PaintedPassion (3 page)

“I’ll check on an updated security system.” He divulged the
hang-up calls Trella received. “Has she mentioned any other calls?”

“No. Did call return yield any info?”

Carlos shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll have a trace initiated
on the line.” He finished his coffee then rinsed out the mug. “See you later.”

“You’re not letting her know you’re leaving?” Miguel mumbled
around a mouthful of food.

Carlos glanced back out the window at the woman now
imprinted on his brain. “Tell her I’ll be back.”

Miguel smirked. “I’m not getting any details about why you
spent the night?”

“Nothing happened.”

His cousin eyed him as if Carlos had sprouted a second head.
“Fine with me if you take it slow.”

“I’m not interested.” If he said it enough times, perhaps
he’d actually believe it.

Miguel threw his empty cartons in the trash with the flair
of an NBA player’s jump shot. “She’s a gorgeous woman. You wouldn’t be a
red-blooded male if you didn’t at least acknowledge the fact.”

“Fine. She’s gorgeous and intelligent.” Carlos retrieved his
keys from his front jeans pocket. “But I’m not interested. I have enough female
friends.”

“Yeah, and they all appear in ‘for a good time call’ ads.
Should tell you something.”

“Tells me I need to find a new cousin.” Carlos left the
kitchen with Miguel’s laughter ringing in his ears.

* * * * *

With Miguel at her side, Trella entered Renault’s Fine Art
Gallery, her sketchbook tucked under one arm. In a bid to stay as cool as
possible in the hundred-degree heat, she wore a white linen wrap dress with
strappy navy sandals.

“Ah, the flowering cactus has returned.” A tall, gaunt man
with wisps of steel gray hair covering his bald spot approached them. Francois
lived and breathed art and his had been the first gallery to feature her work.
He nurtured her, coaxing her not to be afraid to let her work shine. He alone
had done more to help her advance her craft than her years of collegiate study.

He pulled her into an embrace, kissing both cheeks. “You
look beautiful.”

“You’re full of it.” She squeezed his thin shoulders.

“It’s why I am successful, no?” He regarded Miguel at her
side. “Are you dating again?”

She placed a hand on Miguel’s arm. “He’s my assistant.
Miguel, Francois is the owner of this fine gallery.”

The older man seemed to question Miguel’s occupation as he
subjected Miguel to intense scrutiny.

Trella suppressed a giggle. She never introduced him as her
bodyguard. Plus, he carried a briefcase. Having peeked inside it once, she
discovered he carted around snacks and a couple of skin magazines. It still
bothered her Louis never mentioned to her he wanted to hire a bodyguard. Then
again, he had been preoccupied for the last few weeks of his life. She’d
thought work was the source of his distraction, but after discovering his notes
about the IWP, she knew better.

Francois laughed, clapping Miguel on the back. “You have a
hard job with this one. She is stubborn.”

Trella grimaced. “Thanks for identifying my finer points.”

“Come.” He led the way down the lighted hallway. “I have a
couple you must meet. They are fans of yours.”

She followed Francois into his office, while Miguel settled
onto an upholstered bench.

A statuesque blond dressed in charcoal-gray slacks and a
white silk blouse stood near the desk as they entered the spacious office.
Trella judged her to be in her mid-to-late thirties. Her companion stood five
inches shorter and appeared about thirty years older, with a balding spot he
attempted to conceal by combing over five strands of auburn hair.

“Trella, this is Candy and Lawrence Rodgers.”

“Oh, Mrs. Arnold. This is such an honor. I love your work,”
the woman effused. “It’s so intimate.” She grasped Trella’s hand in a warm
embrace before glancing at her husband. “Lawrence and I visualize ourselves in
your paintings.”

Trella smiled, happy to hear the couple enjoyed her work.
“Thank you. I’m flattered.”

“The Rodgerses are interested in having you paint a portrait
for their new home,” Francois offered.

Candy released Trella’s hand then turned to pick up her
purse from the chair. “Oh, yes, we bought a fantastic Tuscany-style villa, and
your work would mesh well with our ideas for the interior.”

The unlikely couple intrigued her. “I’d be honored, though I
can’t commit to anything until after the show.”

“Candy and I look forward to it,” Lawrence piped up.

“I hope I don’t disappoint.”

“We’ll hammer out the details after the show. I’ll walk the
Rodgerses out.” Francois ushered the couple from his office.

Trella placed her sketchbook on Francois’ desk while she
waited for his return. The offer to show her paintings at his gallery couldn’t
have come at a better time. Paris had eased her grief, and the camaraderie of
the art world helped her heal. Now she was ready to get on with her life.

Moments later, Francois returned to his office, shutting the
door behind him. “We have a month to prepare for your show. I know you can
handle the deadline crunch, but it’s not a lot of time for you to get it
together, my dear.” He pinned her with a hard stare. “You’re holding back.”

Knowing he was right, she didn’t respond. The average buyer
wouldn’t notice a lack of depth in the work, but an experienced art connoisseur
would.

She smoothed the front of her dress. “The drive to create is
returning,” she acknowledged.

He adjusted black, square-framed glasses on his aquiline
nose. “You can’t run from processing grief. You love what you do. Passion,” he said,
waving his hands around in his usual demonstrative way, “cannot be faked. You
are either born with it, or you’re not.” He pointed at her. “You were born with
it. Stop trying to control it, temper it. If you hurt, paint the hurt. You have
a right to feel. Passion must be free to breathe, to be alive and affect
others.”

He removed a set of keys from his pants pocket. After
unlocking a door, he motioned for her to follow him into a smaller room. He
flipped on a light. Francois pointed at five canvases. Instead of her usual
intimate settings of bedrooms, dressing rooms and cars, for which she had
achieved critical acclaim, her latest works featured landscapes.

“None of these portray the warm palettes people are
accustomed to seeing from you.”

“Francois—”

He shook his head. “They are not representative of your best
work. You need a key piece, and you have not provided it yet.”

“I can’t paint what I don’t feel.”

“True.” He nodded as he studied the canvases. “Maybe you
needed to exorcise the pain before moving forward.” He stroked his chin. “None
of these are your key piece. The last time you showed. I was so moved I cry,
no?”

She nibbled her bottom lip as she studied the painting of an
old palm tree, half of its fronds a muted green, the other half a sullen brown.
Sadness and remorse emanated from the canvas.

“Grief does strange things to people, Francois.”

“True. The reason the landscapes don’t work isn’t because
they aren’t good. Your emotions seeped through, but I can sense you feel you
have to show what people have come to associate with you.” He tugged her to him
then folded her in his arms. He tilted her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
“The young woman who first waltzed into my gallery was eager to take on the
world. Bring her back. Paint with abandon. One doesn’t control a fire. It
either flares into bright flames or is extinguished.”

Didn’t he understand she wanted to have her old mojo return?
She eased from his embrace, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Nothing I’ve
tried works,” she whispered.

He sighed. “You’re trying too hard. Art needs space to
create.”

“The loss of Louis—”

“He died. Yes, it is sad. But you didn’t die. No one blames
you for living.”

Francois shooed her from the room, back into his office,
before locking the door behind him and returning the key to his pocket. He
picked up her sketchbook from his desk, flipping the pages one at a time before
closing it with an audible
snap
. He didn’t say anything, and she glanced
at him.

He held a hand over his heart. “Your key pieces,” he
whispered. “Why are you hiding these?”

She froze in sudden shock. She’d forgotten to remove the
drawings of Carlos.

“Look.” He flipped to a page. He held it up for her perusal.
“The longing, the wanting. I feel it from the sketch. This is it!”

She bit her bottom lip as she studied the rendering of
Carlos, naked and proud. If Francois recognized the latent desire she possessed
for her husband’s former partner, would anyone else?

“Why the gloomy face?”

She sighed. “I’d rather not use any of the drawings.”

He tapped the page. “These must make the show.”

He couldn’t be serious. If, by some miracle, Carlos did
agree to be used as a model, could she withstand the pressure of people
dissecting what they’d believe to be the intimate nature of their relationship?
“I can’t. I never used a painting of Louis.”

“It’s no one’s business why you never used your husband as a
subject. I figured you didn’t want to display your marriage to the world’s
perusal.”

She nodded. Everyone assumed that, including Louis. In her
soul, she knew her paintings of her husband wouldn’t be on par with her other
work.

“Francois, this man…I can’t.”

He perched on his desk. “I’ve been where you are, Trella.
Art does not lie. There is no subterfuge. You cannot pretend what doesn’t
exist.”

But could she pretend what existed, didn’t?
She paced
the length of his office. “I can’t use him,” she insisted.

“What is he to you?”

“Louis’ former partner.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, stopping her back and
forth motion across his office. “It’s understandable you’d feel closeness to
this person. Don’t make it a mountain, and it’ll be a molehill.”

She grinned, not bothering to correct his misspoken
statement. “A molehill, huh?”

“Relax and create.”

The sound of someone clearing his throat made her glance at
the doorway.

Miguel grimaced. “Sorry for interrupting, but you have a
customer.”

How long had he been there? She prayed he didn’t hear her
talking about Carlos. She closed the sketchbook. She rose on her tiptoes to
plant a kiss on Francois’ cheek. “I’ll take your advice.”

“Good.” He walked to the door and nodded at Miguel. “Nice to
meet you. Take care of her.”

As Francois left them alone, Trella gathered the sketchbook
and her purse.

“Where to now?” Miguel asked.

“Lunch, then off to South Mountain Park for scenery photos.
Oh, but before we eat, I need to stop by City Hall.” Dropping in unannounced on
Councilman Rodriguez was a long shot, but catching him off guard might prove
beneficial.

“Lunch. My favorite meal.” Miguel followed her from the
office.

She laughed. “By the look of you, every meal is your
favorite.”

Trella’s heels clicked along the polished floor as she
sauntered down the hallway toward Councilman Rodriguez’s office. He might be
surprised to see her, but after sending her such beautiful flowers, surely he’d
expect her to give thanks.

Miguel waited in the car, having bought her vague statement
about “handling business”. She was happy he didn’t question her further. She squared
her shoulders before entering the office.

A middle-aged woman sitting behind a reception desk gave a
welcoming smile. “May I help you?”

“I don’t have an appointment, but I hope the councilman can
squeeze me in. My name’s Estrella Arnold.”

“I’ll check with him. Have a seat, please.”

As the secretary picked up the phone receiver, Trella
admired the office, noting the huge Majestic palm situated near the wall of
windows. Opposite, one of her paintings depicting couples dancing outside at
dawn held center court.

The receptionist returned to her desk. “He’ll be out in a
few minutes.”

A young woman dressed in tight white pants and a yellow
halter top sashayed down the hallway. She kept her head lowered, face concealed
by a swath of straight, ebony hair parted in the middle, and walked out the
door.

A minute later, the councilman appeared from the same
direction. He straightened his tie as he approached. “Trella, what a wonderful
surprise. Come on in.”

She rose to her feet. His slacks weren’t zipped all the way,
and the white collar of his lavender dress shirt bore a swipe of tan
foundation.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all.” He ushered her into his office then closed the
door. He led her to a comfortable-looking loveseat across from two club chairs.

The overpowering floral scent of an air freshener assaulted
her senses. Her eyes watered, and she blinked rapidly to clear them. She
perched on the end of the loveseat, while he settled into a chair.

“Thank you for the flowers. How did you know peach roses
were my favorite?”

“You’re welcome. I must’ve read how much you enjoy them in
an interview somewhere. I figured why not send them? You deserve flowers every
day.”

Smooth but not smooth enough. He was photographed with
plenty of young, well-connected women. There were rumors of his preference
running to females barely out of their teens. She stifled a smirk. He expected
her to believe he was interested in her? She’d indulge him because she had her
own ulterior motive.

After the gallery showing, I’ll have plenty of free time.
I’m interested in providing assistance with your community projects,
specifically, the immigrant work program.”

A brief look of panic crossed his face. He leaned forward.
“What do you know about the program?”

* * * * *

Carlos parked outside Horizon Home Security. After he
secured the installation of a state-of-the-art system, he would return to
Vegas. Avoiding a woman was out of character for Carlos, but so were the
unsettling feelings of awareness he experienced whenever he was near Trella.
Her body called for him to touch her, and he heard it loud and clear. If he
wanted to stay out of trouble, it was best to leave.

He strolled into the store. Unassuming white walls and
plastic brown chairs served as the background for glossy advertisements and
displays touting the latest gadgets. He walked farther into the store, setting
off a buzzer to alert the owner of a customer’s presence.

Alfonso Ortiz rushed from the storeroom. He froze, as if
unsure of his customer’s identity. “Carlos!”

Enveloped in a bear hug, Carlos patted the shorter man on
the back. Time had been kind to his father’s closest friend. The bushy black
eyebrows were sparser, but Alfonso retained a thick head of hair with silvery
strands sprinkled liberally throughout.

“
Como
estas
?”

“
Bien
.
Como
es
Ava
?”

“
Nietos
estropea
.” Alfonso laughed. “When are
you having a
bambino
for her to spoil, huh?
Teines
esposa
?”

Carlos shook his head, wondering why the sudden vision of
Trella with an expanding waist brought a smile to his face. “No time soon.”

“Have faith.”

Carlos didn’t admit it would take more than a belief in the
unseen to transform his unwarranted fantasies into reality.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Working in Vegas and trying to stay out of trouble.”

Alfonso laughed. “You and Louis, always trouble.”

“Mostly me.”

The older man nodded. “True, but Louis never let you take
punishment alone.”

Carlos recalled the first time he’d met his friend. His
family had immigrated to the area. Poorer than poor. Even his hand-me-downs
were handed down. Louis walked up to him and asked if he could shoot hoops.
They’d been best friends since.

“What brings you here?”

Shrugging off the past, he answered, “I need a four-camera
system with digital video recorder and remote access through closed circuit
installed in Louis and Trella’s home. Can you get it done today?”

Alfonso eyed the wall clock. “Think so. I have several
brands in stock. We’ll find one that fits your needs. Have you eaten?”

“I’ll grab something later.”

The rotund man waved aside Carlos’ words. “Follow me. Ava
would love to see you.”

Carlos trailed behind Alfonso as he retired to the back of
the building. Ava stood in the small but tidy kitchen, stirring a pot filled
with something spicy and fragrant. The alluring aroma brought back memories of Carlos’
mother.

She glanced up as they entered. “Carlos!”

Time hadn’t touched her face at all; her skin as unlined as
he remembered from his youth. He kissed her cheeks.

He breathed in the aroma. “
Fideo
y
chilis
rellenos
. Smells delicious. Alfonso, I bet you’re still beating the men
away with a stick.”

Ava laughed. “It’s why he’s in security.”

Alfonso nodded. “I’m no fool.”

Smiling, Carlos rubbed his stomach. “I’m happy to stay for a
meal.”

She hugged him, transporting him back into the past when he
was a young boy. She always insisted “a hug solves problems”.

“I’m happy you found time to come visit, but there’s no
woman with you. Do I need to help you find women?”

His gaze pleaded with Alfonso for help, but the older man
shrugged before taking up Ava’s watch at the stove.

“I have no problem meeting women.”

With her hands on her hips, Ava regarded him. “Why don’t you
have one?”

“Work takes up a lot of my time.”

“Bah! Work won’t keep you warm at night or make sure you
have a hearty meal.”

He washed his hands. “I’ll never find a woman who cooks as
well as you do.” He leaned closer to whisper in a voice Alfonso could hear. “Do
you think we can get rid of your husband?”

Ava’s laughter filled the room as she swatted his back, her
long braid swinging from side to side. “Funny man.”

“I promise when I find the woman for me, you will be among
the first to meet her.”

She nodded. “Your mother wanted you to provide lots of
grandchildren.”

Carlos opened the cutlery drawer then removed a fork. “I
need to find the right woman first.”

“Are you dating?”

“Ava, give the boy a break.” Alfonso finally took pity on
him. “He’s spending time with us. Be happy.”

Carlos took a seat at the table, while Ava dished up the meal.

She set plates of food in front of her husband and Carlos.
“Show the photos of Adam and Maria.”

Alfonso handed him two photos. Carlos studied the handsome
young boy and the bright-eyed girl.

“I can’t believe how much they’ve grown. Maria wasn’t even
born when I left, and Adam was a toddler.”

“Maybe you’ll have a chance to see them while you’re here.”

“Hope so. How are your daughter and her husband?”

“Fine,” Alfonso answered. “We see them all the time.”

“They live here and not in Vegas,” Ava added.

Ignoring her intentional reference to his current home base,
Carlos bit into the green chili pepper, the savory cheeses soothing his taste
buds. “Excellent.”

The older woman beamed at his praise. “Alfonso doesn’t
remember a woman likes to hear appreciation.”

“I appreciate you.”

“Yes, but I don’t like recalling it from memory.” She
laughed. “
Digame
.”

“I do tell you.” Alfonso placed a hand over his wife’s. “I
remember to thank you when you fold my clothes or wear my favorite perfume to
bed.”

Carlos swirled noodles around his fork. “Is this still a
PG-rated conversation?”

Ava chuckled, as Alfonso kissed the back of her hand. “I
love my Al.”

“I belong to you forever.”

“This is why I don’t visit often,” Carlos mumbled as he
avoided eye contact with the demonstrative couple.

* * * * *

What did she know about the Immigrant Work Program? As
Trella sat across from Councilman Rodriguez in his office, panic licked at her
body, threatening to consume her into a citrine fireball. She swallowed,
shifting on the loveseat. Too late to take the words back now.

She stared into his flint-colored eyes, plastering what she
prayed was a flirty smile on her face. “I don’t know much. I’ve heard your
supporters share their sentiments. Truthfully, it’s the only community outreach
platform I recall from your campaign.”

Hector retrieved a pen from his shirt pocket, clicked it on.
Off. On again. “I’m sure I can locate an area suitable for your talents.”

She crossed her legs, causing the lower edges of the wrap
dress to display a considerable amount of skin. She ran her hand down one thigh.
He tracked the movement as she’d hoped he would.

“Hector?”

The pen fell from his grasp onto the carpeted floor as he
raised his eyes to her face.

Trella contained the grin threatening to burst free. “I’d be
delighted to discuss the program at another time, if your schedule allows. I
did show up unannounced.”

He smiled. “What about dinner tonight?”

“I’m sorry, but I have plans,” she responded. She dusted an
imaginary speck of dust from the toe of her navy sandals. “I know in the past
you enlisted police officers to speak to participants of different community
programs. Did Louis ever participate?”

Swallowing visibly, he ran a hand over his salt-and-pepper
hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Did Louis ever participate in any of the community
programs? He was active in helping those down on their luck, so I figured at
some point your paths might’ve crossed.”

Hector picked up the pen then clicked it off. “Oh, sure, we
did talk about the program, but your husband had a lot on his plate.”

Was he lying? How did he know about Louis’ workload? Trella
glanced away, coughing. She put a hand on her chest and coughed again.

“Are you okay?”

“Some water, please?”

He rose to his feet. “Be right back.”

As soon as the door closed, Trella bolted to her feet.
Rounding his desk, she pulled opened the middle drawer. Pens, notepads, paper
clips and other assorted office supplies filled the space. She yanked open the
top left-hand drawer. Nothing but file folders. She rifled through them but
came up empty. The bottom left-hand drawer was locked.

She flipped through his calendar, running a finger down the
daily entries. She stopped at an entry in August. The letters “IWP” and an
address were highlighted next to the 7:00 p.m. slot. She repeated the address
several times to memorize it.

Hearing footsteps, she slid onto her chair. Heart racing,
she struggled to slow her breathing.

The door opened. In silence, Hector handed her a bottle of
water.

Trella coughed once more as she took it from his hand.
“Thank you,” she croaked.

“Anytime.”

She made a big production out of uncapping the top and
turning the bottle delicately up to her pursed lips.

He licked his lips as if he was waiting to devour her. “We
can schedule a date to talk further this weekend. My assistant will give you a
call.”

She rose to her feet. He slithered two steps forward into
her personal space, his chest touching her breasts.

Swallowing her distaste, she shot him a coy look. “It means
a lot to be able to help a powerful man such as you. The city is lucky to have
you, Hector.”

His breath hitched. She was positive if she so much as
touched him, he’d cream his slacks.

He grabbed her wrist.

Alarm coursed through her, but she tamped it down.
“Something wrong, Hector?”

His attention centered on her lips.

Please don’t let this man kiss me
. She tensed her
body in alarm.

His assistant buzzed into the office. “The mayor is on line
two.”

Hector released her arm then brushed her cheek with a sweaty
palm. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

Relief weakened her legs, but she forced herself to hurry
and leave his presence. In the hallway, she located the restroom. She entered a
stall. Leaning against the door, she breathed deeply to calm her nerves.

* * * * *

Standing in the small room off Trella’s kitchen, which she
called a mudroom, Carlos decided it provided the best place to access the
surveillance monitors. He listened intently as Alfonso pointed out the
features.

“You’ll view everything whenever you access the cameras,”
the older man said.

“Perimeter alarms?”

“Included.”

Carlos nodded, impressed with the advantages. “The
night-vision capabilities sold me.”

Alfonso tinkered with the monitors until he was satisfied
with the picture. “How is Trella doing these days?”

“Fine. Miguel’s with her while she’s running errands.”