“Yes. Twice in one day, and you live nearby.”
“I do.” She nodded.
He watched her for a moment, and she remained still under his scrutiny. She barely noticed the other shoppers passing by, she was so taken with him and their conversation. Vicente seemed deep in thought, but then must have made a decision, because he heaved a breath. “I’ll see you around. Well, definitely at the bookstore.”
“Yes, definitely.” Shanice pushed down the hot surge of disappointment.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
She watched him walk away with a throb of pain in her heart. The ache to say something, to call out to him, never manifested into any action. With regret, she turned back to the meat, scouring the options for chicken this time.
“Shanice?” Surprised, she swung around at the sound of her name again. This time, Vicente seemed more hesitant. She could see it in his eyes. What did this hunk of man have to be hesitant about?
“Yes?” she asked, anticipation making her voice breathless.
He laughed softly, nervously, his gaze sweeping up and down the aisle, as if searching for the confidence he needed to say what was on the tip of his tongue.
She held her breath. Waiting.
His gaze met hers again. “Are you seeing anyone? Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Her fingers tightened on the basket handle. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.
“Would you, er…would you be interested in going out with me? Maybe dinner?”
“Sure. I’m free next Saturday.”
“I was thinking sooner. Tomorrow night?”
She didn’t have to work Sunday night, but hesitated. What did she really know about this man? Nothing, really, and she was about to spend time with him. But how else would she get to know him if she didn’t spend time with him?
“You know what, I’m being too pushy. I’m sorry, I—”
“No, I’d love to go out with you,” Shanice hastily said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. And I don’t have a boyfriend, since I plan to spend the night cuddling with my salad and a good book.”
A smile stretched across his face. “I have similar plans. Well then, dinner…tomorrow night, right?”
“Yes,” Shanice said with a laugh. She couldn’t believe how hesitant he was. Some woman or women had really done a number on his self-confidence.
“We should exchange numbers.”
“Oh, yes!”
They handed each other their phones and plugged in their names and numbers, then handed them back.
Vicente grinned. “Well, I’m glad I stopped by the store tonight. I almost decided to pick up a meal at a restaurant, but now I’m glad I didn’t. I would have missed running into you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t do that, too.”
“I need time to think of a good place to eat, so I’ll give you a call tomorrow afternoon, if that works?”
“That works.”
“Perfect. I’m looking forward to our date.”
“Me, too,” Shanice admitted softly.
This time when he walked away, she didn’t take her eyes off him until he’d disappeared down an aisle.
Bouncing on her feet, Shanice practically skipped to the checkout. She wouldn’t get too involved with him. That would be foolish, especially if she had to leave town. But she could have fun, right? Of course she could.
She couldn’t stop smiling.
Seated in a gray Nissan outside in the parking lot, Cruz watched as Shanice exited the store with swaying hips and a bounce in her step. She climbed into her blue Taurus and took off, and he took off behind her.
She clearly had no idea that he’d been following her for the past week, and even if she thought she was being followed, she would dismiss it.
The average person had very little situational awareness, and people often dismissed any uneasy feelings that suggested something was wrong in their immediate vicinity—completely overriding their instincts, nature’s way of keeping them alive. That made surveillance easy when dealing with civilians.
He knew every route that took him to and away from the house where she lived on a dead-end street. He’d followed her to and from work, as well as out to dinner one night with her co-worker, Ava.
Knowing that she was so unaware of her surroundings concerned him. Other forces wanted that data, and if they hadn’t found her yet, he worried that they’d find her eventually.
Cruz frowned. What was he doing being worried about her? For all he knew, she was an accomplice with Dennis or in cahoots with the people who’d killed him. He needed to think with his head and not his dick—which wasn’t easy with a woman who looked like her.
He pulled onto her street, the number of cars parked around her house posing a minor irritation, but since the house across the street was always busy, it made blending in easier.
He drove past her house as Shanice pulled into the garage, completely unaware of his presence. Furthermore, she didn’t seem to suspect that he was anything more than an accountant, which meant his cover was working.
Because of his size and build, he’d found ways to come across less intimidating. Glasses, a loose-fitting shirt, and a shuffle to his walk instead of a confident stride were all important pieces of the Vicente cover. He’d even pitched his voice a little higher and used well-placed hesitation when he spoke instead of his usual low-timbered, confident voice.
What wasn’t fake was his interest in Shanice. She exuded warmth and sex appeal without trying. Her full breasts were more than a handful, and her ass was spectacular, especially in the form-fitting dress she wore tonight. He’d watched her from behind for a long time before he finally called her name.
She also had a sweet voice, and every time she spoke he felt compelled to pay attention. And her laughter…well, that was a bonus, as welcome as the sun’s rays pushing between storm clouds.
Mierda, he needed to stop browsing the poetry section. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be writing his own lines soon.
Cruz did a U-turn at the end of the street and then drove back toward her house. Nothing seemed out of place.
He left the subdivision and headed back to his apartment.
6
Shanice exited the cab and climbed the steps to La Cocina Patagonia in the Patagonia Hotel. The popular restaurant was located on a quiet end of South Beach and served South American food. Thanks to an Argentine owner, they had a reputation for great steaks, and the owner’s wife, a sommelier, had curated a wine list that offered excellent choices from vineyards all over the world.
The quiet hum of conversation and the sound of silverware touching plates greeted Shanice as she approached the entrance to the restaurant. She saw Vicente right away, towering over the maître d’, an older Hispanic man wearing a dark suit and gold tie.
Vicente looked absolutely delicious in a black jacket and black and white striped tie, and when he turned toward her, her breath hitched, and she broke into a smile. He smiled back, softening his features and making her heart jumpstart like a horse breaking free at the starting gate.
“You look nice,” she said.
His gaze roved over her in a slow, measured way that heated her skin. “And you look…incredible.” One corner of his mouth tipped upward into a crooked smile.