Like No One Else (39 page)

Tommie flung open the front door and ran headlong into the dim stairwell. The lights flickered eerily, heightening her terror. In the back of her mind she heard Paulo's concerned voice, warning her to get the bulbs replaced soon. And she thought of Arthur Lambert, who'd called earlier to tell her that an electrician was coming tomorrow.

Too little, too late.

No sooner had the ominous thought crossed her mind than the lights blinked off, plunging her into blackness.

She swallowed a scream, her heart lurching to her throat.

Donovan's laughter floated through the darkness to taunt her, soft and eerie. Pursuit might not have been part of his plan, but it had become part of the deadly game.

“I must say, Tommie. None of my other victims fought the way you did. I'm going to enjoy killing you even more than I thought I would.”

Her blood ran like ice through her veins. She crept carefully down the stairwell, her pulse pounding. No moonlight shone through the opening in the roof. It was so dark she couldn't see her hand in front of her face.

“Setting up Sanchez was brilliant.” Her tormentor's voice was growing nearer. “After what Roland did to you, I knew you'd have a hard time believing Sanchez was innocent. If you hadn't had your little lovers' quarrel, he'd be here right now, protecting you. Too bad.”

She tried to go faster, and lost her footing on a step. As she tripped she grabbed for the handrail she couldn't see, breaking a nail, skinning her knuckles on the brick wall.

“Be careful,” Donovan warned, amused. “Me, I'm used to creeping through shadows and darkness, so I don't need to take my time. But you? Not so lucky.”

Like hell
, Tommie thought defiantly.
I'm getting out of here!

But she miscalculated the distance to the next step. As her ankle twisted painfully, she plummeted forward, tumbling down the rest of the stairs.

She landed on something soft lying near the bottom of the stairwell. As her fingers encountered sticky warmth and the scent of blood filled her nostrils, she realized that it was Roland's body.

This time she couldn't stifle the reflexive scream that tore from her throat.

 

Paulo erupted from Julius Donovan's home, adrenaline firing his blood and fear clutching his heart.

He'd found a shrine to Tommie in a small locked room inside his partner's house. Evidence that confirmed his worst suspicions about the man he'd worked alongside every day for the past two years. There had been pictures of Tommie plastered on the walls, along with programs, brochures, playbills, and other dance memorabilia. He'd found a bookcase filled with videos and DVDs of her past performances, as well as a small wooden chest that contained scrunchies, hair clips, an old tube of lipstick, earrings, and lingerie belonging to Tommie.

As Paulo surveyed the collection of stolen items in horrified disbelief, he'd felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Violently blindsided.

How could he not have known?

How could he not have detected the depravity that lurked beneath the surface of Julius Donovan's boyish charm?

It was inconceivable.

As he charged from the house and strode to his truck, his cell phone rang. This time he didn't ignore it, snatching it up halfway through the first ring.

“Sanchez, this is Cesar. Hey, man, I thought you were placed on leave today.”

“I am,” Paulo growled, in no mood to discuss the matter.

“So, did they let you keep the cruiser?”

“No. I turned in my keys. What the hell are you talking about?”

Cesar sounded apprehensive. “I meant to call you an hour ago, but I got sidetracked with this damned paper. When I drove past Tommie's loft a while ago, I saw your cruiser parked outside. I just automatically assumed—”

Paulo's blood froze. “That's not my cruiser.”

“Oh, shit. Look, I'm on the other side of town. I'll meet you—”

But Paulo had already hung up the phone. As he broke into a dead run, heart in his throat, he vowed that he would kill Donovan with his bare hands if he did anything to Tommie.

 

Tommie's ankle was throbbing unmercifully. She'd sprained it when she fell down the stairs, destroying any hope she'd had of reaching her office before Julius Donovan caught her. She could feel him behind her, could sense his menacing presence closing in on her as she lay sprawled across Roland's corpse. She knew her own death was imminent.

Trembling hard, she tried to hold it together.
You can't give up now! You swore you'd never be a victim to any man again! Save yourself!

Thinking fast, Tommie reached down hurriedly and began checking Roland's pockets.

Tears of relief sprang to her eyes when her searching hands found the pistol she knew he'd always carried, that he'd probably brought with him that night to kill her. Quickly and quietly drawing the gun out of his jacket pocket, she scuttled backward like a crab, taking cover under the stairwell.

Her heart hammered as she held her breath, listening for Donovan's footsteps.

He was deliberately taking his time. Prolonging her torture.

After what seemed an eternity he reached the landing and stopped.

“I know you haven't gone very far, Eurydice,” he whispered. “I can still hear you breathing.”

Tommie squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wondering whether she should fire blindly into the darkness or remain hidden. If she missed, he'd know exactly where she was.

And she had no doubt that
he
wouldn't miss his shot.

Without warning the stairwell lights blinked back on.

Oh, shit.

Donovan turned unerringly to face her. As if he'd known where she was hiding all along.

Tommie nearly recoiled from the evil malice gleaming in his eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, he licked the blade of the knife. “At first I was only going to make you dance before I killed you,” he taunted, stalking her. “Now I think I'll fuck you first.”

Tommie looked him straight in the eye. “No, Detective.” His eyes widened as she raised the gun in her hand and took deadly aim. “Fuck
you
.”

The bullet blasted through his chest, driving him backward. A moment later he crumpled to the floor, sprawling ignominiously beside Roland.

Tommie slumped weakly against the wall. The gun slid from her limp grasp and clattered to the floor. Her head was pounding, her ankle was throbbing, and she felt like she'd gone through twelve rounds with a heavyweight champion. But she was alive.
Thank God
she was alive.

Suddenly the front door banged open. Paulo stood in the doorway, his weapon drawn.

His frantic gaze swept the foyer, taking in the two bodies strewn across the floor. He rushed inside.

“Tommie!” he shouted hoarsely.

“Over here,” she croaked.

When he saw her huddled under the stairwell, a look of anguished relief swept across his face. In a heartbeat he was beside her, pulling her into his arms, kissing her hair, cradling her protectively. “I thought I'd lost you,” he said raggedly, holding her as if he'd never let go. “I thought…Oh God!”

Tears flooded Tommie's eyes. She broke down and clung tightly to him. “I love you, Paulo. Don't ever leave me.”

He cupped her face in his hands, crushed his mouth to hers, and whispered fiercely, “Just try to get rid of me.”

Six months later,
San Antonio, Texas

“You know,” Tommie murmured, rousing herself from a state of pleasant exhaustion, “we probably just broke a major rule of etiquette here, leaving our guests in the middle of our reception and sneaking off to have a quickie.”

There was a faint rustling of ivory silk before Paulo's face emerged from the folds of her gown, eyes glinting with mischief, a wolfish grin on his face. “You're talking to the wrong guy, sweetheart. I've never given a damn about etiquette.”

Tommie sighed, her lips curving. “This is true. So why should you start on your wedding day?”

“Damn straight.” He leaned down and kissed her, tasting the champagne and the sweet, buttery cake Mrs. Calhoun had made for their wedding, a lavish, towering confection that had dazzled their guests.

Lifting his head, Paulo smiled into her eyes. “Besides, you can't blame me for whisking you away. I was just keeping a promise.”

“Oh, really? And what promise was that?”

His grin widened. “That morning at the Breakfast Klub, I told you that the next wedding we attended together, I'd let
you
molest me during the reception.”

Tommie laughed. “Of course! How could I forget?”

He gazed down at her, his expression softening. “God, you're beautiful. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. Watching you walk down the aisle…You took my breath away.”

Tears misted her eyes. Amazing, considering how much she'd already wept that day. Trying to stave off another wave of emotion, Tommie teased, “You have to say that. You just pledged your life to me in front of four hundred witnesses.”

“
Dios mio
. Is that how many people we're feeding?”

She grinned. “It's all those Santiagos and Sanchezes. And your police friends. My God, Paulo, I think every cop in San Antonio and Houston is here!”

Chuckling, he nipped her bare shoulder and stretched out beside her on the oversize chaise longue in the plush bridal suite. Tommie nestled against him, basking in his wonderful warmth, feeling a heady combination of euphoria and contentment.

Another sigh escaped. “It was a beautiful wedding, wasn't it, Paulo?”

“Hands down the best I've ever been to,” he murmured.

The ceremony had been held at the historic San Fernando Cathedral in downtown San Antonio, their concession to Paulo's Catholic parents. Everything had been perfect, from the sun slanting through the stained-glass windows to the lovely bouquets of white roses decorating the domed sanctuary. For the reception afterward, they'd traveled to a private resort nestled deep in the Hill Country, where dozens of linen-covered tables, ice sculptures, and a five-string quartet were set against a stunning backdrop of blue skies and vast, rugged mountains.

At one point, Paulo had been conversing with his groomsmen when he'd looked across the courtyard and seen Tommie kneeling beside their flower girls and her nephew, Marcos, the ring bearer. She'd been talking animatedly, laughing as the small children vied for her attention. Almost intuitively, she'd glanced up and caught the simmering heat of Paulo's stare.

Before she knew it he was striding toward her, snagging her hand, and leading her back inside the hilltop mansion amidst a shower of catcalls and whistles from their guests—Rafe, Sebastien, Zhane, and Myles being the loudest.

Lying in her husband's arms that afternoon, Tommie couldn't help whispering a silent prayer of gratitude. If Julius Donovan had had his way, she wouldn't have lived to see this day.

News of the detective's shocking, sadistic plot to murder three women and frame his partner for the crimes had hit the local and national airwaves as Tommie lay in the hospital recuperating from the minor injuries she'd sustained in the violent confrontation. The chilling level of Donovan's premeditation, fueled by his maniacal obsession with Tommie, was chronicled in lurid detail, leaving the police department reeling from the scandal and scrambling for answers. Paulo had been fully reinstated and a public apology was issued by the chief of police and mayor.

In the aftermath, Ted Colston had been fired for violating the law firm's employee code of conduct when his affair with Maribel Cruz came to light. He'd confessed to giving a false statement to the police about his whereabouts on the morning of Maribel's murder; the unidentified black car seen arriving at her house had been Ted's rental car. This, compounded by the revelation that he'd also been sleeping with his foster sister and had been dabbling in shady business dealings, had devastated his wife. She'd thrown him out of the house and filed for divorce.

“Come back to me,
querida
,” Paulo murmured, quietly watching the play of emotions across Tommie's face. “No thinking about that night. Especially not today.”

She smiled, laying her hand against his chest and feeling his strong, steady heartbeat. “I was just counting my blessings.”

Paulo drew her closer, running one hand tenderly along her cheek. “I've been doing that since the night you agreed to marry me.” His gaze softened. “Your father was so proud of you. I've never seen a man's chest more puffed out with pride as he walked his daughter down the aisle.”

Tommie's throat tightened. For as long as she lived, she would never, ever forget the expression on Gordon Purnell's face when he'd beheld Tommie for the first time in her wedding gown. With tears glistening in his eyes, he'd smiled tenderly, tucked his arm through hers, and said gently, “I wish your grandmother had lived to see this day. She would have been as proud of you as I am. I hope that young man out there knows what an extraordinary gift he's receiving today.”

Blinking back tears, Tommie had hugged her father tightly and thought,
Maybe, just maybe, there's hope for us yet.

Smiling at the memory, she turned her head into Paulo's palm and kissed it. “I really like your parents. I was almost afraid they wouldn't accept me. You know, because of that story you told me about the way the Sanchez family rejected Ignacio's mother because she was black.”

Paulo shook his head. “My parents aren't like that. They just want me to be happy. Nothing else matters. And they happen to think you're amazing.” He chuckled softly. “They were pretty impressed with your dancing earlier.”

Tommie grinned as she thought of their first dance, a sensual, salsa-flavored dance that was traditional for newlyweds at Mexican weddings. His grandmother Maria had stood nearby directing Tommie's movements while their guests clapped to the music and cheered. The way Paulo ground his hips rhythmically into Tommie's had driven her crazy. If he hadn't come along and dragged her off to the bridal suite, she might have beat him to it.

“You still owe me a date for salsa dancing,” she reminded him. “You've got some serious moves, Mr. Sanchez.”

His eyes glinted wickedly as he began reaching under her dress. “If you're ready, Mrs. Sanchez, I can show you some more.”

“Later,” Tommie said, swatting at his hand. “You've already messed up my hair and got me all sweaty. And I wasn't planning on sweating in this dress—it's Vera Wang.”

“Vera who?”

“Never mind.” She sighed. “Thank God for Zhane and Daniela. Trying to talk fashion with you and Frankie is an exercise in futility. Not that you don't clean up nice though,” she added, admiring how powerfully handsome he looked in his black tuxedo. “
Very
nice.”

“Glad you approve.” His gaze sobered. “You sure you won't regret moving back to San Antonio?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I think it was time to come home. Both of us.”

“I think so, too.”

Paulo had sold the house he and his first wife had shared, a symbol of his readiness to finally free himself from the ghosts of the past and start a new chapter in his life. He and Tommie had bought a big, beautiful house that they fully intended to fill with the rollicking laughter and running feet of children.

Paulo had been welcomed back to the San Antonio Police Department with a promotion to sergeant. He and Sebastien now worked out of the same station and saw each other every day. After selling her converted warehouse for top dollar to an eccentric local film producer who'd been morbidly fascinated with the harrowing events that took place there, Tommie had found a new location for her dance studio, a studio used by Korrine Santiago, who enjoyed dancing ballet in her spare time. Tommie would be interviewing dance instructors when she and Paulo returned from their honeymoon in two weeks.

She and Zhane were seriously contemplating launching their own dance company in the near future. He'd been telling her for some time that he needed a change of scenery, a break from his family's nonstop drama. Tommie thought it might do him good.

A change of scenery had definitely done wonders for her and Paulo.

She smiled at the thought, gently weaving her fingers through Paulo's hair, a little sad that Naomi had insisted on the groom getting a haircut.

As if reading her thoughts, Paulo chuckled. “Don't worry. It'll grow back soon.”

“I'm not worried.” Her mouth curved in a naughty grin. “I still have plenty to grab on to.”

“Mmmm. And speaking of…”

Deliberately ignoring the wicked intent in his eyes, Tommie sighed. “We've come full circle, Paulo. We first met at a wedding, and now here we are, nearly five years later, at our own wedding.”

“Amazing how that worked out.” His hand slipped beneath her dress, slid into her warmth. He groaned huskily. “You're wet, sweetheart.”

Tommie nodded, feeling a delicious stab of heat as his talented fingers moved deeper. “I've been wet since the day I met you.”

It was either the right—or the wrong—thing to say. Paulo's gaze glittered with swift hunger as he moved his body over hers, raised her gown, and settled himself between her legs.

“We should really get back to our guests,” Tommie protested weakly as he ran an appreciative hand over her white lace garter. “What if someone comes looking for us?”

“Cesar's guarding the door. No one's getting past him.”

She gasped. “He's doing
what
?”

Paulo flashed a devilish grin. “Why do you think I invited him to the wedding? You didn't think it was because we've been friends forever, did you?”

Tommie's laughter dissolved into a throaty moan as he sank into her.

As she wrapped her arms around his neck and caught his slow, relentless rhythm, she marveled at the beauty of second chances. She and Paulo had made their share of mistakes in the past, but they'd weathered the storm together and had found in each other something they'd both sought for a lifetime. A gift that was almost as priceless as their love: the gift of redemption.

Their honeymoon destination awaited them, a charming bed-and-breakfast tucked away somewhere in Spain.

And their future awaited them.

Bright, glorious, full of passion and promise.