull into the garage. Jesus, what was going on with her? Hot and sexy yesterday in her dancing shoes, cold and frigid for 24 hours, then out to dinner with—who? And dressed like it was a formal date.

She walked in the door and took off her shoes, looking at him as she bent over to pick them up. "Hello."

"Hi." He set down his guitar. "Got a minute?"

"Of course." She dropped her shoes, walked to the opposite couch, and plopped down, her purse next to her.

"Did you have a nice evening?"

"Mm hm. I met a co-worker of Cloe's."

Surprising, but perhaps after reading the letters, she wanted to know more about her sister. "Anything interesting?"

"Yes. You won't believe this." Reaching in her purse, she pulled out a little black book. "They were disassembling Cloe's desk and found this taped to the back of one of the drawers…" She held up the book.

Holy shit. That had to be it—where Cloe kept everything about the club. He released the breath he held.
Act calm and politely interested. Not freaked out and spinning into alarm mode. Another breath, more calm.

She stared at him, he remained silent for too long and the void grew uncomfortable.

"You gonna tell me what's in there?" he asked.

She nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on him. "It's got her computer password and a list of file names."

He curbed the urge to leap up and grab the book out of her hand. "What's her password?"

She opened the cover, her brow wrinkling. "Club Quay? Q-U-A-Y." She shrugged. "Whatever that is." She flipped the page. "And the files are listed as CQ Business Plan.docx, CQ Employee List.xlsx, CQ Employment Contracts.pdf." She closed the book. "There must be dozens of files on her computer about this Club Quay." Her gaze locked with his. "What do you think it is?"

"Huh. Could be anything." Wrong answer. Now was the time to tell her. It would be the perfect segue, he could try, "Oh, wait, did you say, Club
Quay
? You know, I do remember something…" But he kept silent.

She snapped the book shut and leaned forward on the couch. Her eyes searched his. "Sixto. This is important."

His mind fumbled and out of his mouth shot, "What do you want me to say?"

She looked down as her body seemed to shrink. Picking up her purse, she walked away. "Well, I'm not going to log on tonight. I'm exhausted. Goodnight." She turned and glanced at him, went into her bedroom, and closed her door. He heard the distinctive snick of the lock turning.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the couch. Damn it. What was he afraid of? He stood and walked toward her door. He'd knock, ask her to listen while he explained the whole thing, let her know how difficult it was for him to keep this information from her.

He stopped. First, he'd like to see what Cloe had on her computer. Turning a one-eighty, he vowed to tell Bree first thing in the morning. Ask her forgiveness, plead if necessary.

Two hours later, he walked quietly to Cloe's office door. Opening it slowly, he stepped inside and closed the window blinds. He snapped on the small desk light, pressed the power button on the computer, and waited for it to boot up. The night Bree moved in, he'd tried dozens of passwords and he definitely typed a few forms of Club Quay.

The login screen appeared. He typed "Club Quay."

Access Denied.

He hit the caps lock key and tried again, but no access. "Damn."

"Try 'lying bastard'." Bree's voice came from the corner of the room.

His heart stopped for a second and then beat twice as fast as adrenaline poured through him. He was caught. Reaching back, he turned on the overhead light.

Wearing black, she sat in a chair hidden behind the file cabinet. She stood. "No excuses, Sixto?"

He threw his hands up in defeat. "No. You're right, I'm a lying bastard."

Her face pinched.

The pain he caused her nearly killed him.

"But why?" she cried.

"I knew you'd shut down the club. I needed the income and I thought I could hide it from you. Then when I fell for you—"

"Stop." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You can tell the truth now, Sixto. You never really loved me."

He stood. "Bree, no—"

"That was the plan, wasn't it? Distract her, keep her busy falling in love, falling into bed and she'll never notice that she owns an illicit business."

He shook his head. God, what had he done? "Believe me when I say I truly love you."

She looked at him like he was shit. She spun and opened the door to her bathroom.

"Bree, listen to me. Please."

She paused and turned her face halfway toward him.

Her body language was too cool, too in control. She'd lost touch with her emotions and was running on shock.

"When I fell for you…" he said. "I was afraid that if I told you about the club, you'd leave me."

She looked at him, her eyes lifeless. "I know about the club. And I
am
leaving you." She walked through the doorway into her bathroom.

Leaving you
. The words echoed through his brain like a bad commercial jingle. He couldn't let her go. How would he make this right?

He followed through her bathroom into her bedroom. Her suitcase sat on the bed, full. He looked around the room. Her photos were missing, her closet empty except for boxes on the floor with her Port Angeles address written on them. She stuffed a few more shirts into the suitcase.

"I have a flight tomorrow at two."

"Bree—" His gut wrenched. He couldn't lose her.

"Miami…" She slashed air with her hand. "Is not the right place for me. I'm a small town girl. "

He could grab her, hold her until he could make her see reason. But he forced himself to stand still. "That's not true—"

"Yes," she shouted then breathed to calm down. "I'm lost here. I've lost myself, my dreams. I'm taking money from a business I know nothing about and I've been lulled into going along with it, no questions asked." She pointed to her chest. "That's not me!"

"Listen, please." He had only one hope left.

She stopped with her hands in the suitcase, staring blankly at her clothes. "Say what you have to say. Then get out."

***

Marisa sat on the couch at Rico's condo watching late night television. She'd slept all day and all the day before and now had enough energy to run a mini marathon. Rico had been feeding her excellent Cuban food from his restaurant. Taking another bite of the leftovers, she moaned. It'd been years since anything tasted this good.

Rico quietly came into the condo, closing the door behind him. He turned and saw her. "What are you doing up?"

She smiled, looking pointedly at the bag of food in his hand. "Hungry. What did you bring me?"

He set the bag on the coffee table and sat next to her. "
Un todo al poco
."

"A little of everything? Thank you." She kissed him, pulled him closer when he drew away, grabbed his hand, and put it on her breast.

"Riss, are you feeling better?" His eyes filled with passion.

"I am." She leaned back. "But first let me see what's in the bag." She looked in, saw plastic containers, and on the top sat a slip of paper. As she pulled it out, she asked, "Are you making me pay for the food now?"

"It's the FedEx receipt."

She checked it. Next Day Air, before 10 a.m. To Victor at his office in Orlando.

He put his arm around her shoulders. "What did you send him?"

She shook her head. The content of the packet was her secret to keep. She sent Victor the paid invoice from the abortion clinic for her D&C. "Something to insure he'll never bother me again." She tucked into Rico's side.

"The article?"

"Nope. But I wish there was some way for me to warn other women about him."

"Talk to your parents. I bet they can syndicate it."

"That's a great idea." She rubbed her hand on his stomach. "You're so smart."

"Smart enough to never let you go again."

"I love you, Rico."

"
Querida
. Let's go to bed."

"Damn it!" She sat up. The clinic gave her a pack of antibiotics and told her to finish taking them before she had intercourse. She'd forgotten about them. She picked up her purse and dug through it.

"Fine," Rico snarled. "We don't have to go to bed."

"No,
querido
," she laughed. "I think Bree has my antibiotics in her purse. I remember taking one at the clinic then sticking the rest of them in there." She turned to him. "Would you run over in the morning and pick them up?"

"Sure." He sat forward, flicked the restaurant bag. "Are you going to eat anything?"

She licked her lips, looking down at his jeans. "Anything special you'd like me to eat?"

***

Bree stared at her hands as they compressed her shirts to fit into her suitcase. Why was she packing? Oh, right, Sixto lied to her, used her, and she was leaving him. She should sit down. The trauma of the last few hours made her dizzy.

Sixto stood on the other side of the bed. What was he waiting for?

"I've wanted to tell you about the club for months, Bree. But I made the mistake of keeping it from you. When you came home last night with Cloe's address book, I should have told you, but I panicked. I almost told you, but curiosity got in the way. I wanted to see what she had on her computer."

Bree stared at him, her breathing shallow. "Is that all?"

"No, that's not all." His hands fisted. "You're not hearing me. I wanted to tell you last night. I promised myself I would tell you in the morning."

She shrugged her eyebrows, pursed her lips. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Bree. Look at me." His eyes were intense. "I swear I was going to tell you in the morning. On my Abuelita Ximena's grave, I swear."

She blinked, drew in a breath. "Sixto, no. Not your
abuelita.
" How could he… Her knees wobbled and she sat on the bed.

"Yes. I swear, Bree." He moved around to her side of the bed and knelt at her feet. "You have to believe me."

She doubted his integrity, doubted his love for her, but she could never doubt his love for his family. The cold anger at his betrayal thawed a degree.

"Trust that I love you and that I did not keep this from you to hurt you, but because I am only a man who makes mistakes."

She rubbed her stiff pinkie finger. Too many facts flashed in and out of her brain. He admitted to making a mistake. He would have told her in the morning. He was afraid to tell her—because he didn't want to lose her.

Looking at the sincerity in his eyes, she wanted to believe him. "I don't understand why you need so much money. You work two jobs already. Are your school expenses that high?"

His lips thinned and he stood. "My parents are proud people." He walked to the patio doors. "They would not like to know that I've told you this."

Bree stared, worst case scenarios running through her mind: illness, gambling, drug addiction.

He turned toward her, dropping his arms to his sides. "They nearly lost their business a while back. I had money from the sale of the house Cloe and I flipped. I've been helping them and paying for…" He looked away.

"Sixto." She stood. "I need the entire truth."

He met her stare. "I've been paying for three of my sisters' school loans, too. They secured them with loans on my parents' house."

She nodded, believing him without any doubts. She'd love to commend him on the way he took responsibility for his family, but he'd still lied to her. That was not something she could easily forget.

"Bree, I'm sorry—"

She shook her head. "I have to think. Would you give me some time?"

"All the time you need. I'll be in my room. Waiting for you." He walked out, shutting her door behind him.

Flopping back on the bed, she closed her eyes and meditated, looking for insight.

Six hours later, she woke with the sun reflecting off the pool into her patio door. Insight was not forthcoming. What was she going to do?

Running over every scenario she could imagine, she changed into a sweater and jeans and brushed her hair and teeth. In the bathroom mirror, she saw a stranger. A woman without direction. She snapped off the light and left her bedroom to face Sixto.

She needed to see him, to talk to him. To judge the wisdom of staying with him against the prudence of saving her heart and running away. Prudence—her Aunt Prudence. She hadn't had the dream since she moved here. Maybe it was fate's way of telling her she did belong in Miami.