Vicente took items from inside the Mustang and dumped them into a duffle bag he pulled from the trunk. He swapped the license plates, tossed the bag into the back seat of the Toyota, and climbed behind the steering wheel. Then they were off.
Knots tortured Shanice’s stomach. She didn’t know what to think. What the hell was happening?
She shrank against the door, clutching the backpack to her bosom. Outside the window, Miami went by in a stream of cars and lights.
Yesterday she’d eaten dinner in a fine dining restaurant and kissed this man outside her house—her body still tingling long after he’d left and she lay in bed alone. Their budding relationship had seemed so romantic and wonderful, but now she imagined the worst.
To think, she’d fantasized about having sex with this man, after meeting him ten days ago and going on one date.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He glanced at her but didn’t respond.
“You’re not an accountant…are you?”
He briefly looked at her again, the lights of oncoming vehicles trailing across his crooked nose and high cheekbones. He still didn’t answer the question. He simply returned his gaze to the road.
Shanice hugged herself and prayed that everything would be okay.
Who was Vicente Diaz, and what had she gotten herself into this time?
11
“You’ll be safe here.”
Cruz dropped his duffle bag and other items on the floor and locked the door from the inside using a key. They’d dumped the car a couple of blocks back and walked to this studio apartment in North Miami, on the second floor of a mostly empty three-story building. A king bed dominated much of the space, and there was a kitchenette, and a blinds-covered window that looked onto the alley below let in a little light.
The apartment was smaller and darker than the place Miles had set up under the Vicente alias. Cruz hadn’t been here in a long time, but he liked the neighborhood because it was in a high-crime area where everyone minded their own business.
Shanice stared at him from the doorway, backpack on her shoulder and arms crossed over her torso in a protective gesture. He knew she must have a slew of questions to ask.
“Are you going to explain what’s going on?” she asked.
“Yes, but you need to sit down first.”
“I don’t need to sit down first! Who are you?” she demanded. “Because there’s no way the average accountant has the ability to kill a bunch of men, steal a car, and have a secret hideout in one of the roughest neighborhoods in the city.”
Even with the scared expression on her face, she was still a beautiful woman.
“If I didn’t kill them, they would have killed you.”
“And how exactly did you know I was in danger? How did you know to show up?”
He hesitated, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. “I planted listening devices in your home. I’d followed you from work and was nearby and listening when I heard you were in trouble.”
Her eyes opened to the size of dinner plates. “What? You were spying on me? What the hell is going on!” She was shaking, on the verge of hyperventilating.
He took a cautious step toward her. “Shanice, calm down.”
“I will not calm down.”
She started breathing very fast. With the adrenaline gone, the stress of the past hour was hitting her. She dropped the backpack to the floor and clutched her chest.
Vicente rushed over, and she lifted a hand to fend him off, but he scooped her up in his arms and strode over to the bed. He set her down and crouched before her.
“Cup your hands and breathe into them. Slowly… Yes, like that.”
She repeated the breathing technique, and after a couple of minutes her breathing was back to normal.
He looked into her eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“You’ve been spying on me, and after what I saw tonight, I’m not so sure.” She swallowed. “What do you want?”
“What makes you think I want something?”
She laughed bitterly. “Because the first man you killed wanted something, and if you were listening, I have to assume you want the same thing. I’m sure you heard him.”
“I did. Do you have it?”
“Have what?”
“The data.”
“If you were listening, you heard my answer.” She stared angrily at him then ducked her gaze.
“This isn’t a game, Shanice,” Vicente said with a thread of steel in his voice. “It’s a matter of national security. People’s lives are at risk.”
She looked at him again. “Who are you? FBI?”
“No, but I can’t tell you who I’m working for.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about any data,” she snapped.
“We both know that’s not true.”
“No, we don’t. I—” She paused, a frown wrinkling her brow. “Wait a minute, is that why you started dating me?”
Cruz didn’t reply.
Her mouth fell open. “I’m right, aren’t I? You asked me out, pretended to like me, even kissed me, because you thought I had something you wanted. How far were you going to go? Were you going to fuck me, too?”
Her lower lip trembled and the hurt in her eyes indicted him for his dishonesty. Mierda.
Jaw tightening, she lifted her head higher. “Well you wasted your precious time taking me to dinner and pretending to like poetry to get close to me. All that work, and you’ll have nothing to show for your fake attention.”
He’d enjoyed talking books and poetry with her on their only date. None of that had been fake. Neither had his feelings been fake. He did like her and he liked kissing her—a lot.
“I wasn’t faking.”
Eyes blazing with fury, she pointed a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare pretend that you felt anything more than you did. You’re a liar and a fraud. Your name isn’t even Vicente, is it? Everything has been a lie. You wanted something from me and did whatever you needed to, to get it. And I was too foolish to figure it out. Goodness, you’re good. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have what you’re looking for.”
Underneath the anger, he heard the pain his ruse had caused. Despite what she believed, he had never meant to hurt her. But this was not the time to get sentimental. He had a mission to accomplish, and love and affection did not go hand-in-hand with death and espionage.
“I’m not the only one lying.”
“I am not lying!” She jumped up from the bed. “I don’t know anything. Can I go now?”
He stood too, towering over her. “No.”
“I’ll scream.”
“Scream all you want. No one will hear you, and if they did, they wouldn’t care.” He decided to try another tactic. “It’s late, and you’ve been through a lot. We should get some sleep and talk in the morning.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Well, I am. Killing all those men took a lot out of me,” he said sarcastically.
Her eyes traveled over him, taking in the blood-spattered white shirt and the blood on his hands. He suffered some bruises and had gotten a few nicks from rolling in glass, but otherwise he was in good shape. Nothing a few hours’ rest wouldn’t fix.