L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (9 page)

O-kay. So this was how it was going to be.

As Jillian took the stairs to the lobby, she thought how unprepared she was for everything here, not least of all the language barrier. Going with Ramsey to find the man in the photograph was looking to be a better deal all the time.

Four flights of stairs later, sweaty again and feeling as if she hadn’t even showered, she showed up at the desk to meet Adam.

He wasn’t there.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SO FAR, SO GOOD. Adam paid the man for the car rental, made arrangements to pick up the vehicle in the morning and then headed back to the hotel.

Once he had the car, he’d pick up the overnight cargo he’d sent, containing his SIG 550 Commando, a sat phone, water purifier, first aid items and some meds that could be used in emergency situations.

Their undesirable hotel accommodations and the wreck of a car he’d had to take might work in his favor. The discomfort might have his surprise companion heading back to Chicago on the next flight out. If not, though, he’d figure out some other way to send her packing.

Jillian Sullivan might be able to take care of herself in Chicago, but she was definitely out of her element here. He doubted she had any idea how dangerous it could be.

It’d never occurred to him that she’d make the trip to Mirador— another strike against his rusty gut instincts—and from the looks of things so far, it wasn’t going to be easy to convince her to get out of Dodge. If he couldn’t get her to leave, taking her with him seemed to be the only way to keep an eye on her…keep her from tipping off Sullivan…and keep her from getting hurt.

The woman was unpredictable. That made her dangerous.

Even more dangerous was that he liked her…liked the rush he got around her. How crazy was that? Being even remotely attracted to a possible suspect…the wife of the man he wanted to put behind bars didn’t bode well in any way, shape or form. Taking her along on his mission was insane.

Jillian Sullivan needed to go home.

He walked the few blocks back to the hotel, checking for a decent restaurant—but not too decent. He passed a hole-in-the-wall bar-restaurant and decided that would be where they’d eat.

She was waiting in the dimly lit lobby when he walked in through a side entrance. The low light camouflaged a multitude of what would be building-code violations in the States. Even so, seeing her standing there next to a bedraggled potted palm with a large ceiling fan rotating overhead put him in mind of an iconic scene in the old movie Casablanca. Any minute now he expected to hear a piano playing “As Time Goes By.”

She hadn’t seen him come in, so he sidled up next to her. “Hi.”

“Oh!” Her hands flew to her chest and her eyes rounded like basketballs. “Omigosh, you scared me half to death sneaking up on me like that.”

“I didn’t sneak. I don’t sneak.”

“Well, I couldn’t even hear your footsteps.”

He gestured at the guy behind the desk. “I didn’t want to disturb Sleeping Beauty over there.” He stared at her. “New hairstyle?”

She scowled. “Yes, I’m trying the drowned-rat look. What do you think?”

He pulled back and positioned his hands to frame her head between the square he made with his fingers. “Not bad. But…I think I like the other way better.” The way that reminded him of the golden-haired angels on the frescoes in the church he went to when he was a kid.

But Jillian Sullivan shouldn’t be reminding him of angels. Because, while she might look like one, there was every chance she was anything but.

She shifted her weight to one side and crossed her arms. “My hair blower wouldn’t work because the outlets here are different, and the shower… Oh, never mind,” she said, probably realizing from his expression he really didn’t give a crap about her hair.

“I guess taking a spur-of-the-moment trip didn’t give you any time to do outlet research.” He smiled. “Good thing you had a current passport.”

She compressed her lips. “I’d wanted to take Chloe on a trip last year and got it then. Unfortunately the trip never materialized. This is my first time out of the country. I’ve lived in California and Chicago, and that’s the extent of my travels.”

She hadn’t been anywhere? Almost everyone he knew had been somewhere, if even just vacationing in a camper as his family had done one summer at his mother’s insistence. They’d had little money, but had still covered a good portion of the U.S.

“You don’t like to travel?”

“Never had the opportunity. Before my mom died, we lived in a room in the back of the little grocery store where she worked. The owners deducted the low rent for the place from her paycheck. She felt lucky—there wasn’t much work to be had where we lived. Needless to say, there wasn’t any money for luxuries.”

He’d never have guessed from talking with her or from looking at her that she’d had a deprived childhood and no real family. “Where exactly did you live when growing up?”

“El Mirage. A small town in southern California” She laughed. “It was really small, not much more than a bus stop with a gas station and a grocery store. Just a mirage in the middle of the desert.” She laughed, then pointed across the street. “Oh, there’s a restaurant. La Bamba. Is that the one you had in mind?”

He looked up and saw the neon beer signs blinking off and on. As they approached, the smell of stale beer assailed their nostrils, and the sounds of hard-rock music and raucous voices spilled out to the street.

Her first trip out of the country and he was taking her to a dive. Yeah. He was a jerk. “I don’t know,” he said on impulse. “I have a better idea. Let’s get a taxi and find a nicer place.”

Stopping in front, she scanned the exterior, leaned to peer inside. “This is fine. It’s local culture.” Then she smiled and shrugged, palms up. “When in Rome…”

Right. When in Rome… He hailed a cab. More like he was fiddling while Rome was burning.

“Mucho Macho,” he told the driver the name of a restaurant he’d gotten from the desk clerk earlier, then turned to Jillian. “It’s not too far from here, and I’ve heard the food is good.”

Five minutes later, they were inside the place and he was kicking himself for not sticking to his plan. What was it with her that put him so off kilter?

“What time do you plan to leave in the morning?” Jillian asked Adam as the waiter led them to a table on the patio in the back.

“Early. Six a.m.”

“You mentioned before that we should team up and go together…and I think you’re right. It’s a good idea.” She hoped he still thought so.

“So if the offer still stands, I’ll be ready then, too,” she said, trying to sound more upbeat than she felt. On the way to the restaurant in the cab, she’d had second thoughts about this whole venture.

Initially, she’d thought all she had to do was go to the home of the man impersonating Rob and make her assessment. That would be it. She hadn’t planned on a trek over the mountains. And she hadn’t fully considered the outcome.

Like what if the man turned out to be Rob? Then what? What if he had amnesia and was married to another woman and had a child? What if Detective Ramsey was right and he’d somehow gotten into trouble and had to leave the country?

When she considered all the what-ifs—and she was sure there were more she hadn’t even thought of—she wanted to turn and run in the other direction…cover her eyes and ears and hum loudly, so none of it penetrated her brain.

But she’d come this far, so it would be stupid to turn back now. And every passing minute she spent with Adam made her feel more driven than ever to find out the identity of the man in the photograph.

When Adam didn’t respond to her request, her discomfort jacked up a notch. Fortunately the evening was cooler than the day, and a slight breeze brought the scents of tropical flowers.

The waiter took their drink orders—two cervezas, the local beer, which Adam insisted she absolutely had to try. The menu, of course, was in Spanish, but she recognized some of the dishes and decided on corvina, fish with rice and vegetables. Adam ordered something with a name she didn’t recognize and an appetizer.

“You have to try the langosta,” he said. “If you want to get a real feel for a country, you have to try the local cuisine.”

“When in Rome?” She smiled.

His eyes lit and he looked as if he might smile…but he didn’t. He suddenly seemed more serious, more distant. “Something like that. Otherwise, you may as well be in Chicago.”

Music with a samba beat played in the background. “Believe me, I know I’m not in the suburbs of Chicago anymore. I wish I’d had the opportunity for a little more research on this country, but my plan was to do what I needed to do and go home. That’s still the plan.”

“It’s a good one,” Adam said as the waiter brought them their beer. “You really ought to take a little time to enjoy the country and its culture. It’s beautiful, pura vida—pure life—in its simplest form.”

He leaned back in his chair. Thoughtful—and sexy in his faded jeans and white cotton shirt unbuttoned at the throat, revealing the top of his tanned chest. Sexy with his sleeves rolled to mid-forearm where she could see the muscles working when he lifted his beer to his lips, full lips that looked inviting enough to kiss.

“What?” he said. “Do I have something on my face?”

Realizing she was staring, she said, “Yes.”

He brushed his cheek.

“No… I mean, yes, it’s beautiful here.”

“You’ll have to return for a vacation sometime, when you can appreciate the tranquillity.” His gray eyes looked almost silver in the evening light.

“Maybe.  It’s hard to appreciate when I’m focused on finding this…this man.” No way she could enjoy any of it knowing Rob might be out there…and she didn’t know what the hell was going on in her life.

He leaned forward. “If you don’t find him, what would be different from a week ago?”

“What would be different?” she repeated incredulously. Looking around, she lowered her voice. “A week ago I was a widow and my daughter’s father was dead. And no matter how many times I tell myself the man is an imposter, I have to be sure. I can’t live with this cloud of doubt hanging over me.”

She leaned forward, too, elbows on the table. “I need to know, and I’d like to go with you.”

He shifted in his chair, his discomfort evident. After a moment he said, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about whether that’s a good idea. The guy at the car-rental place said it’s a hard trip, so I was thinking there’s no real need for us both to go, it might be best if I went alone. I can handle it and fill you in later.”

Her nerves bunched. Was he just being nice or trying to get rid of her? “I need to go. And while I appreciate your concern, I will go—with or without you.”

He held up a hand. “Okay. I was only making a suggestion because it’s a rough trip. Like in any country, there are places off the beaten track that aren’t as well developed as the city, places lacking in amenities. That’s where I’m headed. It will be easier for you to stay here.”

“I don’t need easy, Adam. I need to know what’s going on. Before I left Chicago, I found a phone number for a man named Jack Sullivan in Mirador, and I called it before I left.”

He looked surprised. “And?”

“A man answered and I hung up. But at least I know someone is at that number.”

His surprise switched to alarm. “You didn’t say anything to him, did you?”

As she shook her head in answer to Adam’s question, the waiter brought the plate of appetizers. “No, I didn’t say anything to tip him off, if that’s what you’re asking. But I assume your office made the same call, didn’t they?”

He snorted a laugh. “You’re something else,” he said. “We made our inquiries, but not in the same way you did. Because you’re right—it wouldn’t do us much good if anyone was tipped off.” He shook his head. “And he no doubt is.”

“It was just a hang up call. I didn’t say anything.”

“Caller ID is pretty much global. If he has that, he would know who it was.”

Duly chastised, she countered, “I don’t believe that happened because my number is unlisted. But if the LAPD had bothered to keep me in the loop, I wouldn’t have called at all. And for what it’s worth, I’m going to see this man. Rough trip or not. I didn’t come all this way to let someone else handle it for me.”

He held up a hand. “Okay. Just a suggestion.” He scraped his knuckles over what looked like a two-day growth of whiskers she didn’t remember seeing earlier. “And if we’re going to do this together, how about a truce?”

She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. A truce so he could think of ways to get rid of her. But it was true. If they were going to do this together, they didn’t need to be at each other’s throats the whole time. “Okay. Truce.”

“Excellent.” He held up a hand for a fist bump, and when she responded, he smiled and indicated the dish in the center of the table with a wave of his hand. “When in Rome...”

The appetizer looked vaguely like a plate of grubs. She eyed it suspiciously then looked back at him.

“It’s a delicacy.”

“So you’ve been here before?”

“Once.”

“Oh. Was it a long time ago?”

He looked puzzled at the question.

“That you were here—was it a long time ago? Business or pleasure?”

“Long enough that I’ve forgotten it entirely, including the person I was with.” He took her fork, pierced a bite of the appetizer and held it to her mouth, brows raised, as if a dare.               She bit the food off the end of the fork and chewed. A sweet garlicky taste exploded in her mouth. “Mmm,” was all she could say as she chewed. He watched her, his smile broadening as she swallowed with obvious enjoyment.