Secure Location (11 page)

Her voice was strong, confident, and he could see people in the audience responding. Phones got put down, side conversations ceased, people listened.

“...and while I hope that the program participants benefited, I know with great certainly that BJM Hotels is better for having had the opportunity to work with these four individuals. Michael worked in our purchasing department and he...”

Cruz heard the scrape of a nearby chair. He turned his head slightly and from the left side of the room, a man was running toward the stage, his eyes fixated on Meg. He was young, white and had one arm raised, like an Olympic torch bearer.

There was no torch, no flame—just the glint of a steel blade from a dangerous-looking knife.

Chapter Eight

Cruz shoved his chair aside. “Get back,” he yelled at Meg. He jumped up onto the table, sending dishes and glasses flying, and leapt toward the man who was less than ten feet away.

He knocked the man to the ground, they rolled, and in seconds, Cruz had the idiot facedown, spread-eagle, with the knife safely secured under the heel of his shoe.

People were screaming, running from the room. He ignored it all. Just turned his head to make sure that Meg was okay.

She was back at the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen. Please return to your seats. For the safety of everyone, sit down and remain calm. There is no danger. Everything is fine.”

Her voice was not as steady as before but it did the trick. People stopped screaming. They sat down. Order resumed.

Two male security officers arrived, looking slightly green. Cruz figured they probably hadn’t had much experience handling knife-wielding maniacs.

Fortunately or unfortunately for him, he’d had his share of experience. But never before had he been so absolutely terrified. He’d looked into the man’s eyes, realized Meg was the intended target and his heart had about stopped.

“Police are on the way,” the younger security officer said.

“Thank you,” said the other. “This could have been bad.”

It could have been horrific. He could have lost Meg forever.

Four San Antonio police officers arrived. Cruz identified himself, gave a brief recap of what had happened and stepped back, grateful to let them take over. He wanted to stand next to Meg, smell her rich scent, hear her sweet laugh.

But that was going to have to wait. Meg, always the consummate professional, asked the police if she could give her statement once the program was concluded. The cops agreed. So after bagging the knife, they quietly escorted the man from the room. Cruz saw one of the officers pause at the table where the man had been sitting and exchange a few words before leaving the room. The door was barely closed behind them when Meg launched back into her speech. She kept it short but gave a brief description of the contributions from each of the four individuals from A Hand Up. Each man was asked to stand. Cruz noted that Oscar Warren didn’t even look in his direction.

Finally, there was applause and closing remarks from Beatrice Classen and the event was over.

It had been the longest ten minutes of his life, full of frustration. He desperately wanted five minutes alone with the attacker but knew the San Antonio police weren’t going to let that happen. Professional courtesy only got a person so far. They’d be crossing a line if they let him get too close to the investigation.

He wanted Meg away from the ugliness. Didn’t want her goodness soiled by the tediousness of what needed to happen next. The police would have questions, maybe even the press, depending on whether it was a slow news day or not.

The people at the attacker’s table remained seated. Cruz figured the cop had told them to hang out after the program ended. Even if the man had acted alone, he may have engaged in some dinner conversation that would help the police with their investigation.

The rest of the attendees were bookin’ it toward the doors at the rear. Unfortunately, Slater and Charlotte were swimming upstream, headed toward Meg.

“Gracious, Meg,” said Charlotte. “That was certainly unexpected.”

Cruz gave the woman a look. Her tone was almost chiding, like it was somehow Meg’s fault. But Meg didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, the good news is I imagine I won’t have to worry about being next year’s keynote speaker,” Meg said. She was working hard to keep it light but Cruz knew her too well. She was shook.

“Do any of you know him?” Cruz asked.

Meg, Slater and Charlotte all shook their heads. Slater put his hand on Meg’s arm. Cruz balled his fist, desperately wanting to knock him back a step.

“I sure hope this ends all the craziness,” Slater said. “He’s got to be the guy behind the letters and the damage to your car and your apartment.”

“I imagine he is,” Meg said. “I mean, how many people could hate me?” She smiled, still trying to keep the mood light.

“Charlotte mentioned getting a nightcap. Can you join us?” Slater asked.

“I’m sure the police are going to want to talk to her,” Charlotte said. “She can’t just go running out of here.”

Charlotte was right. But it wasn’t as if Meg was the type to run away from her responsibilities.

Meg didn’t seem to take offense, however. “You’re right, Charlotte,” she said. “Please, go without me. Who knows how long this will take?”

* * *

I
T TOOK ANOTHER
ninety minutes. By the time Meg finished giving the police her statement, the waitstaff had gone home. The tables were completely stripped with the exception of a few rogue salt shakers. Dirty linens were piled in one corner of the room and chairs stacked in the other.

They’d had question after question but she hadn’t been able to tell them much. All she could remember was the panic. Hers. When she’d heard Cruz’s shout to get back, she’d turned her head, only to see him jump up onto the table to face a knife-wielding maniac.

He hadn’t hesitated. Not for a second.

He’d saved her life. And maybe others, too.

“Thank you,” she said. It was inadequate but she felt compelled to say something once they finally got cleared to go. They waited for the elevator. It was the first time they’d been alone since the event had occurred.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was hoping this was over.”

“Me, too.” The enormity of the situation had hit her hard about fifteen minutes earlier when Detective Myers, who had been called in, had confided that they weren’t confident that the attacker had anything to do with the threats she’d received or the damage to her car or house. The attacker had denied it and seemed to have an alibi that would hold up.

Myers had explained that the man had hidden in the hotel for hours and during the confusion of everyone entering the ballroom, had come in through a side door. He’d taken a seat at a table that had an open chair and acted as if he had every right to be there.

Cruz had listened to the detective’s explanation and his jaw had gotten so tight that she was surprised it hadn’t cracked. Now, he simply looked as if he were simmering, about to boil over.

“Want to get a drink?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. She understood. She hadn’t exactly been extending the olive branch lately. But the very last thing she wanted was to go back to her hotel room and go to bed, only to stare at the white ceiling and think about all of this for one more minute.

She wanted to forget it. Forget everything. Just forget. “This hotel has a nice bar in the lower level.”

“I guess I wouldn’t turn down a beer.”

Five minutes later, they slid into a corner booth. The room was dark, a little noisy, offering just the right insulation from the rest of the world. She considered the wine list but ordered a margarita instead. It came in a pretty glass with salt on the rim and tasted so good. When she ordered her second, Cruz asked for some chips and salsa, too.

Five minutes later, he pushed the chip bowl toward her and pulled her drink away. “You might want to slow down a little,” he said. She shook her head, reached for her drink and took another big swallow.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said. Now she did reach for the chips. He couldn’t expect her to spill her guts if her mouth was full. If she didn’t want to think about it, then she sure as heck didn’t want to
talk
about it.

The salsa was gone and almost all the chips by the time the waitress swung back around for the third time. Meg pointed to her glass and smiled.

“We ought to go,” Cruz said.

The waitress paused, looked from one to another.

“Not yet,” Meg said.

Cruz shook his head and motioned for another beer. “I hate to see a lady drink alone,” he said, just as soon as the waitress was out of hearing distance.

By the time Meg finished her third margarita, her cheeks were feeling numb and she was pleasantly relaxed. And she wasn’t thinking of anything. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She was thinking of how handsome Cruz was. And nice. Patient.

She wasn’t a drinker. He knew that. But he also seemed to understand that she needed to numb her mind. He wasn’t lecturing or chiding, he was simply sitting back, nursing his own beers.

“I suppose we should go,” she said.

“Okay.” He stood up. She did the same. When she swayed just a little, Cruz cupped her elbow with his hand. He motioned to the waitress who hurried over with the check. Cruz looked at it briefly, threw some bills on the table and guided her toward the door.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Sure you are,” he said. He held up an arm to flag down a cab. “We probably should walk it off but until this guy is caught, I don’t like the idea of you being in the open. Too many nooks and crannies for the crazies to hide in.”

Meg slid into the cab and closed her eyes. She was so tired. It seemed as if she hadn’t slept in days. When they got to the front door of her hotel, she forced herself to perk up. Security watched the entrances 24/7 and she didn’t want it circulating through the break room that she’d dragged herself in, looking like death warmed over.

The absurdity of it hit her, almost making her stumble. A man with a knife had almost attacked her. She had a right to be a little upset, didn’t she? But no. She wanted everyone to think she was
just fine.

Because she always wanted everyone to think everything was just fine.

When nothing had really been fine for a long time.

She stood in the empty hallway while Cruz quickly checked both their rooms. When he motioned that she could enter, she sank into a corner chair, dropping her purse next to her feet. She slipped off the heels that were starting to hurt.

“You should get some sleep,” Cruz said. He remained near the door, his stance alert.

“I want another drink,” she said.

He shook his head.

“I’m a big girl, Cruz. I can have another drink if I want it.” She knew she sounded childish.

He didn’t respond. Just moved slowly over to the bed and sat down at the end. He removed his own shoes, his necktie and cummerbund and lay back. He folded his arms, propped them under his head like a pillow, and closed his eyes. “Drink away,” he said. “Just don’t leave the room.”

There wasn’t much chance of that. She’d slept with Cruz for six years. The man could hear a pin drop. She’d turn the doorknob and he’d have her spread-eagle, smelling the carpet.

“Not to worry,” she mumbled. She opened the minibar, peered at the contents, once again considered the red wine, but decided on a beer. She figured it would mix better with the margaritas. Instead of chips, there were peanuts.

She sat back in her chair, nursed her beer, nibbled on the peanuts and studied Cruz.

He was so darn handsome. He’d inherited his mother’s high cheekbones and her smooth, mocha skin tone. His thick, dark hair wasn’t silky—no that was too feminine of a word. It was...
smooth, sensual.
When they were open, his dark eyes were wise, having seen all kinds of bad and good in the world.

She’d never meet anyone like him again. She’d never love anyone like she’d loved him.

Pain squeezed her middle, making it hard to breathe.

She’d given him up. Had walked away and tried not to look back. Had faced the knowledge that one day she’d stumble across him on Facebook, with one arm around his wife, the other cradling his children. And she’d think about sending him a message.

So happy you moved on.

Chapter Thirty-Two of the Big Lie.

But fate had intervened and now he was lying on her bed. And she didn’t want to be reasonable or pragmatic or even kind.

She wanted to be carefree and spontaneous and maybe even a little selfish. She set her unfinished beer on the floor and stood up. She unzipped her dress, slipped her arms out and let the gown fall to the floor.

For several minutes she stood perfectly still, in panties and a strapless bra, watching Cruz. He hadn’t moved. His breathing hadn’t changed.

And she almost chickened out.

But she wanted him with a desperation that bordered on insanity.

She unsnapped her bra, took off her panties and stepped over her discarded clothes. She approached the bed and reached for the buckle on his belt.

Chapter Nine

Cruz grabbed her wrist and opened his eyes. Her face was pale, her eyes big and her sweet lips were pressed together in fierce concentration. “What the hell are you doing?” he snarled.

He’d been a wreck since he’d heard her stand up and unzip her dress. He’d waited, expecting her to go to her room. Had been prepared to spend another night thinking about her, dreaming about what it would be like to hold her again, to slip inside her.

Then he’d heard the soft sound of the material hitting the carpet and knew that she was almost naked.

It was a miracle his own zipper had held up.

She stared at him. “I want to have sex with you,” she said finally.

Yes.
Yes.
A thousand times yes.
“You’ve had too much to drink, Meg. Go to bed.” He let go of her wrist and scooted farther up on the mattress, away from her.

“I’m not drunk, Cruz. I know what I’m doing.”