L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (18 page)

She didn’t have to think twice on that. “Starting at the top, my daughter.”

He nodded. “As it should be. And what about other people in your life? Where do they fit in?”

She pulled up, squared her shoulders. “Other people like my employees, my mother-in-law, friends? Obviously they’re important, just not as important as Chloe.”

He continued to hold her gaze. “Other people like a man, someone you date or might have a relationship with.”

“Oh.” She paused before answering. For some reason she didn’t want to tell him she hadn’t dated since Rob died. “Well, if I had a relationship, it would be important because I wouldn’t waste time on anything less. And if it was important enough to be a serious relationship, it would be right up there with Chloe on the priority list.”

He broke eye contact first and didn’t respond.

“Okay, how about you? Turnabout’s fair play.” Besides which, she wanted to know. She wanted to know all about Adam Ramsey. “What are your priorities?”

He looked uncomfortable. He shifted in the seat, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and let out a long breath. “I suppose I should say the people in my life, but the honest answer, at the moment, is my job.”

She felt a flash of disappointment. “A job should never be more important than the people in your life.”

“I agree. But since I don’t have a wife or kids and the rest of my family live miles away and are involved with their own lives, anyway…” He shrugged.

“No best friend? Your partner?”

His eyes turned dark. “My current partner’s a great kid, but we’ve only been together a short while.”

“And before that?”

His mouth flattened as he drew in a deep breath. “Before that, my partner was my best friend. But he…he isn’t around anymore. He’s dead.”

“I’m so sorry.” She had a deep urge to enfold him in her arms like she did Chloe when she felt badly, but instead, Jillian placed her hand over his.

“It was a while ago,” he said, easing his hand away.

Oh-kay. She took a breath. “Any special woman in your life?”

Another pause. “I was married once and it didn’t take. I learned that being a cop and being married is like having two lovers. You can’t do justice to either one. And you’ll go crazy trying.” Suddenly he jerked upright. “Listen.”

She heard a rustling noise behind them and turning, saw a priest walking toward them—a priest unlike any she’d seen before. He had long raven hair and walked so quietly it was almost as if he glided over the floor. As he got closer, she saw he was young, early thirties, maybe, and his eyes were as dark as onyx.

He was almost as tall as Adam and just as broad-shouldered, except on those shoulders rested a long white robe with an ornately embroidered purple stole draped around his neck and falling straight down the front of his chest, almost to the floor.

He was beautiful.

Adam glanced at the priest and then at Jillian. “Finally we can get some answers.” He got to his feet and started toward the man.

Jillian followed. She hoped he was right.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ADAM SPOKE FIRST and then the two men engaged in a long conversation in Spanish. At the first pause, she said, “Adam, can you ask him if there’s a restroom nearby? I think my teeth are about to float.”

Both men grinned. Then the priest said in perfect English, “Of course there is, right around that corner.” He pointed in the direction from which he’d come. “You’re welcome to use it.”

Her ears burned. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t— I wouldn’t have—” Gah!! Both men were still grinning.

“It’s okay.” The priest said, still smiling.

When she returned, Adam and the priest were deep in conversation. Assuming the topic wasn’t private, she went over to join them.

“Any luck?” she asked Adam.

“Yes. Father Martinez knows the mechanic but says he’s gone until late tonight.”

“Oh. How will we—”

“And—” Adam stopped her “—he’s offered to arrange dinner and a place for us to stay the night.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “Thank you, Father, thank you so much.” She would be grateful just to have a shower and get into some clean clothes.

The priest went to the door, waved a hand and, seconds later, a young boy appeared. They had a brief conversation, and then the boy ran off.

Adam left her with Father Martinez while he went to take care of his own needs.

“I sent Miguel to tell Rosa and Jorge to prepare a room for you,” the priest said.

Not knowing what Adam had told him, Jillian simply said, “Thank you.” Then she asked, “How did you learn to speak such perfect English?”

“My father was an American,” he replied. “I was born in Virginia.”

“So how did a Virginian come to live and work in a…”

“A godforsaken place like Cabacera?” He smiled again. “My mother grew up here. She met my father in Virginia, where she was working for an American family. But not long after I was born, he died unexpectedly, and she returned home with me. I spent the first twelve years of my life here, then went back to the States to meet my father’s family and ended up staying until I finished college and the seminary.”

Adam returned. Father Martinez gave them directions to the place where they were to have dinner and stay the night.

As much as she wanted a shower, she couldn’t help thinking this was another delay. Another delay, and more time with Adam. The prospect of which she didn’t mind. Didn’t mind at all.

It was true. The man had gotten under her skin. And she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.

They said good-bye to the priest, and once outside again, Adam said, “C’mon. It’s not far.”

She took long strides to keep up with him. “What did he say? Did he know anything?”

“He told me where the boy is staying. We’ll need the car to get there.”

“Which means tomorrow sometime.”

“Right.” He turned a corner onto another street, where the homes, she noticed, were spaced farther apart.

During the time they’d been in the church, the little town had come alive. Children scampered in the streets, mothers called out to them, a few scraggly dogs poked around in the dusty alleys, a woman and a young girl hung bright white garments on a clothesline that spanned the length of their front porch, while the men openly eyed the strangers walking down the street.

There wasn’t much wealth here, that was evident, but the children smiled as they passed, greeting them with “Hola” and “Buenas tardes.” Life appeared slower, more relaxed. Natural.

“What exactly did he say about the boy? Where do we have to go? Is he still there? Did he know if his father came to get him?”

“Hey, take it easy. We can’t do anything until morning. Like I said, the woman the boy’s staying with lives out of town a bit, and we’ll need the car to get there.” Adam squinted, then pointed, “I think that’s it, the house at the end of the street with the picket fence.”

It looked homey and inviting, and if their hosts were as friendly as the priest, she’d be happy. It would be nice to relax for the night.

Adam held the gate for her and they went to the door together. He knocked on the screen and within seconds a woman appeared. Her dark hair was spiked with gray and held in a bun at her nape. Her round face lit up when she saw them. Opening the door, she introduced herself as Rosa and welcomed them inside.

Jillian greeted the woman in Spanish, then with a surprising sense of pride, Jillian watched Adam as he took over the conversation. She heard him mention Father Martinez, at which the woman’s face lit up.

Adam was adept with people, smooth and able to coax conversation out of even the most reluctant. But he was different with her. Why was that? And which was the real Adam? This charismatic charmer, or the curmudgeon he sometimes was around her?

Soon both Adam and the woman were laughing and having a jolly old time. She wished she knew the language so she could join in. The woman turned to her and said in halting English, “You are tired, señora. Maybe you like to rest before dinner?”

“I’d like that very much,” Jillian answered.

“Come,” the woman said, and led her guests out the back door. They walked several yards on a small path through dense flora until they reached another house, a very small one, white with a clay tile roof, and nestled beneath a canopy of coconut palms and banana trees with leaves like airplane wings.

The effect was magical, like they were in a fairytale and didn’t know what to expect next.

Just as they reached the door, Adam pulled her back and whispered, “I thought it was safer to have one room.”

“There,” the woman said, unlocking the door.

Inside, they set their things down while the woman gave them instructions on how to operate the water heater and the ceiling fan, indicated where the towels were and then said she’d see them at dinner, somewhere around seven or eight. With that, she was gone.

Jillian glanced about. The room was larger than the last place, immaculate and, she hoped, a little more secure. There were two beds, one on each side of the room, and, in the middle, a small table with a mirror on a stand. On the opposite side was the bathroom, which apparently didn’t have hot water unless they lit the heater. Fine with her. Hot water was the last thing she wanted.

Adam looked at her and shrugged. “We seem to be striking out on the upscale accommodations.”

She took stock of the room again. “Well, I think it’s lovely. A roof over our heads and a clean bed for the night, it’ll be great to have a shower and a nap.”

“Okay. So, do you want to go first or should I?” He tested the bed facing the door, bounced a time or two and said, “Not bad.”

Jillian dropped onto the other bed with a thud. “Mine feels like a bed of rocks.”

“But?” He held out a hand as if she had something more to add.

“But what?”

“But your usual upbeat whatever. Like…but it’s better than a bed of nails, or something to that effect.”

Jillian stood, went to the small dresser, snatched a towel from the drawer and resisted the urge to snap him with it. “Just because I prefer to see the world in a brighter light than some people do,” she said, “doesn’t mean I’m not aware of the darkness. Believe me, I’m acutely aware.”

His smile faded a little. “I was just teasing.”

She knew that. So why had it upset her?

He flopped back on the bed, hands behind his head. “I think it’s cute.”

Cute. She turned her back to him. Cute. Was that good cute or not-so-good cute? Did he think she was a ditz who spouted cheery jingles all the time? That kind of cute? Or was he complimenting her?

At that moment, she understood why the tease had upset her. She didn’t want him to think of her as some ditzy Pollyanna.

But if she didn’t want that, how did she want him to think of her?

The question already had an answer. She wanted him to like her, be attracted to her. Desire her.

Which was wrong. All wrong. For many, many reasons, of which Rob was only one.

“I’ll shower first,” she said, then disappeared into the bathroom.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DINNER TURNED OUT TO BE closer to eight than seven, but Jillian didn’t care. After a shower and a nap, she felt refreshed and ready to enjoy the evening with their hosts, Rosa and her husband, Jorge. They were told to call him George.

While she was napping, Adam had gone to make arrangements for the car, buy some extra supplies and see if he could get any more information.

To her surprise, they had another guest for dinner. Father Martinez, his long, dark hair still wet from a shower, and wearing jeans and a crisp white shirt open in the front, and flip-flops, and it was impossible not to notice how absolutely gorgeous he was. They quickly learned Father Martinez was Rosa’s son and George’s stepson.

Rosa gestured for them to sit, and Jillian found herself sandwiched between Adam and Father Martinez. George sat on the other side of the table, where there was a space for Rosa, who went off to serve the meal.

Jillian thought about moving, but decided this was a better way to be part of the conversation, which immediately went in a direction over which she had no control.

“I imagine your nephew will be very happy to see you, señora,” Father Martinez said.

Jillian realized Adam must’ve told him she was the boy’s aunt. She shook her head. “This is the first time I’ve…I haven’t had the opportunity to travel to Costa Rica before to meet him, so this is a first. I’m looking forward to it very much.” After a pause, she added, “I hope he feels the same.”

Seeming satisfied with Jillian’s answer, the priest nodded. Adam had obviously lied to him, too. For some reason the thought troubled her. How could Adam lie to a man of the cloth? Especially since he was the son of a minister?

And the least he could’ve done was let her in on his plan so she could decide if she wanted to be a part of it. Now she had no choice, at least not if she didn’t want to expose him, which would mean the end of their search, she was sure. She could only wonder what he’d said about their relationship.

“It’s thoughtful of you to come all this way to help your nephew,” the priest said.

Adam grabbed her hand under the table and squeezed it, obviously a signal to play along. “Jillian is all heart, Father. She’s always helping others, aren’t you?” He smiled at Jillian.

His hand was warm, and the warmth streaked up her arm and through her body, creating an ache of desire deep inside her.

“Given the situation, I’m simply doing what anyone in my shoes would do,” she managed.

Adam added with a grin, “She’s modest, as well.”

What had Adam told Father Martinez? What did the priest think she was here to do? Just then, she heard music that sounded as if it came from an old gramophone, a familiar melody, but she couldn’t think of the name of the song.

“‘Love Is a Many Splendored Thing,’” Adam said with a smile.

“My stepfather likes music from old American movies,” Father Martinez explained.

“Really? My dad liked old movies, too,” Adam said. “He and I used to watch them together. They were great.”

“William Holden is my favorite,” George offered in heavily accented English. “William Holden and Jennifer Jones.” He gave a big-toothed smile and everyone smiled with him. Strange that a little thing like old music and movies could draw such a diverse collection of people together, Jillian mused.

So Adam liked old movies. He obviously had a softer side. A romantic side. She felt sad that he seemed to have lost it.

Rosa came in bearing plates of food, set them on the table and went back for more. George poured them all some wine, and when Rosa returned with the last plate, he took her hand and seated her beside him.

“George and my mother knew each other as teenagers,” Father Martinez said. “Years later they got together again, and as you can see, the spark is still there.” He looked fondly at both of them.

Rosa said something in Spanish to Adam and he nodded and smiled.

Jillian leaned toward Adam and whispered, “What did she say?”

“She said we look like we’re still on our honeymoon.”

“You told them we’re married?” she squeaked, barely able to keep her voice down.

He squeezed her hand again. “No, the priest assumed it at the church and told them,” he said, talking like a ventriloquist through lips that didn’t move, his voice lower than the music so only she could hear. “So you need to start acting like it or we won’t get any more information.”

Still smiling and sitting closer to Adam than her equilibrium could handle, she hissed, “Would have been nice if you’d told me this earlier.”

“Just act like you’re crazy about me.” Adam gazed at her with loving eyes, lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “That won’t be hard to do, will it?”

His lips on her hand felt soft and warm, and all she could think about was how they’d feel pressed on other strategic parts of her body. Struggling to redirect her thoughts, she asked under her breath, “What kind of information are we trying to get, my love?”

He turned to her and kissed her brow. “Anything that relates to your brother, sweets.”

Her brother? Ah, she got it. Since Adam had said the boy was her nephew, the guy known as Jack Sullivan would have to be billed as her brother. And if pretending so would help them find him, she could go along with it—even if it meant she had to lie to the priest.

She hated lying. Her mother had lied to her from birth, telling her that her father was a decorated Vietnam war hero who had died for his country. It wasn’t until her mother passed away that she’d found out the truth—and it stung even now. Her father wasn’t dead but had simply left because he didn’t want them. A fact she’d become acutely aware of when she went to live with him. He was a cruel, verbally abusive man.

Still, her mother shouldn’t have lied. A child had a right to know her parents, whatever their flaws.

“Father Martinez says your nephew was staying with a woman who lives about ten miles from here, but he doesn’t know if he’s still there,” Adam told Jillian, his voice at normal pitch now. “And George’s brother is the mechanic who will help with the car.”

Hauling in a deep breath, she looked to Father Martinez and asked, “Do you know if…my brother’s there, too? We haven’t heard from him and I’ve been really worried.”

The priest shook his head. “No, I don’t. But there’s another road that comes into town from the south, so we don’t see everyone who travels through.”

“Jillian wants this to be a surprise,” Adam said.

When Adam said those words, Jillian realized this was it. They may or may not meet Jack Sullivan tomorrow, and if they did, she would know if the man was an imposter or if he was…her husband.

She’d put off thinking about it, shoved it out of her mind, telling herself the man in the photograph couldn’t possibly be Rob. But now she had to acknowledge the possibility. And the effect it would have on her life and her daughter’s.

“More wine?” George asked.

“Yes, please. I’d love some.” She was going to need a lot more than wine to get through this night.

“Adam?” George held up the wine bottle.

Adam declined. He had to stay alert. He noticed, though, that Father Martinez seemed to be enjoying the grape as much as Jillian and soon they were talking and laughing together.

Apparently George collected jokes during his trips to Mirador, where he worked, and in San José, where he traveled to meet with dealers, American and otherwise, who exported the native crafts he brought to them. Jillian looked happy listening to George’s tales interpreted by Father Martinez, and he couldn’t help noticing the way she was looking at the priest with admiration…and something else. Adam shifted in his seat.

So what? She was having a good time. That was great. He liked to see her laugh. But, he had to admit, he wished it was him she was having so much fun with.

Warmth expanded in his chest as he watched her…smiling, laughing. She had a great smile and a laugh that bubbled up naturally. He liked that she was comfortable being herself. Liked that she said what she thought, even though it was sometimes with little regard to the consequences. Would she be the same in bed? Make love with the same abandon?

The pull in his groin told him it wasn’t only his brain that wondered. Hell, no surprise there. He’d wanted to get her in bed from the get-go. But, he’d wanted lots of women in the past.

This, he realized, was different. Not only did he want to make love to her, he wanted to know her. Know what she liked and disliked, and not just in bed. He wanted to know how she danced and sang…whether she could even carry a tune.  He wanted to know if she liked rain showers and walking on the beach, what made her happy, sad and fearful. He wanted to really know her… in every way possible.

And that thought, he realized, was almost scarier than meeting the end of a gun in a dark alley.

Professionally, that kind of involvement could only mean disaster. Especially when the woman was married to the guy he was tracking and wanted to see on death row.

A guy he would kill if he had to.

A guy she was still in love with.

He gave himself a mental cold shower and rejoined the cheery conversation.

After dinner Father Martinez, who was also staying the night, excused himself. Then Rosa and George left, as well, with instructions that Adam and Jillian stay and enjoy the flan Rosa had brought in.

“It looks delicious,” Jillian said to Adam when they were alone.

His gaze caught hers. “You’re right. Delicious.”

He watched her as she picked up her spoon, took her first taste of the custard, and then another. It was more pleasurable to watch her than eat his own dessert.

“Mmm,” she said. “That is so good. Try it. It’s fabulous.”

He smiled. “I was thinking the same thing.”

She took another bite and then another until her flan was gone.

He nudged his plate toward her. “You can have mine, too.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t.” She shook her head. “Really. I’ve had enough. And if you don’t eat it, Rosa might think you didn’t like it.”

“Okay.” He took a bite and swallowed, then put down his spoon. “So, are you nervous about tomorrow?”

She blew out a breath. “Truthfully, I just want to get it over with so I can get back to my normal life.”

He studied her mouth. “And what’s normal for Jillian Sullivan?” He leaned back and waited for her response.

“Taking care of Chloe, helping her with homework, spending time with her, going to work, doing things with friends, buying groceries, making dinner, making sure Chloe sees her grandmother and—” She stopped to clear her throat. “I guess nothing you’d think particularly exciting or interesting.”

“What I think isn’t important. It’s what you think that counts. And if you feel satisfied with your life, that’s all that matters.”

Jillian looked away. Was she satisfied with her life? She’d thought so until last week, but… She reached for his flan, picked up her spoon and took a bite. Being here with him, seeing and experiencing so many different things in the past few days, she’d started to wonder.

He motioned for her to finish the flan, so she kept eating, one spoonful after another. She’d never examined her life so critically before. She’d set goals for the things she had to do, then made decisions on how to reach them, but she’d never really asked herself if those goals were what she wanted. All her life, she’d simply done what needed to be done. To survive.

As a child, she’d pretty much taken care of herself. After her mother died and the few years with a father who wanted nothing to do with her, she’d lived on the street, then become Rob’s wife and then Chloe’s mother, a responsible parent, and then a businesswoman with a shop to run. Then she added more shops and a mother-in-law to watch out for.

She’d done what she needed to do to make sure her daughter never had to shift for herself, never had to feel she had no one to count on or that she was alone in the world.

Never had to feel unwanted.

And now she had doubts about her satisfaction with this life. Being here with a man who made her feel…what? Angry? Challenged? Maybe. But also exuberant. Happy. Desired. Alive. She took a deep breath. Being with a man who made her feel all those things had changed her in ways she couldn’t describe.

“So, are you satisfied?” he asked as she polished off the last bite of his dessert.

She set the spoon on the empty plate, taking great pains to place it precisely in the middle.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I thought I was…”

“I hear a but,” he said, and ever so softly, touched his fingertips to her wrist. The gesture wasn’t a caress, but something caring and tender. Intimate. So very intimate.

“But now,” she went on, her voice soft, “being here, away from everything that’s familiar to me, seeing things I’d only imagined or had seen in the movies or on television…well, it makes me feel as if my world was very small. All of a sudden, I want to experience more. Do more.” Feel more.