Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology (63 page)

H
ayley rolled
her suitcase across the charming boardwalk that led to the steps of the Victorian three-story house. It was beyond gorgeous. Its candy-esque pink exterior was laced with white trim and shutters. The huge wraparound porch hugged the building like a pretty white scarf. She saw the wooden rocking chairs, just as she’d always imagined—and between them a matched table large enough for a lemonade pitcher, two frosty glasses, and a plate of shortbread cookies.

It was as if the creator of this property had taken her vision of the perfect house right out of her mind. She picked up the rollaway and walked up the steps to the porch. At the top, she turned, watching the dinghy that had transported her to the tiny island off the California coast row out to the yacht.

So. This was her brother’s idea of safety.

Just until the trial, Hayley. Please.

Hayley sucked in a few more relaxing breaths, then picked up her suitcase and entered the house turned beach resort. To her right was a lovely spiral staircase, in front of her, a long hallway, and to the left, a small check-in counter. Her gaze continued left, and she spotted a nook with three oblong stained glass windows. She noted the two pear-green loveseats facing each other and the oblong cherry wood table between them. That seating area offered the only furniture—or any other objects—in the lobby. It was sparse, clean, and smelled strongly of lemon with teasing hints of cinnamon. She instantly loved the cozy feel.

This place reminded her of Logan. Her heart turned over in her chest. They had been searching for a Victorian home to renovate. She’d loved him deeply. She’d believed he’d had working class roots, the same as her, but no, he’d kept secrets. Big secrets. Like who his family was and that he wasn’t exactly unattached. Six months later, she missed him still. But she’d made her choice.

And he hadn’t come after her, had he?

That’s not fair.
Just a week after they’d broken up, she’d witnessed Maria’s murder and had gone into protective custody. Every day since had been nothing but fear and chaos. And she was no closer to getting her life back. It would have been impossible for Logan to find her even if he’d wanted to track her down.

The woman behind the check-in counter waited for her. Her bright-white smile was cheerful and reached her twinkling brown eyes. Her short black hair framed an apple-cheeked face with a brownie-dark complexion. Her pink tank top and tan shorts showed off a muscled, trim body. Wow. She looked like a competitor from
American Gladiator
s.

“Welcome, Hayley,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you. I’m Claire.”

“Hi, Claire.” Hayley approached the counter and once again dropped her suitcase. “It’s so quiet here. And beautiful.”

“Just what a soul needs, isn’t it?” The woman held out an oversized gold key. “We put you in our biggest room. You’re our only guest, so you’ll have privacy. Don’t you worry. We’ll take care of you.”

“Thank you.” Hayley took the key and reached down to grab her suitcase, but Claire waved her off. “Leave your bag. We’ll take it up.” Claire made shooing motions. “Go on up. Enjoy the refreshments and the view.”

Hayley climbed the three flights of stairs, and used the old-fashioned key to open the door. Wow. Her “room” encompassed the entire third floor. Hayley closed the door behind her and wandered around the simple, yet lovely suite.

To the left, there was a teeny kitchenette with a mini-fridge, microwave, and coffee pot. Next to the single counter was the dining area. A small round table and two chairs sat on top of a yellow rag carpet. On the table, cheese, crackers, and fruit were arranged on a plain white plate. A bottle of merlot chilled in a bucket, or she could choose the tea service for one that included packets of peach-flavored black tea. On the other side of the kitchen was the bathroom. She glanced inside, delighted to discover a glass stand-up shower and a huge jetted tub. A long marble counter held two sinks and a basketful of complimentary lotions, shampoos, and conditioners. She was surprised to see the items included her favorite brands and scents.

She turned and wandered to the right, pausing to take it all in. The large sitting area had a couch, two wingbacks—sky-blue in color—and the same kind of oblong table she’d noticed in the lobby. Two yellow throws draped the couch, which faced two huge French doors that opened onto a deck. She crossed to the windows, peered outside, and smiled. The deck overlooked the quiet, surging ocean. In its rectangular space, she saw a comfy chaise lounge and a single table perfect for a glass of wine and a book.

Sighing in contentment, she moved from the windows and looked at the one section of the room she’d saved for last. The distressed pale yellow dresser sat in its own nook. On the far wall, huge bookshelves stuffed with books marched nearly the entire length. Her gaze bounced to the nightstand that matched the color and design of the dresser. On it sat a slender lamp shaped like an opening flower.

Finally, Hayley allowed her gaze to rest on the four-poster bed. It was made from deep, rich wood, the same color and texture as the coffee table. Gauzy butter yellow curtains drifted from the ceiling and surrounded the bed—a blushing bride hiding behind her veil. The material offered thin protection from prying eyes. Hayley inhaled a deep breath, dipped inside, and found herself in a plush heaven of thick comforters, endless pillows, and the promise of sleep most divine.

Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour. She realized she felt more at peace in this bed, at this resort, on this island than she’d felt in a very long time. Giddy with the prospect of napping, she scooted off, got rid of all her clothes, cracked open the French doors, and then jumped back on the soft bedding, rolling on it and, God help her, giggling.

Soon, she lay on her bed, luxuriating in the warm breeze blowing in through the open windows.

Safe.

Her eyes drifted shut.

She relaxed deeply into the thick comforter, breathed deeply, and fell asleep.

* * *

W
hen Hayley awoke
, she raised her arms above her head and stretched, feeling refreshed and light-hearted. At some point, she had snuggled under the top comforter; she felt warm in the cocoon of covers. The afternoon had given way to deep evening. She sat up in bed. A cool breeze fluttered the curtains as it breezed inside and it seemed to swirl around her.

She felt as though she’d been transported into a surreal dream. Even before the murder, when nightmares had not been her sleep companions, she had never rested so well. Her joy faded. Here she was, alive and unharmed. Would guilt always have its sharp claws embedded in her conscience?

Shaking off her thoughts and the thick blanket, she slid out of bed, her gaze landing on a pair of white cotton slippers. Were those there before she took the nap? She glanced at the end of the bed and saw a matching robe. She should have been scared, after all, someone had entered her room while she was sleeping, but along with the slippers, candles had been distributed throughout the room and on the deck. They were all lit and cast a lovely, romantic glow.

She slipped on the shoes and the robe and walked to the tiny dining room table. The munchies she’d seen earlier had been exchanged. A bottle of Pinot Grigio chilled in a bucket of fresh ice. A round loaf of bread sat on an oversized white ceramic plate and next to it, on a yellow napkin, was a spoon. She lifted off the top piece of sourdough and grinned. A thick, hearty beef stew waited inside, its fragrant smell promising beef, carrots, onions, potatoes, and spices. For dessert, she’d been given strawberries with a dish of whipped cream. As she gazed at the simple feast, her stomach rumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

She found it hard to believe her brother had arranged all this opulence. It had to be an apology on his part for making her live in a dive for half a year. But how in the world had he managed to get the FBI to pay for her star treatment?

“This is heaven,” she murmured, sitting down. She poured a glass of wine, and ate, savoring the flavorful stew and nibbling around the edges of the “bowl.”

After she had finished, she refilled her wine glass and carried it and the strawberries and cream out to the deck. Candles had been lit along the rail, too, with a single tealight on the small table. She put down the plate of dessert and meandered to the rail. Hayley watched the waves roll in, listening to the water rush the sand and then the sucking sound of it receding. The moon was just a sliver of pale light, and the stars looked liked diamonds embedded in black velvet. The sky looked like the ultimate jewelry store. Her gaze drifted along the beach. She spotted a man standing at the edge of the surf, and her body went rigid with alert as she squinted for a better look at him. He wore a tank top and shorts. The wind toyed with his shaggy blond hair. Blond hair meant he wasn’t Santos, but it didn’t mean he didn’t work for him. The man turned and looked her way. Hayley resisted the urge to duck under the deck rail. She couldn’t make out his features, but saw the flash of his smile. He lifted a hand, waving.

She waved back.

Who was he? She was the only guest so he must be the bellboy, or maybe the caretaker. Something about his stance looked familiar but before she could discern what, the man turned and walked toward the hotel.

Logic told her that he was probably harmless. For heaven’s sake, how would Santos figure out where this island was—when she didn’t even know.

With the beach empty again, she returned to gazing at the dark water. The ocean was between her and California, and so it felt like the danger was far, far away. But so was Ben. Her brother had been her anchor. She knew if it were possible for him to get inside her head and help her carry the burden, he’d do it.

Hayley put her glass of wine on the table then went to the kitchen where she’d dropped her purse onto the counter. She noticed her suitcase had been delivered and stood near the door. She opened her purse and pulled out the cell phone. She had one text message:

Glad you made it. Everything will be okay.

She didn’t recognize the number, but she knew the message came from Ben. After all, no one else knew her location. She’d left her job, her friends, and her life. Walked away from all of it to ensure that Maria would get justice—and Rodrigo Santiago got put into prison where he belonged.

In the weeks after the murder, she’d been a ghost. She hadn’t been able to erase the image of Rodrigo entering the bedroom, lifting the gun, and pulling the trigger.

The utter coldness of the act staggered her.

Breathe, Hayley.

She walked out to the deck, kicked off the slippers, and stretched out on the chaise. The breeze wafted over the deck, and she watched the tiny flames of the candles flicker and dance. She loosened the belt of her robe and allowed it to fall open. She enjoyed the way her skin prickled at its gentle assault. She settled deeper into the chaise and closed her eyes, enjoying the little gusts assailing her flesh.

After a while, she returned to the bed and snuggled under the covers. As she drifted into sleep, she repeated her new mantra.

Everything will be okay.

“
H
ave you found Hayley Nelson
?” Rodrigo Santos stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his luxurious office and stared at the concrete and steel landscape of Los Angeles.

“No, sir.”

“That’s disappointing.” He turned and glared at the young man with the sharp haircut and the bad news. “I hate loose ends.”

The underling—Tom or Tim or something—swallowed hard. Rodrigo smiled at the flash of fear that crossed the boy’s face. He should be scared. He knew Rodrigo could snap his fingers and make his sorry ass disappear.

“Go away.”

“Yes, sir.” The idiot practically ran to the double doors. He’d probably peed himself, too.

He went to his phone and pressed the speaker button. “Genevieve, call Mr. Riley and issue an invitation for lunch.”

“Right away, Mr. Santos.”

“Oh, and the young man who left my office?”

“Timothy Jones, sir.”

“Fire him.”

Rodrigo strode to his wet bar and poured himself two fingers of scotch. This entire situation was an annoyance. If he’d known Hayley Nelson had stashed herself in the walk-in closet, he could’ve taken care of her, too. Unfortunately, she had the kind of reputation that would make her a believable witness. She was a devoted social worker who helped the poor, the indigent. She volunteered at soup kitchens and homeless shelters. And she was a well-known advocate for domestic violence victims. As if those qualities weren’t enough nails in his coffin, she was also the daughter of a respected cop who’d given his life for his fellow officers and her fucking brother was an FBI agent. It all equaled him being screwed.

He thought of Ellie and that interfering sister of hers, Betty. If a diligent law enforcement officer found his ex-fiancé, she might be used to show past violent behavior. They could never get him on shooting her. No evidence. But her sister could potentially be called as a witness. His lawyers might be able to prevent the situation with Ellie from being presented in court, but why take the chance?

He hated loose ends.

* * *

“
N
ooooooo
!” Hayley struggled out of the covers and landed feet first on the floor, her heart pounding erratically. Sweat dripped down her neck, and her body felt cold and clammy. The contentment she’d owned since coming to the resort slipped away like sand clutched too tightly in a fist. The creeping depression she knew too well replaced it, the dark poison piercing her happiness like a scorpion sting.

She shoved herself into the robe at the end of the bed and hurried out to the deck, hoping the friendly breeze would calm her. She took deep breaths and kept her gaze on the undulating waters of the ocean. After a few minutes, she felt better.

Hayley returned to her room and her gaze lit on the table. Breakfast. It was magic the way the food appeared without her ever seeing a single person. Hell, she hadn’t left the room since she’d arrived yesterday. She’d slept more in the last twenty-four hours than she had in the last six months. But not even this place could shelter her against the nightmares.

The mango was juicy and sweet, the kiwi with an edge of tart. She drank the mimosa and nearly inhaled two strawberry Danishes. The food replenished her. Then she took a long, hot shower. She decided against make-up, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and put on a blue knee-length summer dress. She wandered aimlessly around the room, debating the merit of taking a walk on the beach. She didn’t want to stay in the room, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave it, either.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Startled, Hayley whirled around and stared at the door, her heart stalling. Shaking off her silly overreaction, she hurried to the door. “Yes?”

“I’m your tour guide, Miss Nelson.”

She frowned, alarm bells ringing in her head. “I didn’t request a tour,” she said through the closed door.

“It’s part of our service. I would be happy to show you our little island.”

“Okay. Hang on.” She slipped on a pair of flip-flops. She peeked through the peephole. The man on the other side was tall and rangy, dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and an outrageous shirt sporting blue and red flowers. His shaggy blond hair was topped by a backward-worn blue baseball cap.

She quickly undid the slide bolt, unlocked the door and flung it open, to glare incredulously at her so-called tour guide.

He looked at her, and his brown eyes drank her in like she was water, and he was dying of thirst. “Hi, Hayley.” His lips tilted into a familiar smile.

Logan
. She gritted her teeth, fighting the impulse to both punch him and kiss him. “What are you doing here?”

* * *

B
etty Lewis stood
in her small bookshop surveying the boxes of inventory she needed to unpack. Since it was Sunday, the business was closed so she’d be alone. Usually, she enjoyed the quiet. Today, however, she was so on edge, every little noise made her jump.

She’d read that morning that Rodrigo had been charged with second-degree murder. He’d easily made bail. He was enjoying his life, no doubt believing he’d get away with killing his wife. Some assholes loved inflicting pain on their fellow human beings.

He’s a psychopath.

Banging on the front door exploded the silence and nearly gave Betty a heart attack. She peered around the end of the bookshelf and looked at the man standing at the glass door.

Her mouth went dry. Her heart hammered so hard, she thought it might fly right out of her chest.

“Miss Lewis?”

She didn’t move. He didn’t sound like Rodrigo, but she wasn’t taking any chances. What if Rodrigo decided that she was a threat, even after all these years? Ellie couldn’t talk, but she could.

“My name is Ben Nelson. I’m an agent with the FBI.” He pressed a badge against the glass.

Betty sucked in a shaky breath. She straightened and walked to the front of the store. She looked closely at the badge and unlocked the door.

“What can I do for you, Agent Nelson?” she asked.

“May I come in?”

“I’ll come out.”

“Okay. There’s a coffee shop at the corner. How about I buy you a cup, and we talk?”

“About what?”

“Rodrigo Santos.”

Betty reeled as shock reverberated through her, so strong she felt her bones quake. “I’m not sure I can help you.”

“I know what happened to your sister. And I want to make sure that conniving bastard never hurts another woman again.”

* * *

S
antos entered
the downtown hotel room, and nearly gagged. The seedy rattrap rented rooms by the hour and was run by scumbags who forgot your name for the right price. “How do you stand this appalling place?”

“Stayed in worse.” Mr. Riley, a tall, lanky man in a rumpled suit, pointed to the wrapped subway sandwich on the table scarred by cigarette burns and graffiti. “Lunch.”

Santos knew better than to insult his host. The ex-CIA operative was one of the best spooks in the world, and his mercenary skills were legendary. In other words, Mr. Riley was a special kind of psychopath. One you didn’t piss off if you enjoyed breathing.

Santos sat down at the table and knew he’d probably burn his tailored suit as soon as he returned home. He unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Oh, God. It tasted like wet dirt smeared on cardboard.

“The trial is a month away. I need Hayley Nelson found, and I need her to disappear.”

Mr. Riley nodded. “The usual fee then.”

“How do you feel about a package deal? Ellie remains catatonic, but I’d like you to take care of her. And I want Betty Lewis to disappear, too.”

“Have to be an accident with those two. Otherwise, it looks strange, people connected to you dying and disappearing.”

“Ellie and Betty are easy to find. Start with them.” Santos hated to part with his money almost as much as he hated his world being out of order. Almost. With his freedom at stake, he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Half my fee now, half when it’s done.” Mr. Riley smiled. “Something wrong with your sandwich?”

“No,” said Santos, picking up the sub and eating it. “It’s delicious.”