Not Without Her Son. Kay David

was from a different world than Miguel Ramirez was, but the only difference between Cruz and Ramirez was that the Colombian knew how to camouflage his background and Cruz didn’t bother. They were both users of people who lived outside the boundaries of the regular world. The similarities he’d begun to notice between himself and Julia’s husband had not been surprising to Cruz. He’d often felt a deeper affinity for his target than for those who paid his fee but he’d never been bothered by that.

      Until now.

      He frowned then went back to the bed and started the recorder again. Freed from the earphones he’d been using, Julia’s elegant tones rang out, completely incongruent within the sleazy room in which he stood.

      I don’t like him. There’s something about Jonathan Cruz that’s not right…. I just have the gut feeling that there’s more going on here…

      Julia Vandamme looked like a rich socialite, but she didn’t act like one. Behind the smooth blond hair and bright blue eyes there was an attitude that didn’t match his expectations. In fact, he realized slowly, her facade covered the exact kind of determination and resolution that Meredith had. And Meredith was a killer.

      He shut off the recorder, Julia’s words now etched in his mind as surely as if he’d voiced them himself.

      Her instincts were good, he decided, very good. Surprisingly good. Dangerously good.

      He might be in trouble in more ways than he expected.

      EXCEPT FOR A PASSING NAP, Julia didn’t sleep for forty-eight hours. When the third day came and went and she’d heard nothing further from Cruz, she thought she might lose her mind. He’d said she had two days, so where was he? What was happening? She gave up and took half of a sleeping pill, falling into a state too restless to be called sleep yet too deep to be called anything else.

      Despite her exhaustion and the medication, when the lights in her bedroom flashed on at 3:00 a.m., she opened her eyes to immediate awareness.

      Halfway anticipating Cruz, she sat up in the bed and blinked in surprise. Her husband stood in the center of the room.

      “Miguel!” She spoke his name almost guiltily. “You’re back! I wasn’t expecting you! Is Tomas in his room?” She threw off her tangled bed linens. “I want to see him—”

      Miguel walked slowly to the edge of the bed, his expression freezing her in place. “You want to see someone, I’m sure, but I do not think it is your son you are missing.”

      She drew in her breath so sharply he heard her.

      “Don’t bother to act surprised,” he said coldly. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

      As if a giant fist had reached inside her chest and squeezed it, her heart felt tight. Guillermo must have called and told Miguel about the incident with Cruz. Suspicious and paranoid already, Miguel had let his jealousy take flight.

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered. “I wasn’t expecting you, much less anyone else. What kind of craziness have you dreamed up now?”

      He tossed something onto the bed. Whatever it was, it landed lightly and she had to dig through the sheets until a flash of black caught her eye. Her fingers trembling, she picked up the book of matches. They were from a club, a club in Austin, Texas. Across a glossy black background, The Yellow Rose was spelled out in gold script letters. The outline of a nude woman could be seen behind the flower. Her stomach flipped over. She had no idea how he’d done it, but Jonathan Cruz must have had a hand in this. Had he planted the matches so Miguel would find them? But why? And how?

      She looked up at Miguel, suddenly grateful that she hadn’t gotten out of bed after all. She wasn’t sure her legs would have held her. “Where did these come from?” she asked.

      “Funny you should ask. That’s my very question for you,” he said. “I found them inside your purse. Perhaps you could tell me then we’ll both know.”

      She dropped the matchbook and got out of the bed, reaching for her robe. Wrapping it around her, she spoke calmly. “I have no idea where they came from, Miguel. I didn’t make a two-day trip to Austin and fly back while you were gone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

      He took a step toward her and she flinched. He hadn’t actually hit her in quite some time, but some old habits couldn’t be broken.

      “Tell me where you got those matches,” he growled. “Or I swear to God you’ll never see your son again.”

      Her throat closed up, but she wouldn’t let him see her fear—it would please him too much and feed his suspicion as well. Instead, she concentrated on figuring out exactly what Guillermo could have told him. She made her decision quickly.

      “I probably picked them up at Portia’s,” she said tying her robe. “Her nephew was here the other day and he’s from Austin. The three of us sat outside in Portia’s garden and visited. She had candles lit. I must have taken them by accident.”

      Miguel’s fierce expression didn’t waver, but Julia caught the subtle shift. His shoulders seemed to ease and she could see he’d begun to accept her answer, albeit reluctantly. Her pulse still in a turmoil, she tried to change the subject. “Where’s Tomas? I want to see him—”

      “I’m not staying. I didn’t bring him with me.”

      She stared at Miguel dumbly. “What do you mean, you didn’t bring him? Where is he? Who’s taking care of him—”

      “Tomas is safe,” Miguel interrupted. “That’s all you need to know.”

      His words reminded her of Cruz’s threat and suddenly she was tired of men telling her only what they thought she needed to know.

      “I want to know where he is, Miguel. What have you done with my son?”

      “I’m going to check out your story, Julia. If you’ve lied to me, you’re in serious trouble.”

      She ignored his attempt at intimidation just as he ignored her questions. “Please, Miguel! Please tell me where Tomas is—”

      Without saying a word, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Julia started after him with a muttered curse, then halfway across her bedroom she stopped. Confronting Miguel would gain her nothing, except possibly a black eye.

      Swallowing her pride and choking back her concern for her baby, she turned away, her anger shifting into a resolve that would serve her much better. She would escape San Isidro and she would take her son with her. She’d do it by herself, too.

      Picking up the book of matches from her bed, Julia tightened her fingers around it until the edges cut into the flesh of her palm, the pain a welcome reinforcement to her decision.

      She didn’t know why Jonathan Cruz had come to her, but one thing was for certain; he wasn’t there to help her. The matches proved that.

      WHEN SHE WOKE UP the following morning, the first thing Julia did was check with the housekeeper. Just as he’d said, Miguel hadn’t stayed. In fact, he hadn’t even spent the night. She let out a sigh of relief and then thought about her second concern—why hadn’t Cruz contacted her? Had Miguel done something to him? She worried most of the morning then she decided to focus on her escape plans. With a renewed sense of purpose, she headed to the gym Miguel had had installed inside the compound just for her.