Twilight, page 6
“Very good,” he praised, though his tone was mocking. “Actually, I left the car at home and hitched a ride over.”
“Why?”
The question seemed to make him uncomfortable for some reason, so she asked it again.
“Because we’ve had a few problems.”
She could see that the admission cost him. “What sort of problems?”
“Unwelcome visitors,” he said tersely.
“Other than me?”
He smiled at that. “I wasn’t expecting you, at least not last night.”
“Truthfully, you weren’t expecting me at all, were you?”
“Your friend seemed all but certain you’d turn up here eventually.”
Dana persisted. “But you didn’t believe her, did you?”
“No,” he admitted. “At least, I didn’t think you’d have the guts to come creeping around here in the middle of the night, since you’d never been inclined to show up with Ken during the day.”
“I didn’t stay away out of fear,” she protested.
“Just disapproval,” he guessed.
She realized that in his eyes that was far, far worse. Compared with her compassionate husband, she had to seem cold and hardhearted. She didn’t want Rick’s opinion to matter, but oddly enough, it did. Even so, she refused to waste time right now trying to change it. Even if she’d explained about the boy she had once trusted, would he have understood? Or would he have said that was just one boy, that others shouldn’t be condemned for his mistakes? Ken had said that often enough, but it hadn’t swayed her. She hadn’t had his capacity for forgiveness or his willingness to risk a second, more dangerous betrayal.
Now, though, she needed to get inside, to start looking at files and talking to people. She had to do something, find at least one solid piece of the puzzle. The compulsion that had brought her back from Florida was stronger than ever. Once again, she had allowed Rick to deliberately distract her. She wondered how many more times she would come up against the tactic as he tried to protect his precious program.
“Are we going to go in or are we going to sit here all day analyzing my psyche?” she inquired testily.
“Analyzing your psyche might be fascinating,” he said. Before she could respond, he added, “But you’re clearly too impatient to get on with your agenda to cooperate.”
She reached for the door handle, but before she could open it, his hand closed over hers. The shock of his touch, the heat of it, stilled her. He waited until she turned to look at him before he said a word.
“One bit of caution—proceed slowly in there. If you go in like a private detective, they won’t talk.” His gaze locked with hers. “I’ve taken a huge gamble by bringing you here. I won’t let you hassle them.”
“You promised—” she began, only to be cut off.
“I promised to bring you here, to let you get to know what we’re all about. If you get answers as a result of that, fine. If you can’t live with that, I’ll take you back home right now.”
She didn’t like the rules. Nor was she certain how she would operate within them. “How will you explain me?”
For a moment he seemed to be weighing the alternatives. “I’m going to tell them who you are,” he replied eventually.
Her gaze narrowed. There was more. She could read it in his eyes. “And then what?”
He smiled. “And then I’m going to say that you’re here to take up where your husband left off.”
She stared at him, aghast by the suggestion—no, the command—that she was going to become a part of the Yo, Amigo program in some way. She felt manipulated, though no doubt the signs of his intentions had been there from the moment he uttered his invitation.
“I can’t do that,” she protested.
“You will do that,” he corrected, then added more gently, “It’s the only way to find the answers you’re after. You’ll have to blend in, become one of us.”
“I don’t shoot hoops,” she grumbled.
“Then tutor them in reading, teach the girls to sew. We have a kitchen here. You can teach them to cook. It won’t matter what you do. It’ll matter more that you’re here.”
Dana didn’t like the gender-based suggestions. More importantly, she wanted to move her investigation along far faster than the snail’s pace he was suggesting. And yet, she conceded reluctantly, she could see the sense of what he was saying. She knew just how distrustful these toughened street kids were likely to be. If she came on too forcefully, demanded too much, they would walk away without a backward glance.
But Rick’s way would also risk getting involved, putting her emotions on the line. She didn’t want to know these ex–gang members. She didn’t want to take a chance that she might actually come to feel something for them as Ken had felt.
No, she didn’t like his plan at all, but she would do as he was demanding. She could tell from his unrelenting expression that he wasn’t giving her a choice.
“Let’s go,” she said through gritted teeth.
This time he didn’t try to stop her from getting out of the car. But when they reached the door that she had used the night before, he blocked her way. Once again, she felt the power of his presence, the heat of his body, his taut strength.
“If you find out anything, anything at all, you will tell me about it first,” he said, his gaze locked with hers.
“You told me I wouldn’t find anything here,” she taunted.
“I don’t believe you will, but there’s always an outside chance I’m wrong. I don’t want you tearing off half-cocked and getting yourself killed.”
“Why? You’d be rid of a serious thorn in your side.”
“No,” he corrected. “I’d have one more death on my conscience. Ken’s already keeps me awake at night.”
There was just enough torment in his voice that Dana had no choice but to believe him. She knew all about that kind of guilt and anguish. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep herself since the murder.
Even so, she was far from ready to forgive him, even further from being willing to trust him. He was a means to an end at the moment. He was giving her entry into a world that she might never have been able to penetrate on her own. She would use him, as he had used Ken. If she destroyed him and Yo, Amigo in the process, it still wouldn’t be enough to compensate for the loss of her husband.
6
Apparently it was too early in the day for a big crowd. Inside the Yo, Amigo headquarters, Dana spotted only a handful of boys and even fewer girls. Perhaps it was part of Rick’s tactic to bring her here when there would be only a few people to talk to.
But it was a starting point, she reminded herself sternly, and, right now that was all she needed.
She watched as Rick strolled through the cavernous building with the confidence of a man who was in charge. She overheard him tease and taunt in a surprisingly lighthearted manner, saw the playful exchange of punches and handclasps. There was respect here and trust.
There was none of that in the hard, cold gazes that turned on her. She was eyed with obvious suspicion. Even when Rick explained, first in quiet Spanish, then in English, who she was, there was only the slightest softening of attitudes, the faintest mellowing of distrust.
The boy Rick had called Marco was the first to speak directly to her. With chiseled features and thick black hair, he had classic good looks, plus plenty of attitude. He surveyed her with an insolent, assessing gaze, then muttered something in Spanish that had his friends chuckling, until a stern look from Rick cut them off. He spoke sharply to them in such rapid Spanish that Dana caught only an occasional word, and even then, her long-ago lessons in the language failed her.
Whatever he’d said, though, seemed to alter the charged atmosphere. First one girl and then another smiled and shyly introduced herself. There was Rosa with the huge dark eyes and curly hair and the thickening waistline of pregnancy. Then came Ileana, with the tattoo of a scorpion on her wrist and half her head shaved. Dana forced herself not to react to the eccentricities, but to the hesitant welcome in their eyes.
There were more, but Dana knew she would never keep the names straight and apologized for it. She added in faltering Spanish that she was glad to be there, glad to meet them.
Her attempt to speak their language gained her another grudging point or two. She could see the first vague hint of acceptance in their eyes. She knew, though, that it was only a beginning. There would be many more steps before she could ask the questions that plagued her, that much was clear. One wrong step and the distrust would return, stronger than ever.
She had tiptoed through many an awkward interrogation, smooth-talked her way around deep suspicions in the past, but she was out of practice, and no one she had ever encountered was as deeply distrustful as these kids clearly were. How had she ever imagined that she could blithely waltz in here and demand answers? The past few minutes had shown her the folly of that thinking.
When an awkward silence fell, Rick stepped in. “You guys can spend time with Mrs. Miller later. We have a few things to take care of first in my office.”
Dana knew he was right to hustle her along, to give them time to absorb the idea of her presence, but she hated the prospect of even so minor a delay. Still, she said her goodbyes and dutifully followed him to the open door on which his name had been painted by the same artistic hand that had inscribed it on the wall out back.
When they walked inside, a beautiful, dark-haired teen looked up from the piles of paper in front of her, started to say something, saw Dana and gaped. She had barely recovered when Rick’s introduction had her gaping again.
“You are the padre’s esposa? I mean, his wife?”
There was such awe and reverence in the girl’s voice that Dana could do no more than nod.
“This is Maria Consuela Villanueva,” Rick said. “She keeps things in order around here.”
Dana surveyed the chaos doubtfully.
“I know, señora,” Maria said with a shrug, “it does not look as if I have achieved much, but you should have seen it before I came.”
Dana could not imagine it being worse than it was now. File folders lined the walls in stacks that were waist high. There were no file cabinets to hold them. A rickety table in the corner held a coffeemaker, a mismatched assortment of mugs and some sort of pastries. All of it looked ready to topple to the floor if so much as a breeze stirred.
Then there was the general decor. It seemed to Dana as if someone had gotten a deal on seconds at the paint store. The old metal desk with its fresh coat of bright red paint looked incongruous against the buttercup-yellow walls. The backbreaking metal chair in which Maria sat was a vivid blue. Even the trash can had received a coat of new paint—lime-green.
“Who’s your decorator?” Dana inquired.
“That would be Maria,” Rick said with obvious pride. “She thought it was too dull around here before.”
“It was gray,” Maria said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Everything gray. It was enough to make a person depressed.”
Dana glanced at Rick. “I assume the gray had been your choice.”
“No, it was here when we took over the building from the county. Institutional gray. Very bland and nonthreatening.”
“And your office? Did you allow Maria to change the decor in there? Or were you happy with your bland environment?”
Rick opened the door. “See for yourself.”
Dana stepped inside and promptly had to hide a chuckle. His walls were fire-engine-red, his desk yellow. His chair was lime-green. Those for his guests were a startling shade of purple.
“It’s very...” She hesitated, then settled for “...bright.”
“Cheerful, yes?” Maria said, gazing around the room happily. “Everyone helped. We did it as a surprise.”
Dana searched Rick’s face. “And were you surprised?”
“Stunned is more like it,” he muttered. “I’d really grown rather fond of that gray.”
“Too boring,” Maria said, ignoring his plaintive expression. “This is better. People leave this room feeling happy.”
“Or dizzy,” Rick countered.
Maria’s brow crinkled worriedly. “You hate it?”
Dana waited to see just how diplomatic Rick Sanchez could be when the situation required tact. Sure enough, he reached out and gave Maria’s hand a quick squeeze.
“It’s a beautiful office,” he reassured her. “Everyone who comes here says so.”
She gave a nod of satisfaction. “We could do something wonderful with your apartment, too, if you would just allow us.” She glanced at Dana. “Beige, floor to ceiling, nothing but beige and brown. It is worse than the gray, I think. It feels as if you are already in your grave with the dirt closing in.”
Dana shuddered at the imagery.
“It is not beige,” Rick protested. “It’s Navajo-white. I picked it out myself.”
“Call it what you like. I know beige when I see it. And the carpet is brown, yes? And the sofa? And that disgusting chair you love so much?”
Rick threw up his hands. “Okay, yes. But I’m not wasting money to change any of it. It’s livable. Besides, I’m never there.”
“True enough,” Maria agreed, “especially since...” A warning glance from Rick silenced her. “Never mind. Would you like coffee, Señora Miller?”
Dana shook her head.
“Okay, then. I will leave you to your meeting.” She retreated hurriedly.
Dana had listened to the exchange with fascination. She had watched the casual, affectionate teasing and wondered if there was more to their relationship than boss and secretary. Maria seemed to know an awful lot about Rick’s home.
“If she’s not crazy about your decor at home, maybe you should let her change it,” Dana said when Maria was gone.
Rick stared at her blankly. “Why would I do that?”
“If you expect her to spend any time there...”
Rick’s immediate chuckle stopped any further speculation. “My, my, you do have a vivid imagination, don’t you? I thought private detectives were supposed to look for evidence, not jump to conclusions.”
“In this case, the facts add up.”
“What facts?”
“She’s a beautiful young woman. You’re a healthy male. Both of you are single and unattached. She knows exactly what your apartment looks like, so obviously she’s spent time there.”
His gaze locked with hers. “I am a healthy male,” he confirmed softly. The mood suddenly shifted as he stepped closer. “You’re a beautiful widow.” One finger stroked lightly, provocatively along her jaw. “I know exactly what your house looks like, so obviously I’ve spent time there.”
Dana swallowed hard, but she couldn’t seem to make herself look away. She knew he was just trying to make a point, but she was too caught up in unexpected sensations to reason out what it was.
“So, Ms. Private Detective, would you say you and I are having an affair?”
She should have anticipated it, but she hadn’t. The taunting, softly spoken suggestion shocked her. Dana scowled at him, even as a traitorous tingle of awareness and anticipation shot through her. She forced herself not to back away, not to show any sign at all that he had shaken her with that slight caress.
“Touché,” she said, her voice husky and uneven, despite her best efforts. “Sometimes the facts may not add up.”
“Maybe it would be best if you and I stick to the things we can prove,” he suggested, his tone astonishingly casual considering the level of electricity that had been humming through the air just seconds before.
Dana could only nod.
“Have you thought about what you’d like to do here?” he asked as if the conversation up until that moment had been about nothing more consequential than the weather.
For once, she was grateful for the quick change of subject. “Poke through the files,” she said readily.
“I meant with the kids.”
She sighed. “You’re really going to make me go through with this, aren’t you?”
“It’s part of the deal. Reading, cooking, sewing, whatever. It’s up to you.”
She thought over the choices he’d offered and rejected all of them. She wanted something that would potentially reveal more of their personalities. “How about photography?” she said impulsively. “I have some experience with that.” Of course most of it had been snapping shots of errant husbands in the arms of the other woman. She supposed she could translate that and her two formal classes into an impromptu course of some sort.
Rick looked doubtful. “I don’t know.”
His lack of enthusiasm only fueled hers. “Why not? It’s a skill that they might be able to use.”
“But to get the equipment they’ll need, they might resort to theft,” he said realistically. “We can’t afford to buy the digital cameras.”
Dana wasn’t sure whether it was real enthusiasm for the idea or just plain perversity that made her say, “I have several old cameras at home and I can pay for the supplies.”
“You would trust these kids with your cameras?”
His doubting expression had her hesitating, but only for an instant. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t willing to put herself on the line in exchange for the information she so desperately wanted. “Until they give me reason not to,” she said firmly.
A grin spread across his face. “Well, well, Mrs. Miller, now you’re beginning to sound just a little like your husband. There may be hope for you yet.”
The hard-won, if somewhat mocking, compliment pleased her more than it should have. She forced an indifferent shrug. “One small step at a time. What should we do? Put up an announcement of some kind?”
