“Is it to your liking?” Stella asked.
The tastefully decorated room was designed in creams and whites and contained a king bed with big fluffy pillows, a sofa, and a desk and chair.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Sir, will you follow me please?”
“Good night, Cruz,” Shanice said.
He hesitated, eyes lingering on her. “Good night.”
Shanice closed the door and leaned against it.
They hadn’t said much since they left the Department of Justice, and she wondered what his plans were. If he didn’t leave the city right away, maybe they could have one more meal together before they went their separate ways.
With an aching heart, Shanice went into the bathroom. A humongous tub awaited her, as well as all manner of bath salts and bath gels. Everything she could want for a relaxing escape. But as much as she wanted to languish in a warm bath, she settled for a shower and washed her hair and face, wincing when she accidentally irritated the bruise on her temple.
She shoved her feet into slippers that matched the hotel robe and went into the bedroom. She double-checked that the door was locked and the safety latch was on. So much had happened in the past two days—had it really only been two days?—she didn’t know when she’d feel completely safe again.
She took an ibuprofen for her ever-present headache and removed a bottle of water and a small box of herb crackers from the mini fridge and settled on the bed. She should go to sleep, but her mind couldn’t rest. She couldn’t stop thinking about Cruz next door. Was he asleep yet?
Her question was answered when a knock sounded on the door that connected her room to his. Shanice jumped up and unlocked it.
“Hola,” he said.
“Hola,” she said.
Cruz was barefoot and wearing one of the hotel robes, too. His face broke into a crooked smile that made her heart twist in her chest.
“Want some company?”
“I would love some company.”
They closed the door and without another word disrobed and climbed into the bed together, both of them naked. Under normal circumstances, she’d want to have sex, but her libido was hiding behind a curtain of weariness. Cruz must have been having the same experience, because he simply lay on his back and held her. It was the best feeling to simply lie next to him. That not-so-safe feeling disappeared in his strong arms.
“It’ll be daylight soon,” he remarked.
“Yeah.” Shanice trailed a finger down his left pec.
“The DOJ is sending investigators after Logan and the police officers. Miles is confident the officers will implicate Logan as soon as they find out he’s been knocking them off to cover his tracks.”
“He did that because of what Dennis discovered,” she said.
“Yes. Tying up loose ends, so to speak.”
“Do you really think Senator Sandoval is involved?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’ll get away with it?”
“He already has.”
His answer saddened her. “He’ll never see justice.”
“Sometimes justice doesn’t come through normal channels.”
It was probably better she didn’t know what he meant by that.
“When do you leave?” Shanice asked. The question caused a strain on her heart.
“I’m not sure. I don’t have any pressing engagements right now. You?”
“I don’t know. But when I do, I want to go somewhere quiet and peaceful, I guess.”
“That makes sense. You’ve been through a lot.”
His heart beat steadily under her cheek as his fingers slowly trailed up and down the arm she had thrown across his chest. Suddenly, he stopped moving, and she lay there in silence, holding still, waiting for him to say more.
“Come with me, Shanice.”
She lifted her head, not sure she’d heard him correctly. Their eyes locked.
“Where?” she whispered.
“I have a house in Islamorada in the Florida Keys. It’s quiet and peaceful and right on the water.” He tenderly smoothed a hand over her hair and tucked a curl behind her ear.
“Sounds heavenly.”
“Then you’ll come?”
Her heart melted. She still didn’t know his last name, and relationships were complex enough without secrets and half-truths muddying the waters. But none of that mattered. She wanted to be with him and gave the only answer that made sense.
“Yes.”
“I disappear for weeks at a time, sometimes months—and I can’t tell you where I’m going. One day, I might not come back. Are you sure you can handle that? A life of not knowing if you’ll ever see your man again?”
Her heart hurt at the possibility of harm coming to him, that one day he might never come back to her. “No, I’m not sure, but I want to be with you. I’ll make the sacrifice. You can’t talk me out of coming with you, Cruz. My answer is still yes.”
27
Randall watched as FBI agents carted computers and boxes of documents from his office. The yellow letters on their blue jackets were an ugly, glaring indictment as they carried out their duties on a weekday, in full view of staff and a barrage of onlookers in the street.
“Mr. Logan?” A female agent with her red hair in a ponytail stood beside his chair. “I need you to come with me, sir.” A pair of handcuffs dangled from her hand.
“Is that really necessary? I’m an old man, and I need my cane.”
He eased from the chair and she stepped aside. Using his cane, Randall walked with as much dignity as he could muster. He exited the office to the stares of his assistant and a few employees that had gathered in the outer office. Randall kept his eyes trained straight ahead, focused on nothing but the air in front of him.
His life was a wreck. The ensuing investigation would tarnish his name and destroy the empire he had built over the last forty years.
His youngest son had been murdered. Pain bloomed in his chest at the thought of Jacob being shot down in the street like an animal. His boy, his successor, the one who inspired his greatest sense of pride—was gone for good. His oldest son, the traitor, had turned against him and was working with the FBI. Joseph, his longtime friend, was no longer taking his calls.
Randall stood in front of the closed elevator doors with an agent on either side of him.
This type of upheaval late in life could kill a weaker man, but Randall Logan was strong. He might be down, but he wasn’t out, and he had plenty to live for.
Not the least of which was revenge.
28
“Hey, Mr. Hudson!” Shanice waved to the neighbor, who owned a small bookstore and coffee shop on the island.
“Hey there!” Seated on his porch, the older man’s tanned, wrinkled face broke into a grin as he waved back.
Shanice parked her bike in the cobblestone driveway of Cruz’s house and let herself in the front door, balancing a bag of groceries on her hip.
Islamorada was a village on six islands in the Keys. Known as the “Sportfishing Capital of the World,” its tranquility was exactly what she had been hoping for after the chaotic period in her life. Since coming there, she’d stayed busy visiting the diving museum, hanging at Hudson’s Bookstore, and taking an ecotour.