HIDING: Book 5, The Stranger Stand Alone Series, A Dark Romantic Suspense Page 13

  I glare at him. “Get your shit and get out of here.”

  His eyes dart to mine, round and imploring, his face pale, and he mumbles, “I’m sorry,” then he runs out the backdoor.

  I fix my stare at the man in front of me. I’m shaking. From both rage and fear.

  He’s still grinning at me as he approaches. “I knew you were a wild one. I like it, Maria Reyes.”

  Every time he says my name, it’s like a knife slicing into my flesh.

  When he’s standing on the other side of the big plastic box I’m carrying full of dirty dishes and cups, he raises his hands to take it. His fingers brush mine, and the contact makes every single hair on my body stand on end. I have to fight the urge to jerk the box away from him.

  “Let me get that,” he mutters in a sickly sweet voice.

  I let him take it and wrap my arms around my body, hoping to keep my trembling unnoticeable.

  After he walks to the sink and places the bus pan on the shelf, he comes back to me and takes my elbow in a firm grip. I can’t stop myself. I yank my arm free of his revolting touch.

  “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

  “I told you I’d see you soon. And I wanted to come check out your place,” he grips my arm again, this time more forcefully, and begins to lead me toward the kitchen.

  My body’s so rigid, he practically has to drag me across the floor. I can hear the clatter of pots and pans and the soft melodic voice of my grandmother, then my aunt’s relaxed laughter coming from the other room.

  Anguish rips through me.

  If I brought danger to my family, I won’t be able to live with myself.

  Thoughts are flying through my mind. He was sent by the gang to find me. He’s going to murder all of us in the kitchen, cut us up and cook us to destroy the evidence. We’re going to be kidnaped and sold into a human trafficking circle. All very real situations, and all equally horrendous.

  When he pushes me through the doorway, everything in there stops. The moment is frozen in time, I’ll never forget anything, the expressions of my family, how their faces switched from surprise to terror in a nanosecond as the sounds slowly died out in the background. I want to scream out I’m sorry, so, so sorry for bringing this, bringing him, here.

  “Nice place,” he comments casually.

  “Get your hands off my granddaughter,” my grandmother, who barely makes five feet, picks up a large kitchen knife and walks toward us, not batting an eye lash.

  I’m equally so fucking proud of her and scared to death she’s going to push him over the edge.

  “I see the wild streak runs in the family,” he laughs as he drops his hand from me.

  I sidestep and get a few feet of distance between us, the separation making it a little easier for me to finally breathe and think.

  Standing right in front of him as if she were ten feet tall, she points the knife at his heart. “What do you want?”

  The woman’s got balls as big as Texas. And I’ve never loved her more than I do at this moment. You don’t fuck with a Latin woman’s family.

  “I wanted to take a look at your restaurant, you’ve got a nice place,” he isn’t fazed by the knife, or the old woman in front of him. He glances around and begins to walk the perimeter like he’s got every right to be here.

  No one says anything. We watch him as he struts around like a fucking peacock. I cringe, his mere presence is contaminating everything, poisoning it with the filth that he is.

  “I told your granddaughter when I was here, you’re giving the other places a lot of competition,” he continues as he lifts the tops from the pots and inhales the aromas of what’s inside. “Damn, that smells good.” He picks up the large service spoon and dips it in, taking a taste of the rice and beans my aunt has cooking for dinner. “So good,” he closes his eyes, savoring the taste after he takes another mouthful and replaces the lid.

  “Get out of my kitchen,” my grandmother scurries behind him, her face pinched in anger, drawing her hand back as if she’s going to swat him on his behind like a reckless child.

  “Now behave yourself, woman. You don’t want to get yourself arrested for assault. I can file charges on you because of the weapon you’ve got pulled on me,” he taunts her with the threat. “Prison is not a pretty place.”

  His snide tone and the cold, hard look in his eyes clearly shows he’s not bluffing.

  I HATE YOU! The scream resounds in my brain, over and over again on a loop.

  She doesn’t stop.

  “I don’t give a fuck. Get out!”

  Balls. And stupid. And the most incredible woman in the world.

  Julie grabs both my grandmother’s arms, abruptly stopping her.

  He throws his head back and laughs at her.

  “I like you, old woman. Too bad most men I know don’t have your spirit.”

  This time it’s Julie who speaks up.

  “What is it you want?” She’s still got my grandmother’s arms held tightly, although she’s doing her damndest to break free.

  “Nothing, I only wanted a look,” he takes a few more steps glancing around. Then he stops and turns his full attention to the three of us. “And talk.”

  “Then talk, cabron,” my grandmother spits out.

  The woman’s also got a mouth like a sailor.

  Another trait that runs among the women in my family, although it seems it skipped a generation with my mother and her sister, my aunt Julie.

  He takes a step closer, closing the gap between him and the three of us. I take two steps closer to my family, bracing myself to jump between him and them if I have to.

  “You’re obviously a close family,” he looks back and forth between us.

  The tension is thick and heavy, closing in, promising to choke us with its weight.

  We don’t move, we don’t speak, we just listen to what this piece of shit has to say.

  “I’m sure you realize how bad it hurts when your family’s interests are threatened,” he continues.

  My nostrils flare and my eyes close to slits.

  He’s going to threaten us, my family’s business.

  “And I’m sure you’d do anything,” he looks directly at me, “to protect them.” His gaze diverts to my aunt, “Sometimes we need to expand our interests to ensure their protection.” He sneers, “Maria Reyes,” his focus returns to me as he says my name, the sound of it makes my skin crawl, “you are very interesting.”

  I clench my jaw and dig my nails into my arms to keep myself from saying something that would cause any more trouble. And from gouging out his eyes.

  “Thank you for the tour of your restaurant,” he starts for the back door. “I’ll be in touch.” The sound of his footsteps hesitate. “Maria, how’s your boyfriend?” the question’s followed by a loud, twisted chuckle.

  My heart is instantly ripped to shreds as his words hurtle me right back to that morning Rafi was killed.

  No one moves or says anything for a minute after we hear the door bang shut.

  “Ese hijo de gran puta, that son-of-a-bitch,” my grandmother spits out the curse. “I should have stabbed him. Why did you stop my, Julie?” she drops the knife on the table, then walks to the stove to check her food.

  “Mama, don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps at her, then Julie glares at me. “That scum was here before?”

  I’m pacing, jacked up on fury, fear, and heartache. “Yes, with a bunch of lowlifes. They had lunch.”

  “What happened?” Julie barks.

  “Nothing really.” I pull out my phone and see Rico sent me a text an hour ago. “I’ve got to call Rico.”

  “Yes, yes, call him. He’ll take care of that cabron,” my grandmother bobs her head up and down. “That son-of-a-bitch, now I have to throw this out,” she grumbles as she lifts the huge pot from the stove.

  My hands are shaking. I clench my fists to steady myself and count to five. He picks up the phone after two rings, two of the longest rings of my life.

 
; “Been busy, kitten?” he answers the phone.

  “Rico, he was here again,” my voice chokes as my emotions strangle me.

  “I’ll be right there,” he answers tightly, his affection gone. “Are you okay?”

  I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut to calm myself so I can speak without breaking down.

  “I’m fine, we’re all fine.”

  “I’m on my way.” He hangs up as I hear the squeal of tires.

  The three of us go through the restaurant searching for anything out of place or unusual after the intrusion, intrusion because that’s exactly what it was. It wasn’t forced, it didn’t have to be. He snuck in, and either had a spy, or coerced the help of the young dishwasher to get…something.

  What the hell did he want?

  My name? My identity?

  Confirmation I’m the one he’s looking for?

  Fifteen minutes later, Rico arrives.

  And he’s furious.

  “Tell me exactly what happened,” his jaw is clenched and his eyes are wild with rage.

  “I walked into the kitchen,” I lead him to the back as I start describing to him everything that happened. “When I got there, he was talking to the dishwasher. Then he turned to me and said my name. My full name.”

  Rico’s eyes shift back and forth on mine, reading me, seeing my fear.

  “Go on,” his voice is quiet and menacing.

  Good, get mad, get real fucking mad.

  We continue to the main kitchen area as I tell him the sequence of events, and what the man said. When we’re all standing around the center table, he begins to ask questions.

  “He insinuated your family’s interests are threatened?”

  I shake my head and really think about what he’d said. “I’m not sure. He mentioned a couple of times that we were giving the other restaurants competition. It made me feel like we were hurting them, so we were going to be made to pay for that.”

  Rico doesn’t say anything for a moment as he looks around.

  “Did he say that exactly?”

  “…No…,” I answer slowly.

  “He also referred to protection?” Rico asks.

  “Yes,” Julie responds.

  He continues to slowly walk, his eyes like a hawk, looking for anything that might tell him something.

  There’s nothing there. We’ve looked.

  “Do you know his name?” the question is low and steely, and sends a chill through me.

  “No,” I whisper tightly.

  I know Rico’s frustration is as palpable as my own.

  “Arrest him, Rico. Kick his ass,” grandmother says.

  He turns to face her, his expression at first glance is blank and emotionless. But I know him, I know him. He’s far from emotionless. Inside, he’s enraged. It’s all he can do to keep himself in check.

  “Señora, unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” he replies tightly.

  “What do you mean?” she sputters.

  His lips flatten to tight line, his frustration obvious. “He didn’t break in, he didn’t actually threaten anyone, didn’t lay a hand on anyone. He was correct, you threatened him with a knife…”

  “Que esto? He came in here…” she cuts him off.

  “He was here. We don’t know if he was let in by the dishwasher, although you say the kid looked scared out of his mind. I’ll talk to the boy and find out what happened between the two. I hate to say it, but he didn’t break any laws.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I spit out angrily.

  I feel so violated, so wronged.

  I want to scream!

  “It is total bullshit. Unfortunately, it’s the law,” Rico takes my hand.

  I jerk it away from him.

  “He was THREATENING us! He knew my name, he made a point of saying it, the whole thing!” I can’t stop the tears that start streaming down my face.

  “I know Maria, I understand,” Rico pleads and looks like the whole situation is killing him.

  He’s struggling. I can see the battle raging inside him. His balled up fists and white knuckles say he wants to tear the guy apart, destroy him, rip his fucking heart out of his chest. But his rigid body shouts he’s bound by the law and the duties of his position.

  I don’t care.

  I want vengeance. I want retaliation. It’s not him the gang’s looking for. It’s wasn’t him that someone just threatened. It was us.

  It’s ME.

  It’s me they’re looking for.

  I know, I fucking know he was here because he found me!

  Rico tries to pull me in his arms. I jerk away. I see the deep hurt in his eyes.

  I DON’T CARE.

  I thought he could keep me safe. I thought he could protect me.

  I thought he was my cop.

  Maybe I was wrong.

  RICO

  CHAPTER 14

  “GODFUCKINGDAMMIT!” I yell as I punch the dashboard of the Charger.

  Three days, three long, goddamn days since some fuck went into Maria’s family’s restaurant and threatened them, threatened HER!

  I’ve watched her, kept an eye out on all of them from a safe distance. I had to make sure nothing happened to her. I’ve asked the units patrolling the area to make extra rounds around their homes and watch out for unusual or suspicious people or activity. I’ve done everything in my power I could do aside from parking my ass in that restaurant and in their driveways.

  Since then I’ve felt like I’ve been shot up with battery acid, the rage that’s filled my veins is all consuming. The thing I’ve been aware of most since that moment is the overwhelming need to torture him.

  For hours.

  Then kill him.

  That and the terror and utter betrayal on Maria’s face.

  It gutted me.

  It killed me because I was paralyzed. I was, and am, aggravatingly tied by procedure and protocol.

  I couldn’t do a goddam thing.

  Still can’t.

  According to the law.

  And whoever the scumbag was, he knows it.

  He didn’t give his name and he didn’t outwardly threaten them. He hadn’t broken any laws, therefore, technically the department can’t be brought in to do any investigations.

  The guy’s like a damn ghost, a face without a name and no identity. One minute he’s there, then he’s gone.

  The guy’s too fucking good.

  And disturbingly familiar.

  A lethal force who doesn’t exist.

  Instinct’s yelling at me I know who he is. I KNOW who he is.

  But much, much fucking worse than that, he knows who Maria is.

  The only person I’m aware of who has the connections for that inside intel, that would even care, who just by chance is in our little corner of the world, a nondescript small city that is so far removed from the world of crime and death and contracts of New York, is the same demon who sent a message to me. Put one of my family in the hospital and in a coma.

  Because of me.

  Ivan “The Fucking Terrible” Rodriguez.

  The absolute worst part of that possibility is, if it is Ivan, then I led him to Maria.

  If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t be here, the same place where Maria came to hide.

  Because I don’t know for certain it’s Ivan, although in my gut I do, as a cop I have to wait until something definitive happens to move on him.

  The guy doesn’t exist except in the underworld. He’s not on any radars, not even in the world of the corrupt and vile, amongst the most heinous monsters alive. And dead.

  I glance over to my Glock sitting on the seat beside me. It’s quick and efficient, does what it’s supposed to, and a major part of my job, as much a part of it as my badge. But it doesn’t do anything for my need for revenge like my blade that’s strapped to my forearm inside my jacket sleeve. Its pressure is both a soothing balm to my need for violence and a noose around my neck luring the devil inside me. It’s personal and intimate, a direct
extension of the person who holds it in his hand, a beautiful instrument of death, like a violin to the artist when he creates music. There’s a certain passion in the need to use a blade when you kill someone.

  I haven’t used it since Isabelle.

  I didn’t think I ever would again.

  Now…now is a different story.

  When I’d gotten dressed in the middle of the night because of another overdose, it wasn’t a conscious choice to add it to my attire. It was automatic, like brushing my damn teeth.

  The victim last night was grotesque. Not only had he OD’ed, but he’d been foaming at the mouth and he’d choked on his own vomit. The coroner on the scene had identified it as an overdose, no fucking shit, but the official report with the specifics hasn’t been released yet.

  Scott was at the scene too. He’s getting his task force ready.

  Good for him.

  Funny, the last time an overdose had happened, it was the night before this same stake-out.

  Things are not the same at all, though.

  The camera’s sitting next to my gun. It doesn’t matter. At this point, I’m not sure whether or not I’m going to pick it up. My mind is elsewhere.

  I’m waiting for the bus.

  I’m waiting for Ivan.

  Maria hasn’t taken my calls since the day he showed up at her restaurant. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t talk to me either.

  She thought she needed Rico the cop.

  She didn’t.

  She needs Rico’s demon. The one I’d locked up when I killed all those motherfuckers from that day in the alley.

  He’s out, but not unbound.

  Not yet.

  Not until I see Ivan.

  I should’ve turned in my badge. I can’t wear it when I do what I know I’m going to do.

  I laugh.

  Does it really fucking matter?

  I’m not the good guy. Never have been.

  Here comes the bus. I grin, but don’t move. My arm’s still casually draped over the passenger seat, and I don’t pick up the camera. I just wait. I can see from here, even without looking through the camera lens, Pedro Sanchez is driving again. My smile gets bigger.

  My cell phone rings.

  The captain.