Sins That Haunt (28 page)

He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and took a sip of wine. “No, I believe her name used to be . . . what did she say it was,” he said thinking out loud. “Alberts, no, Albertson?”

“Albinson?” She was the teller JJ paid off not to report the large deposits, and Shannon was certain he'd been sleeping with her.

“Yes, that's it. She knew your father,” he said, cutting into a potato.

“She did,” she agreed. And
she
was on her list. “She married a business associate of yours?” She wanted to make sure she'd heard right, because Hyatt hadn't lied. His wife had been the one to transfer the money to the thug she'd paid to steal Shannon's file.

Santos nodded, taking another bite of his steak. “You haven't bumped into her at the casinos? She spends much of her time there.” He shook his head. “She's not worth the trouble she's brought her husband. He should have gotten rid of her a long time ago, but then he and I would have no need for each other.”

“How did she know you were looking for me?”

“Her husband got himself arrested for a hit-and-run. He claimed to have no part in it but needed bail money she didn't have, and I needed him out jail. She came by to pick up the check and overheard Tomás and me talking. Imagine my surprise when she said she knew you.”

“Yes, what a coincidence.” Great; her life was like a movie, a series of one unfortunate event after the other. And what bail money? He hadn't been formally charged.

“Is there something wrong with your food?”

She glanced down at her plate. “No.”

“You've barely touched it.”

“I guess I'm not that hungry. So you gave her money to bail him out of jail? That's generous of you.”

“Not really. What you said earlier, win-win? Let's take our wine and enjoy the view. Every room has one. The one from my bedroom is the most breathtaking.”

Too bad she'd never see it. “Every room? How many rooms does this place have?” She should have taken her time and eaten the stupid fish—slowly. Now she'd have to find another way to stall until Noah arrived to arrest him.

“Three bedrooms, the living, and this space. There's a dining room, a massage room with a private gym, and a pool room.”

Pool? “Do you play?”

“On occasion. You?”

She grinned. Some fathers taught their kids to ride a bike or throw a softball but not JJ. He'd chosen the fine sport of pool. She'd been hustling players since she was ten. She had to admit it was the only thing she'd enjoyed doing with JJ. Any adult coldhearted enough to bet a kid deserved to lose their money. “A little.”

“Care to play?” he asked, the amused look on his face failing to hide what he clearly had intended for later.

“Sure.” She pushed her chair out and stood. “But you have to go easy on me. This dress isn't exactly made for eight ball.”

“No, but it was made for you.”

Gag
. “Oh, how sweet.” Dangerous and cheesy; what a great combination.

He led the way and she followed, glancing over her shoulder to see if Andre or Tomás were anywhere to be seen. “Where are the Bobbsey Twins?”

“Who?”

“Andre and Tomás.” She wasn't keen on being alone with him, nor did she want backup in case she managed to break a cue over his head.

“I sent them to their own rooms. I don't think we need a chaperone. Do you?”

“They're not staying with you?” She asked, wanting to make sure
own
room didn't mean this suite.

“They're on another floor. Why do you ask?” He handed her a cue.

She took it, resisting the urge to weigh it in her hands. “This is a big suite. Too big for one person.”

“I like my space,” he said, blinking several times.

Maybe because she was so proficient at it or maybe because it took one to know one; whichever it was, she knew he was lying. Why? “Do you want to break?”

“Ladies first.” He grinned like he was so certain how this evening was going to end.

Why wasn't this bust going down? Where were Noah and the police?

They played three games. She let him win the first two and screeched when she won the third. If she was going to convince him to play a fourth, she had to make him believe what a thrill it had been to win. She clapped her hands and begged for another game. “Please, this is more fun when I win.”

“How can I say no? Winner breaks.” He racked up the balls and motioned to the table when he was done.

Shannon grabbed the white ball and lined up her shot. She leaned over the table and aimed her cue, debating whether to sink a ball or not, when a hand settled over her ass. Time was up. Would he let her go or had hell come knocking at her door? She didn't set the cue down, rather held it firmly in her hand as she straightened.

His gaze dropped immediately to the deep vee in her gown. She'd caught him staring several times but said nothing. Normally, she'd tell a guy off, but she hadn't wanted to draw attention to his leering at her. Call her a coward; she wasn't eager to have this conversation. If she'd read him right—and there was no reason to think she hadn't—he wasn't a man you could screw with. And she'd already seen . . . heard his temper in dealing with Tomás. “Look, this has been fun,” she lied, “but I don't—”

Santos slammed his mouth over hers, his tongue insistent as she tried to get him off her. The harder she pushed, the more aggressive he became, pinning her against the pool table. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He had her trapped, her back in such an awkward bend she couldn't draw up a knee to nail him in the balls. Finally, he drew back but only to grab her arms and yank her off the table. The pool cue in her hand clattered to the floor.

Eyes glassed over, he searched her face. She knew what he wanted and she sure as hell wasn't going to let him see. Fear. Guys like this got off on scaring women, and if it meant surviving, she'd dig up every dirty trick JJ had taught her. She'd lie, cheat, and con her way out this. And while
this
went far beyond her mother's issues, Shannon understood crazy—she'd been weaned on it.

She forced her breath to slow, dropped her gaze, and made her arms go limp. She'd had to fight Wright. That man had one thing on his mind—to kill. This man was all about power, and what he wanted was her. She'd have to wait for an opportunity to get the upper hand. Praying it would come sooner rather than later, because not a chance in hell was this mad mother getting what he wanted.

He crowded her against the table, his fingers digging into her bare arms. Then one hand lifted and she had to close her eyes and flood her mind with images of Noah to stop herself from flinching as his knuckles brushed her cheek. Power, she reminded herself; he wanted power. So, for now, she'd give it to him.

“You are so beautiful, Elena,” he murmured. “I fell in love with you the day I saw you.”

Oh hell, she was in deep shit.

“Please,
mi vida
,” he begged, “understand. Those other women, they meant nothing to me.”

She didn't doubt that for a minute. Needing him to see her, not his Elena, she met his eyes.

“Tell me you forgive me.” His other hand clamped tighter around her bicep.

“Miguel,” she grimaced, “you're hurting me.”

“But I didn't mean to. If only you'd listen.” He shook her a little, making the tip of a shoe bump into the fallen cue. “Why don't you listen?”

He was growing agitated. She had to find a way to calm him. “I forgive you, Miguel. I forgive you. Now let me go.”

The slap was so fast she didn't see it coming.

“I will never let you go,” he shouted.

Her cheek stung and she had to blink several times before her vision cleared. She tasted blood and worse . . . for the third time in her life, helplessness. First with the pervert JJ had thought to barter her with, only she'd been faster and him too fat and slow to avoid the lamp she'd beaned at his head. Then with Wright, where
she'd
been too slow in reacting. But no more. She drew on every violent emotion, her pent-up anger, all her resentment toward a father who'd used her for his own selfish gain. She balled up every unspoken curse and regret and fisted them in her hands. She spat in Santos's face. Catching him off guard, she yanked her arm free and shoved with every ounce of hatred inside her. And when he stumbled back, she picked up the cue and ran.

Flipping the stick in her hand, she made it into the living room, where he caught her by the full skirt. She heard a tear as she drew back her arm, turned, and swung. The pool cue broke in half over his head. From the momentum, she stumbled back and over the coffee table. He fell on top of her, pinning her to the floor. Enraged, he yelled at her in Spanish as they wrestled for control. Unable to capture her pummeling fists, he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed. Already out of breath, she felt her lungs struggle to expand as the corners of her vision blurred. If she didn't do something soon, she'd be dead. Prying his fingers off was useless. She fumbled for the broken cue, felt the sharp edge of the splintered wood and curled her fingers around it. Stars blurring her vision, she had one chance. A loud blast rang out and suddenly she could suck in air. She blinked with each gasp and saw the wide-eyed expression on Santos as he tumbled off her.

She scrambled from beneath him, kicking at his limp body, unable to get away from him fast enough. What the hell had happened? She pushed herself up onto her knees, one hand around her sore throat, ready to bolt should he move. It was then she saw it: the red stain spreading across his chest. Scurrying back, she ran into the armchair, where she swung her head around.

If she hadn't seen it for herself, she wouldn't have believed it. The pictures had clearly not shown how much they looked alike. The only difference was, Shannon didn't have a gun in her hand, a gun pointed in her direction.

N
oah heard the gunshot riding up in the elevator. He drew his weapon and paced circles around Lopez in the slow seconds that followed. By the time the doors opened and he reached the hallway, four marksmen were lined up outside Santos's hotel room, two on bent knee, armed and ready, two standing, one holding a battering ram, the door to Santos's room hanging off its hinges.

He heard Diaz yelling, “Gun down.”

He closed the gap faster than he thought possible when Shannon's panicked voice echoed into the hallway. “Don't shoot her.”

Inside, a blond female had a gun pointed at Shannon, who was on her knees, a man's body some four feet away. He relaxed a fraction, knowing she was alive. The relief was, however, short-lived when the woman didn't lower her weapon.

“Don't,” Shannon repeated. “You'll frighten her. She doesn't want to hurt me,” she said, her voice a rasp as she turned her full attention to the woman who he now recognized as Elena Santos.

She was sporting a nasty shiner and a confused gleam in her eyes and, on his second glance at Shannon, he realized that she too had been hurt. Blood trickled from her swollen lip where something had hit her in the face, and a nasty red mark circled her neck. He wanted to kill. He wanted to hold her. And fuck be damned, he couldn't do either.

“It's all right, Elena. He can't hurt you anymore.” Shannon glanced over to where the body lay, then back at Elena. “You didn't save my life only to harm me, did you?”

She finally lowered the gun, but Shannon held up a hand to Diaz, who had taken a step toward Mrs. Santos. Shannon struggled to her feet, her face contorting in pain. Damn, what was she trying to do? She kept her eyes trained on Santos's wife as she took a step forward and then another, until she could reach out and touch the other woman.

Mrs. Santos tipped her head to the side. “You're the lawyer,” she said, “the one he was trying to find.”

“Yes.” Shannon tried to clear her throat. “That's right. I think it's better to put the gun on the floor. That way no one else gets hurt. Okay?”

She nodded once, then bent her knees and followed Shannon's suggestion.

Shannon took the woman by her hand and began to lead her toward the back. “Why don't we get out of everyone's way? We can go in here,” she said, pointing to the open bedroom. “And we can tell one of these gentlemen everything that happened.”

“He hurt you.” The woman reached out and touched Shannon's face.

“He hurt you too,” she said, nodding to Elena's injury.

“It wasn't the first time.”

“But it will be the last,” she assured her and, looking over at Santos's prone body, she was right.

There'd be no arrest. Not his anyway.

* * *

It took everything he had to wait patiently for Diaz to question Elena Santos. For some reason he understood how important it was for Shannon to be with this woman, someone she didn't even know. It was the kid in the police station all over again. Mrs. Santos admitted to shooting her husband after seeing him try to strangle Shannon. Which made Noah all kinds of mad, but he kept it to himself. This was neither the place nor the time, and kicking a prone body, no matter how good it would feel, was beyond unprofessional.

The paramedics came in to examine Shannon and she waved them off, claiming she'd need to stay with Mrs. Santos until Diaz was finished with his questions. Shannon for the time being acted as her attorney, even though Diaz told her it was a conflict of interest because she herself was a victim and a witness. Shannon told him to go fuck himself. If not for the side of her face turning purple, it would have been almost comical.

When Diaz explained that he'd have to arrest Mrs. Santos and it would be up to her lawyers to get bail, then took out his handcuffs, Shannon gave him another piece of her mind. Then explained that handcuffing a confused woman who had been noticeably battered wasn't a good idea. Mrs. Santos needed to be examined by a doctor, and if the police left another mark on her, it wouldn't look good in court. Diaz reluctantly did her the favor, but not before putting two men on the woman. After taking a brief statement from Shannon, during which Noah again wanted to kick the now confirmed dead body of Miguel Santos, Diaz left, giving the paramedics time to examine Shannon.

She'd been giving him surreptitious looks throughout Diaz's questions, and after the paramedics looked her over, he wasn't entirely sure she was happy to see him. But when she fell into his arms, he knew he couldn't have been more wrong.

“Fuck, Shannon, I was so worried about you.”

“You and me both. It took you long enough to make the bust,” she said.

“We didn't have everything, but when we discovered you'd been taken . . . Fuck, Shannon.” He gave her another hug. When she stiffened he pulled back. “Where are you hurt? What did the paramedics miss?” He quickly scanned for injuries but saw none other than the large welt on her chin and the ugly marks around her neck.

“I'm fine. I think I bruised my back when I fell over the coffee table. You came over here before you had all your ducks in a row. Not good, Monroe.” She shook her head.

“You're the only duck that mattered. Care to explain why you left the house?”

“It's a long story and you're going to have to hear it, but I need to go with Elena to the station first. If you want something to do, add a warrant for Mrs. Hyatt. She and JJ were old friends.”

“Mrs. Hyatt?”

“Mrs. Hyatt,” she confirmed, her voice sounding worse.

“Okay, enough. The paramedics said to limit your talking. I'll get you a pad and paper and you can scribble on the way to the station.”

“Scribble? You want me to scribble?” she said indignantly.

“I've seen your handwriting.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Diaz returned. “Are we ready to roll?”

“Ready.” Noah tucked Shannon under his arm while the other two officers readied to escort Mrs. Santos.

Coming out of the bedroom, the sound of one very angry Alejandro Casales could be heard from outside in the corridor. “I demand to know what is happening. I am family.”

“Who is that?” Shannon asked.

“Elena's uncle and Miguel Santos's boss.”

Shannon pulled away from Noah and turned to face Elena, who'd been following them. “Your uncle is holding a federal agent.”

Elena opened her mouth to speak as another more welcome voice was heard.

“Holy shit. I disappear for two days and look what happens. You were supposed to arrest him, not put him in a grave.”

Damon entered the suite looking a little worse for wear. He had a few days' growth on his pretty face and a bandage around his head, but man, Noah was happy to see him. They exchanged a bear hug before Noah asked if he was all right.

“First day sucked. My head was killing me, but I'm okay now. What happened here?” he asked, pointing to the scene unfolding in the living room.

“Special Agent Monroe,” one of the officers said, “if you don't mind, we'll take Mrs. Santos in for processing.”

“Mrs. Santos?” Damon finally noticed the woman standing with Shannon. “Shit, what did I miss? Shannon, you okay?”

“Nothing a hot shower won't fix.”

“You're Mrs. Santos?” he asked Elena, who nodded in response. Damon grabbed another look at the dead body. “You never gave me the chance to properly thank you. So thanks.”

Elena inclined her head.

Noah and Shannon exchanged confused looks.

“Did she shoot Santos?” Damon asked Noah.

“Yes, but care to explain what's going on between the two of you?”

“Sir?” The officer still waited for his reply.

“In a minute,” Noah told him.

“She's the one who set me free. She bandaged my head and took me to the police station. No one there could tell me what was going on. It took forever to reach someone at the office and they told me something had gone down. So I headed here.”

“Sir,” the officer repeated impatiently, “they want her processed.”

Casales was still shouting and Noah had a thousand questions, but this wasn't the place. “Agent Fox will be with me. I'll take care of Mrs. Santos.” It wasn't like Shannon was going to leave her side anyway, and he didn't want to leave Shannon. “And as her husband was about to be arrested for too many federal offenses to mention, we'll just say the FBI need to question her.”

“So long as you take any flak for it, she's yours,” the officer said and stayed behind in the suite with his partner.

In the corridor two more officers were holding Casales at bay. When he spotted his niece they blocked him. “Get out of my way.”

“Casales, I'm still itching to arrest someone today. It's going to be you if you don't back off.” With any luck they'd be able to charge him with Damon's abduction.

“I'm fine, Uncle. Don't worry,” Elena told him.

It was Shannon, now holding the woman protectively under her arm, who spoke next. “Have her lawyers meet us at the station. I won't allow anyone to talk to her until they arrive.”

Casales didn't look as if he liked it, but it wasn't as if he had much choice. “I'll see you there,
mija
.”

* * *

The following hours turned out to be very informative.

They learned that it was Shelley Hyatt who had the gambling issues. Once he learned his wife's part in Shannon's car accident and her abduction, Mr. Hyatt wouldn't shut up, wanting no part of those charges.

He confessed that it had been his wife's idea to work for Santos. It had started out as a simple you-scratch-mine, I-scratch-yours kind of a deal. Santos would pay off Shelley's gambling debts and in return, Hyatt would see to it that anyone Santos brought him received loans. In his mind it was against bank policy but not illegal, so he agreed. From there things escalated. His wife started adding exorbitant spending to their long list of problems so he began pushing through fraudulent loans to help pay for it. Then Santos started demanding more and more. He wanted out, but his wife convinced him you didn't say no to a man like Santos. He might be doing some time, but he told them he was going to do it as a divorced man.

A search warrant was issued for Hyatt's house. He'd negotiated a deal with the district attorney after telling them where to find hidden documents. The representative from the IRS was ecstatic, as was Agent Riley, who'd recovered boxes of valuable information, among other things, now with forensics.

“How's Damon?” Shannon asked when Noah finally took a ten-minute break, more to see her than to stretch his legs. When this was over he was going to lock them in a bedroom and not come out for a week . . . or longer.

He grabbed a chair from one of the outside desks and made her sit. “You should know I've called Maggie. I know you want to stay, but Mrs. Santos has her lawyers now and you need to rest.”

They'd discovered that Santos had a private physician on staff, one paid to keep his mouth shut about the many times his wife accidentally slammed her face into a door. Battered woman syndrome or not, he owed Elena Santos. He didn't know what he could do for the woman, but for helping Shannon he was going to find a way.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving him off, “after I hear the whole story. First, Damon?”

“Dehydrated, but other than that fine. Not surprisingly, he's refusing to go to the hospital.”

“And Elena set him free?”

“Against what we assume were Casales's orders. They were holding him hostage in a van parked at the Wynn. She claimed two men had been acting suspiciously around the vehicle, and after they left she'd gone to investigate. She's not about to go against her uncle and Damon has asked we leave it alone. She didn't have to rescue him.”

“Why do you think she helped?”

“Maybe she felt guilty. Casales wanted revenge, but killing his great-nephew's father isn't cool. I don't know.”

“She told me she knew about his affairs and even saw the last one leaving their yacht. When the girl was reported missing on the news she suspected her husband had something to do with it. She was scared and bought a gun.”

“Madrid is trying to link him to more missing women.”

“Sick prick. I hope they don't cremate him so worms can have at him.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her swollen chin.

“Stop,” she said, scolding him. “I'm fine.”

For her sake he smiled, but inside . . . He'd nearly lost her and all because he'd wanted that damn promotion so badly he'd allowed old wounds to cloud his judgment. He was the reason she'd gotten mixed up in all this.

“So how is JJ involved? Did he bring Shelley in or the other way around? And how did she find out about my file? Does she know where my sister is?”

“No,” he said, answering the most important question first. He took a chair for himself and straddled it backward. “She's been very evasive about the girl. Shannon, we suspect maybe she's Cecilia's mother and doesn't want her husband to find out. But without DNA we can't prove it and she's denying it; claims she doesn't know who the mother is.”

“So we're not any closer to finding her.”

He desperately wanted to give the woman he loved her sister. He could have lost her tonight. Who gave a shit about all the miles between them after that? He'd give anything to wipe away her grim expression, but to do that he'd have to find Cecilia. And right now they had no leads.