Stretching lazily, she watched him at the kitchenette, shirtless and standing over a frying pan. Plaid boxers exposed his thick thighs and long legs dusted with curly dark hair. The sensation of one of those thighs between hers was branded into her memory. She’d welcomed the delicious tingle of hair coupled with the firmness of muscle against her skin.
Their hot and heavy make-out session had been her favorite part of sharing a bed with him. His rough hands had spiked heat in her blood and his kisses had turned her on in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time—maybe ever. She had no doubt Cruz would be an incredible lover, and the press of his hard erection against her ass had made her lady parts ache and convinced her that he could definitely satisfy her needs. But he’d been right to stop them from going any further.
Her roaming gaze paused on an old scar on his back, located a little lower and larger than the one at the front. That must be where the bullet exited. There were other marks on his skin. Fainter ones that looked like lashes, as if someone had sliced him up with a blade or the harsh, punishing end of a cat o’ nine tails. The thought of anyone hurting him made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to go to him, give him a comforting hug, and kiss away the scars that marred his skin.
Shanice blinked back tears of sorrow and sat up in the bed, and Cruz twisted his head in her direction.
“Breakfast will be ready in five minutes,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Best sleep I’ve had in a long time,” she admitted.
“Good.” His eyes did a quick sweep of her upper body before he returned his attention to the pan.
She knew for certain that he wanted her, and though she’d been disappointed by his words last night, she appreciated that he hadn’t taken advantage. Having sex with him was a bad idea. She could easily see herself falling for this man, hard, getting her emotions all tangled up in him. They didn’t know what would happen in the coming days. And he’d been clear about what would happen once they figured out the relevance of the names. He would move on, and all she’d have were the memories of their time together.
She’d never see his face again. She’d never hear the low timbre of his accented voice. The thought of walking away—for good—filled her with longing. Sheesh, she was already emotionally invested and they hadn’t even had sex.
Shanice went into the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth. She put on her dry underwear and did her best finger-combing her hair before she examined her appearance. She wore no makeup, not even lip gloss, but this would have to do.
By the time she re-entered the main room, Cruz had placed breakfast on a couple of Styrofoam plates and poured them each a glass of orange juice in clear plastic cups.
“You’re a great host,” she said, aiming to keep the mood light.
“I do what I can,” he joked back.
Since there was no dining table, she sat at the desk and he sat on the bed, holding his plate in his hand.
“Did you have all this food here last night, or did you leave to get us something to eat?” Shanice bit into a piece of bacon cooked to perfection. Not too crispy, exactly the way she liked.
“I left early this morning and went to the corner store to get us something to eat. I don’t keep much here because I don’t stay here.”
“It’s sort of a hideout spot?”
He smiled faintly. “You could say that.”
She guessed he wouldn’t tell her more and asked, “What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re catching a flight to Houston. Driving would be the best way to ensure we stay under the radar, but that will take too long. I have a friend who owns a Cirrus personal jet, and if I give him a little extra, he won’t acknowledge that you’re a passenger on the plane. Before we leave, we’ll buy a burner phone, and you can call your mother and Beatrice.”
“Okay.”
Cruz set aside his plate on the bed. Resting his elbows on his knees, he studied her with his intense umber eyes. “Your situation could get worse before it gets better. We don’t know what we’ll find once we arrive in Texas. Are you up for all of this?”
Though the gravity in his voice scared her, Shanice nodded. “I want whoever murdered Dennis to be punished, and I want whatever he uncovered about them to be exposed.”
“Bueno. Then we’re on the same page.”
Cruz said the pink blouse she had in her backpack didn’t allow her to blend in enough, so he gave her a blue T-shirt, which she paired with skinny jeans.
He also handed her a navy-blue cap to wear and told her there was little chance of being captured on camera in a neighborhood like this—one reason the area made a good hiding place. Cameras tended to be in wealthier zip codes. Wherever there was money, there would be cameras, but he instructed her to pull the brim of the cap low on her face as an extra precaution.
“Expect the best, plan for the worst,” he said.
He wore a black cap, a black T-shirt, and dark jeans. With his height and build, the outfit gave him a take-no-shit appearance that renewed her confidence she’d be safe in his care. When they were ready to go, he lifted his duffel bag onto his shoulder, and she picked up her backpack, and they left the apartment.
On the way to the store, they walked along a sidewalk littered with cigarette butts and trash, and passed a homeless man sleeping upright in the doorway of a boarded up building. A few blocks away, they entered a store with white bars over the windows and a multitude of signs offering lottery tickets, electronics, and beer within. Cruz instructed her to keep her head down, and she followed his instructions to the letter.
As he stood in line with two bottles of juice, Shanice’s eyes perused the newspapers stacked at the front. Her breath suspended when she saw the headline on the front page of the Miami Herald: Six Men Dead Overnight as Gunfire Erupts in Miami Suburb.
The article mentioned the police were searching for a man and woman who’d fled the scene, and included with the article was a photo of Cruz’s Mustang and two shadowy figures inside. One of the neighbors must have taken the photo with their phone.
Shanice glanced up at Cruz, whose eyes were trained on the same paper. She ducked her head again, fingers tightening on the strap of the backpack over her shoulder, worry gnawing at her insides.
The person in front of Cruz left the line and he stepped up to the counter. “I need a phone,” he said, pointing at one of them hanging behind the female cashier.
He added a Miami Herald to his purchases and they left after he paid.
Cruz steered her to an area between two buildings. “You have five minutes,” he said, handing her the phone. He then stepped away and began to read the article about them.
Shanice was curious about the contents, but she had work to do. The first person she called was Beatrice because she figured she wouldn’t reach her on the cruise ship and could leave a message. She left a voicemail, apologizing for the damage to her home and letting the older woman know she was fine and would be in touch as soon as she could. She ended by thanking her for all her help and then hung up.
Then she called her mother. The conversation was much more difficult, and Shanice teared up as they talked. The fear in her mother’s voice was tangible, and she hated worrying her.
“Mom, I have to go. But remember what I told you. They’re coming to get you today. Get ready to leave, okay?”