Like No One Else (5 page)

“Did she mention anything about someone hitting on her, coming on too strong? Or maybe she noticed a strange man staring at her in the grocery store or while she was out jogging?”

Kathleen smiled wistfully. “Maribel never went jogging. She always said she was too lazy and undisciplined for serious exercise. And it wasn't at all unusual for men to stare at her in public. As you probably noticed, she was a beautiful woman. She was used to guys hitting on her all the time.”

Paulo didn't doubt it.

“Garrett's here,” Donovan said from the doorway, announcing the deputy chief medical examiner's arrival.

At Paulo's request, Kathleen recounted her discovery of the body, repeating what she had already told the first officer on the scene, as well as Detective Donovan. Afterward Paulo thanked her for her cooperation, gave her his card, and asked her to call him or his partner if she thought of anything else that might help. She gratefully accepted his offer to have an officer follow her home.

As Paulo and Donovan made their way back to Maribel Cruz's bedroom to confer with the ME, Donovan said, “What did you think of Phillips?”

“I think she's hiding something,” Paulo said flatly.

The younger detective frowned. “Like what?”

Paulo's mouth curved in a grim smile. “I guess that's for her to know, and us to find out.”

As soon as Tommie returned to her loft after seeing Paulo off, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed her sister's number. After three rings she was about to hang up when a deep, masculine voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, Sebastien,” Tommie greeted her brother-in-law.

“Hey, girl.” His voice was tinged with laughter, as if he'd been enjoying some joke before he picked up the phone. “How you doing?”

“Can't complain. How about you? How's work?”

“Never a dull moment.”

“I'll bet,” Tommie said wryly.

Sebastien Durand was a homicide detective in the San Antonio Police Department. The first time Tommie met him, he'd been investigating the murder of a dancer who had worked at the same strip club as Tommie. Although Tommie had been instantly attracted to Sebastien, she'd never stood a chance with him. He'd only had eyes for her sister, Frankie. Once Tommie got over her wounded ego—which hadn't been easy—she'd realized just how right Frankie and Sebastien were for each other.
Soul mates
was the term that came to mind every time she saw them together.

“Hey, is Frankie—” The rest of Tommie's question was drowned out by a child's high-pitched squeal in the background. It was followed by the patter of running feet on hardwood and a woman's exasperated voice crying out, “Boy, get your little butt back here!”

Tommie grinned. “Let me guess. Bath time?”

“You guessed it,” Sebastien said, laughing. “Marcos just made a jailbreak. Let me go rescue your sister so you can talk to her.”

Tommie opened her mouth to tell him she would call back later, but Sebastien had already put down the phone. Tommie heard more laughter in the background as he and Frankie chased their naked two-year-old son around the room. The sound of Marcos Durand's childish giggles melted Tommie's heart, bringing a tender smile to her face. The worst part about living in another city was not being able to see her nephew every day. She adored that little boy. With his father's gray eyes and his mother's thick curly hair, Marcos was already a little heartbreaker.

While Tommie waited for her sister to come to the phone, she slipped off her pointe shoes and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, she reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of merlot she'd offered to Paulo earlier.

As she retrieved a wineglass from the cabinet, Frankie came on the line, laughing and sounding out of breath. “I swear that child of mine is going to run track when he grows up. He's so fast! I turn my back
one
second, and he's off like a bolt of lightning!”

Tommie chuckled, rummaging around a drawer for the corkscrew. “Where is he now?”

“Sebastien's getting him ready for bed.” Frankie heaved a gusty sigh. “Who needs membership to a gym? Chasing after Marcos every night gives me more than enough of a workout.”

Tommie grinned lasciviously. “I thought that was Sebastien's job.”

Frankie laughed.

There was a time that such a joke would have made both women uncomfortable. It would have been laced with bitterness, delivered as a barbed attack. Thankfully, that time had passed. Both Frankie and Sebastien had forgiven Tommie for the abominable way she'd behaved early in their relationship. Her selfish, malicious campaign to sabotage their romance was something she would always regret. She knew their willingness to forgive and forget was more than she deserved.

“I didn't mean to call during bath time,” she said apologetically. “Do you want me to call back later, after you've put Marcos to bed?”

“No, that's okay. Sebastien's got it covered. He's reading him a bedtime story. Marcos will be out like a light in five minutes. Anyway, I'm glad you called.”

“You are?”

Hearing the wary note in her sister's voice, Frankie laughed. “Of course. You know I'm always glad to hear from you. Mom and Dad are going to be jealous.”

Tommie frowned. “Frankie—”

“I know, I know. No lectures this time, I promise.” She paused. “But you
could
call them every once—”

“Frankie,” Tommie warned.

“All right, all right. I'd better back off before you stop calling me, too.”

“You said it, not me,” Tommie grumbled, popping the cork on her bottle. She poured the wine, watching as the chilled ruby liquid splashed into the glass.

Contrary to what her sister had said, Tommie hadn't stopped calling their parents. She spoke to them on a regular basis, although, admittedly, they usually initiated the contact. It wasn't that Tommie didn't love her parents; she just didn't have that much in common with them. Unlike Frankie, Tommie didn't share the same interests as their father, a renowned archaeologist who'd been known to spend hours discussing the cultural evolution of ancient civilizations with his elder daughter. And since Tommie didn't have a child, her mother couldn't dispense advice on her favorite topics, which nowadays included ways to tackle potty training, finicky eating habits, and temper tantrums.

“As I was saying,” Frankie said, breaking into Tommie's grim musings, “I'm glad you called because I need your advice. I'm giving a big presentation tomorrow, and I can't decide which outfit to wear. I've narrowed it down to two pantsuits and a skirt suit.”

“What's the presentation for?” Tommie asked, settling down at the breakfast counter with her glass of wine. Before Frankie could open her mouth, she added dryly, “In layman's terms, please.”

Her sister chuckled. A tenured entomology professor at a private university in San Antonio, Frankie had a tendency to lapse into scientific jargon that often went way over Tommie's head.

“My department is seeking a federal grant for a research study on arthropod-borne viruses,” Frankie explained. “Tomorrow we're hosting a symposium that will be attended by lots of important people from the National Institutes of Health, the Smithsonian, the National Science Foundation, as well as a number of leading entomologists from around the world. I was asked to make the university's case for funding.”

“Wow! That's great, Frankie,” Tommie enthused. “Congratulations. What a huge honor.”

“Tell me about it. I've got a lot riding on my shoulders, and I really want to make a good impression.”

“You will,” Tommie assured her. “Hell, you could give that presentation in your sleep.”

Frankie laughed. “I don't know about all that, but I certainly appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“It's well deserved.” Tommie thought of the lecture she'd been invited to give at the University of Houston on Wednesday. Once upon a time she would have bragged about it, trying to one-up her sister because she'd spent years feeling inferior to Frankie and living in the shadow of her brilliance. But those days were behind Tommie. Time had changed her. Life had changed her.

The sound of hangers scraping across a metal rod could be heard in the background. “Okay, I'm standing in my walk-in closet,” Frankie announced. “I'm going to send you photos of the three outfits, and you tell me which one I should wear tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Tommie idly sipped her merlot while Frankie snapped shots using her cell phone camera.

Tommie had always been the clotheshorse of the family, while Frankie had suffered from being severely fashion-challenged, her taste in clothes ranging from conservative to downright god-awful. Four years ago, her wardrobe had consisted of hideous muumuus, shapeless tops, and baggy slacks that did nothing to accentuate her killer body. But all that had changed when she met Sebastien Durand. He'd done for her what no other man ever had. He'd looked beyond Frankie's homely appearance to uncover the beautiful woman hiding beneath. In so doing, he'd given her the confidence—and motivation—to undertake a dramatic wardrobe transformation that would make fashionista Stacy London proud.

Although Frankie still regarded shopping as a mild form of torture, she'd come a long way. So Tommie wasn't too surprised when she saw the stylish selections her sister presented to her for consideration. After deliberating over the photos for a moment, Tommie said decisively, “Wear the red skirt suit. It's sassy and feminine, but still very professional. You look great in red, and the cut of the suit will really flatter your figure. Plus it's not as conservative as the pantsuits.”

“Are you sure?” The worried note in Frankie's voice was unmistakable. “Conservative might not be such a bad thing for this audience. These are scientific researchers and scholars, remember?”

Tommie laughed. “So what? They're men, aren't they? Even nerds can appreciate a great pair of legs. You wear that outfit, and by the time you're finished speaking, they'll be lining up in droves to give you the research funds.”

“I'd like to think the content of my presentation would be the reason for that,” Frankie said wryly.

“Of course. But you know my motto—if you got it, ain't a thing wrong with flaunting it.” She grinned, adding impishly, “Too bad you're not breast-feeding anymore. Those milk jugs you had made
me
want to cut you a damned check.”

“Tommie!” Frankie gasped.

Tommie laughed. She'd always enjoyed scandalizing her older sister. It was so much fun.

“Anyway,”
Frankie intoned, pointedly changing the subject, “how are your classes going?”

“Great,” Tommie replied. “I've got a full plate. I might need to hire another dance instructor sooner than I thought.”

“That's wonderful, Tommie,” Frankie said warmly. “You know, at the risk of getting all sentimental—”

Tommie groaned.

“—there's nothing nobler than sharing your knowledge and experience with others. Teaching takes an incredible amount of passion, patience, and unselfishness, and not everyone can do it. I'm so proud of you for not only proving that you
can
do it, but for having the courage to try. I hope your students realize just how lucky they are to be learning from such an amazingly gifted and accomplished dancer.”

Tommie's throat constricted. “Damn it, Frankie,” she grumbled. “Do you always have to be so damned good to me?”

“Yes,” Frankie said, a distinct smile in her voice, “because I love you. And no matter what we've been through, I couldn't imagine my life without you.”

“Ditto,” Tommie murmured, remembering the harrowing ordeal her sister had endured four years ago. Tommie wished it hadn't taken a near tragedy to make her realize how much she'd been taking Frankie, and their relationship, for granted. But then, she'd always been one of those people who had to learn things the hard way.

As Tommie took a swallow of wine and reached for the stack of mail she'd brought in earlier, she asked, “How's Mama August? Still spoiling Marcos rotten?”

Frankie chuckled. “You know it. But you won't hear me complaining. That woman has been an absolute godsend. I honestly don't know what we'd do without her. With my busy schedule and Sebastien's long hours, having his grandmother here during the week to take care of Marcos has been such a blessing. Marcos adores her, and he really enjoys their trips to Rafe and Korrine's ranch up the road. He gets to ride horses and play with Kaia and Ramon all day long. I tell you, between Mama August and Rafe's godmother, all
three
of those rug rats are spoiled rotten.”

Tommie smiled, absently sorting through her mail, most of it junk. “How
is
Korrine, by the way? Is she pregnant with her third child yet? Or has Rafe finally changed his mind about wanting six kids?”

Frankie laughed. “If he hasn't, I'm sure Korrine can persuade him to agree to a compromise. She's got that man wrapped around her finger.”

“Something else you both have in common. Besotted husbands.”

“
Besotted?
Someone's been watching Jane Austen movies again.”

Tommie sniffed. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Right. Of course. What was I thinking, implying that a cool, tough girl like you would actually watch those sappy romantic sagas?”

When Tommie made no reply, Frankie chuckled knowingly. During a previous visit to Tommie's loft, Frankie had been pleasantly surprised to find
Pride and Prejudice
among her sister's DVD collection. She hadn't believed Tommie when she told her that the movie belonged to a friend.

“And speaking of Rafe,” Frankie said casually, “have you and his cousin bumped into each other yet?”

“Why?” Tommie asked suspiciously. She'd nearly forgotten that the reason she'd called her sister was to pry the truth out of her concerning Paulo's visit.

“I was just wondering,” Frankie answered. “You and Paulo have lived in the same city for seven months now. I just figured you'd eventually run into each other.”

Tommie wasn't buying her sister's explanation. “Houston is a big city. The odds of running into anyone you know are slim. Unless you're neighbors or travel in the same social circles. Or unless you go out of your way to see each other.” She waited a beat. “Something you wanna tell me?”