Like No One Else (7 page)

“I don't know,” Paulo admitted. “It's possible. Your firm has represented some controversial clients in the past, and your attorneys have successfully litigated cases that undoubtedly angered the losing side. We have to consider the possibility that Maribel's murder was someone's way of retaliating against the company. Which might explain why
liar
was written on the wall.”

“Jesus,” Ignacio muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What a damned nightmare.”

Naomi gazed imploringly at Paulo. “But it's just a theory, right? You don't have any evidence to support the idea that Maribel was deliberately targeted by a former plaintiff?”

“No, I don't. All I have at this point are a lot of unanswered questions. When I talk to Colston tomorrow, I'll ask him about some of his most recent cases, see if that might provide any potential leads. It's a start.”

As Naomi and Ignacio reached for each other's hands, instinctively seeking a physical connection, their wedding rings' light caught the firelight.

“I'm glad you're in charge of the investigation,” Naomi said quietly to Paulo. “I wish to God this awful tragedy hadn't happened, but it comforts me to know that you're on the case, doing everything you can to find Maribel's killer.”

“I'll do my best,” Paulo said grimly, “but I can't make any promises.”

“Of course. We don't expect you to.” Naomi glanced at her slim gold wristwatch. “It's getting late. Why don't you stay here for the night? Daniela's flying in tonight and would be thrilled to see you when she gets home.”

“Where is she?”

“Attending a conference in New Mexico. She switched to an earlier flight after I called to tell her about Maribel. Angela and Rebecca were tied up this evening and couldn't make it over here, but they'll be at the office tomorrow.” Naomi paused, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Do you still keep a change of clothes in the trunk of your car for surveillance duty?”

“Yeah,” Paulo said, and immediately realized his mistake.

“Great! Then you can just get dressed here in the morning and head out with us to the office. I'm going to help Lydia prepare your room,” Naomi announced, and before Paulo could open his mouth to argue, she rose from the sofa and strode purposefully from the room.

Paulo stared after her in amused disbelief for a moment, then looked at Ignacio, who merely lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug.

“I didn't even say yes,” Paulo muttered.

Ignacio grinned. “Since when has that ever stopped her?”

 

Paulo was running, trying to keep pace with the barking dog streaking through the wooded forest. The night air was thick and suffocating. The moon hung full and bright overhead, threading silver through the dense canopy of trees. Broken branches, exposed roots, and moss-covered rocks littered the ground, slowing his progress. But he kept running, lungs burning, heart thudding in his chest. He was too close to stop now.

The hound's barking had grown louder, more agitated. The animal had found something.

And then Paulo saw it. A woman's nude body.

Swearing under his breath, he knelt beside the crumpled form. Thick black hair had fallen over the woman's face; even in the darkness, Paulo could see that the hair was matted with blood. He reached out and carefully turned the body over. The tangled hair fell away to reveal Maribel Cruz's face, eyes wide and staring sightlessly, mouth open in a scream no one would have heard out there in the forest. Her throat had been viciously slashed.

As Paulo reached for her, the dog that had led him here gave a low warning growl that brought Paulo's head up. The hound stood rigid as a statue, staring alertly into the shadowy trees. Paulo's skin prickled, the muscles in the back of his neck tightening. He scanned the dark woods. Though he saw nothing, he sensed another presence nearby.

A malevolent presence.

Watching him.

As Paulo's hand eased toward his holstered gun, the woman on the ground suddenly moaned. Startled, Paulo looked down. Instead of Maribel Cruz, he found himself staring into the face of Tommie Purnell.

He recoiled, his gut twisting savagely in protest.
No!

Without warning Tommie's dark eyes snapped open. “Help me, Paulo,” she whispered. “Please help—”

 

“Paulo? Are you awake?”

Paulo lurched upright in bed, violently dislodging the hand that had been resting on his shoulder. His heart hammered painfully against his rib cage, choking the air from his lungs. Perspiration dampened his skin.

“Are you okay?”

Shaken and disoriented, Paulo stared at the young woman perched on the edge of his bed, then looked around the semidarkened room, with its gleaming mahogany furniture and thick oriental carpeting. It took several moments for him to realize that he wasn't in a dark, creepy forest kneeling over the body of a dead woman.

Not just any woman. Tommie Purnell.

“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing at his bleary eyes with the heels of his hands. “I need a smoke.”

“You quit,” Daniela Santiago reminded him.

This time Paulo swore in Spanish.

Daniela laughed, a warm, lilting sound that penetrated the black cloud fogging his brain. “What time is it?” he grumbled.

“Six-thirty. That was some nightmare you were having.”

Paulo said nothing, leaning back against the headboard and dragging an unsteady hand through his thick, tousled hair. Naomi was right. He needed a damned haircut.

Daniela was eyeing him worriedly. “Are you sure you're okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly.

Daniela looked unconvinced. At thirty-four years old she was the youngest of the Santiago siblings. Her silky black hair was cut in a short bob that made her look like an exotic pixie doll. Her skin was golden brown, her oval face characterized by large hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and full, pouty lips. That morning she wore a tailored black designer pantsuit that made her look both businesslike and feminine, attributes she used to her advantage whether she was delivering a closing argument in the courtroom or conducting a meeting at her family's law firm, where she was the youngest partner.

When they were children Paulo had always treated Daniela like a pesky little sister, one who'd thrown temper tantrums when she didn't get her way, followed him and Rafe everywhere they went, and routinely snuck into their room at the crack of dawn to jump up and down on their beds. Now as adults, Paulo and Daniela were closer than anyone could ever have predicted, bonding over their failed relationships—both were divorced—and sharing the unenviable burden of being the only siblings in their families who hadn't yet brought children into the world.

“I was walking by your room when I heard you calling out in your sleep.” Daniela hesitated, biting her full lower lip as she studied Paulo. “Who's Tommy?”

“What?”

“Who's Tommy? You were shouting his name when I walked into the room.”

“
Her
name,” Paulo corrected. “And it's not important.”

Daniela frowned at him. “Not important? You sounded terrified, Paulo. Like something had really upset you.”

“It was just a bad dream,” he muttered. “Don't worry about it.”

Before Daniela could argue, Paulo tossed back the covers and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. After a quick glance down to make sure he hadn't slept in the buff last night, as he often did, he stood and strode across the room to the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind him so he could take a leak.

Shit, he wanted a smoke. Just to take the edge off his frayed nerves. The dream had been intense, disturbingly so. The shock and horror he'd felt when the dead woman's face had morphed into Tommie Purnell's had been all too real. His pulse still hadn't returned to normal.

He thought about calling Tommie just to see if she was okay, but what the hell would he say to her? That he'd dreamed about finding her dead, mutilated body in the woods? She'd probably call him a fucking psycho and hang up on him. And he wouldn't blame her. He had no reason to spook her, or to attach any significance to the nightmare he'd just had. Maribel Cruz's brutal murder had been fresh on his mind, considering that he'd left the crime scene just a few hours before he went to bed. It wasn't the first time a victim from one of his homicide cases had worked his or her way into his subconscious, and it wouldn't be the last. It was one of those “occupational hazards” nobody ever mentioned to you when you were thinking about joining the force.

Washing his hands at the sink, Paulo surveyed his reflection in the mirror. He looked like hell, with bloodshot eyes, unruly hair, and nearly a week's worth of dark stubble covering his jaw. He'd have to break down and shave before he left the house that morning. He didn't want to embarrass his family by showing up at the law firm looking like a savage.

Grimacing, Paulo rummaged in the cabinet until he located an electric razor and shaving cream, conveniently supplied by the housekeeper. He wished she'd left a fresh pack of Marlboros for him as well. Hell, he would have loved to draw in a deep lungful of nicotine right about now. Giving up smoking was harder than he'd ever imagined, and he'd kicked the habit more than four years ago. But every so often his body craved what it couldn't have.

Like too much booze.

And Tommie Purnell.

Ruthlessly shoving the thought aside, Paulo opened the bathroom door and called out to Daniela, “When'd you get in last night?”

“Around one.” Daniela stood at the French doors, where she'd just opened the drapes to let in the sunlight. “Mom didn't want me taking a cab late at night, so she sent Mr. Mackey to pick me up,” she added, referring to the family's longtime driver. “Mom said you offered to do it, but she told you not to because she wanted me to be surprised when I got home and found you here.”

“And were you?” Paulo drawled, lathering his face and neck with shaving cream.

“Of course.” Daniela grinned. “I know how paranoid you are about keeping your coworkers from finding out we're related. That's the only reason you didn't move into the guest cottage when Mom and Dad offered, even though you wouldn't have had to pay rent and you could have enjoyed Lydia's wonderful home cooking every night. And God knows the guest cottage is a helluva lot nicer than that dump you call an apartment.”

“Don't start,” Paulo warned, chuckling.

“I know, I know.” Daniela heaved a long sigh, stretching out across the foot of the mahogany sleigh bed with her head propped in the crook of her palm. From that angle she could see Paulo through the open bathroom doorway. “Don't mind me. I'm just feeling sorry for myself because I'm a thirty-four-year-old divorcee still living at home with my parents. I guess I just figured if you'd moved into the guest house, you'd always be around to keep me company.”

“Not necessarily,” Paulo countered, gliding the electric razor along his throat. “Between your long hours and mine, we'd probably see each other about as often as we do now.”

“You're probably right.” Another deep sigh. “Listen to me, throwing a pity party for myself after the terrible thing that happened to poor Maribel Cruz. I couldn't believe it when Mom called to tell me.”

“Did you know Maribel?”

“Not very well. I'd spoken to her a few times around the office, and she seemed really nice.” Daniela paused, making a face. “Unlike her boss.”

“Ted Colston?”

“Yeah. Him. I never understood how Maribel could put up with him. He's such an asshole.”

Paulo raised an amused brow. “He's a lawyer. Isn't that a given?”

“Hey!” Daniela laughingly protested. “
I'm
a lawyer!”

Paulo grinned through the white foam covering his face. “Seriously, though. What's your beef with Ted Colston?”

“God, where do I begin? The first time I met him, he was new to the firm, so he didn't know who I was. When I walked into the conference room for a meeting, he automatically assumed I was a secretary, there to take notes and serve coffee. Before I could even sit down, he proceeded to tell me how he took his coffee—cream with one sugar.”

Paulo chuckled. “Uh-oh. What'd you do?”

Daniela's hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. “I got his coffee and served it to him with a smile, sweet as you please. Everyone else was just staring at us, like they couldn't believe what they were seeing. A few people were holding back grins, 'cause they knew Ted was going to feel like a real dumb-ass when he found out who I was. After one of the other attorneys opened the meeting with a few announcements, he turned it over to me, making a point of introducing me as Senior Associate Daniela
Santiago
.” She laughed, an infectious, rollicking sound. “You should have seen the look on Ted's face once he made the connection. I thought he was going to shit all over his Armani suit! It was priceless.”