Dark Deeds Page 13

  “Apparently, food isn’t the way to just a man’s heart.” Becca’s grumbling went unheard as her parents were quickly pulled into Diego’s orbit, hovering about him in the kitchen. Still, some of Estella’s cooking skills might have rubbed off on him, and the thought of tasting an authentic Puerto Rican dish had her stomach rumbling. She followed the trail of happy conversation to the kitchen, where the heavenly, memory-evoking smells of her mother’s pot roast already filled the air.

  “I thought I’d make something easy, but delicious.” Diego was emptying the bags they’d filled at the grocery store, pulling forth ingredients with strong, sure hands. “Fried plantains, or tostones, and a sauce called mojo.”

  “Well, aren’t you a sweetie-pie?” While Dolly’s question was aimed at Diego, her look was turned in Becca’s direction, as if asking who this anomaly was and where she had found him.

  “I’ll pour us some wine,” Donald offered, adding to the intimate celebratory vibe that was starting to rub Becca the wrong way. Diego’s role in her life was suddenly a little too familial.

  Ever prompt, her oldest brother Seth was first to arrive at the scheduled time. He bent to kiss Becca’s cheek as he strode into the kitchen, which suddenly seemed tiny with him, Diego and her father filling it. How her brothers had ended up with all the height in the gene pool, leaving none for their youngest sibling, was beyond her.

  Dolly stepped next to Diego and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Becca brought a friend.”

  Seth’s survey of the other man was quick, but comprehensive. Becca grinned, anticipating a sarcastic comment.

  “Nice apron,” Seth said.

  She bit back her disappointment. Diego indeed wore the frilly thing well. His mother had insisted, and apparently Diego was amenable to anything Dolly suggested. Which only made Becca more cranky.

  “Thanks.” Diego’s left hand held a knife while he shook Seth’s hand with his right. “Nice to meet you.”

  The two seemed to silently take each other’s measure. Michael and Billy chose that moment to walk in together, carrying an enormous bouquet that they presented to their mother with a flourish. The kitchen was now overflowing with people, but Becca felt warm inside, happy to have her family around her.

  Her middle two brothers were only a little over a year apart in age, but had always seemed to have the ability to communicate silently, as if they were identical twins. As one, they turned their attention to Diego and gave the same arched-eyebrow look.

  Seth grinned. “Allow me to introduce Diego. Becca’s...friend.”

  Michael made as if to bow down to Diego. “Becca’s obviously been sharing her secrets with you.”

  Becca nearly choked on a sip of wine. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice her awkwardness. Except Diego, who grinned at her in amusement. “Secrets?” he asked.

  “How else did you know the way into our inner sanctum is food?” Michael leaned over the counter to take a peek at the sauce Diego was stirring, which was emitting a wonderful garlicky smell reminiscent of aioli, and grinned. “Yep, you definitely know the secret.”

  Warm conversation flowed as much as the wine, and Becca soon lost her irritation as laughter filled the kitchen. Diego’s fried plantains and dip served as an appetizer while Dolly supervised the setting of the table and seated everyone, ensuring that Becca was squeezed in at Diego’s side. Matt arrived late, just as they were sitting down to eat. He winked as he spied Diego beside her.

  “Hello again,” Matt said.

  Becca sent him a look set to stun. She’d dial it up to kill if he went into any detail about their weekend in New York.

  “Again?” Dolly asked, never one to miss a significant part of her children’s conversation. “Have you and Diego met before?”

  “At the wedding,” Matt said.

  “You look refreshed,” Becca said, hoping to throw attention to him. By the looks of the pretty pink box with a designer logo, he’d brought a fancy cake for dessert, which had given him time to enjoy a nap and a hot shower.

  Diego’s knee rubbed against hers under the table. On purpose? He’d decided they’d work better together if he were hands-off. She jerked her leg away and clenched her thighs together. Unfortunately, she could still feel the zing of his touch radiating through her body. With her peripheral vision, she tried to detect if he’d intended to touch her, if somehow he’d changed his mind about wanting more, for just this week. Instead, she became distracted by the dusting of dark hair on his muscular forearms. He’d rolled his sleeves up while he was cooking. She had a flash of memory—his forearms on either side of her head, supporting his body above her as he slowly made love to her. Her skin heated involuntarily.

  “How was the wedding?” her mother asked. Dolly passed her the platter of pot roast at the same time Diego tucked his napkin in his lap. His fingers brushed her hip. Her hands were suddenly full and her brain empty.

  “It was great to catch up with everyone.” Becca’s response seemed to gush out of her. Thankfully, nobody seemed to find that odd. Conversation turned to other things, and she relaxed enough to enjoy hearing what her brothers were up to. While their family dinners had become more sporadic as everyone’s lives became busier, no matter how much time passed between gatherings, crowding together around the dinner table was like slipping into a comfortable robe. Even Diego seemed to appreciate her family’s laughter and camaraderie.

  After dinner, they settled in the living room in front of the fireplace with their wineglasses. Diego had charmed them with conversation, warmed their bellies with good food, and been the perfect guest. And he’d kept his mouth shut about his past relationship with Becca. She owed him a debt of thanks.

  “I should start the dishes,” Dolly said. It was their usual cue, and Becca and her brothers immediately put up a protest.

  “Not on your anniversary, you don’t.” Don began to rise.

  “We got this,” Matt said. “You two lovebirds enjoy the fire. Becca will bring you coffee and dessert here. I brought the cake—chocolate—as promised.”

  “Best do as they say,” Don said with a wink. “They outnumber us.” He put his arm around Dolly as the rest of them stood to return to the kitchen.

  At the sight of her parents’ love, Becca felt a twinge of longing. Would she find that kind of deep love one day? That kind of bond required trust, and she wasn’t sure she was capable of letting go enough to believe in another person that much. To have faith he would be there for her, no matter what.

  After she’d delivered cake and coffee to her parents, she returned to overhear the men conversing.

  “You’re a guest,” Matt was telling Diego. “And you cooked. I can’t let you clean up, too. You’re making us look bad.” His words were spoken with good humor. “Hey, Becca, why don’t you give him a tour of the homestead?”

  “I don’t think he’d be interested,” Becca said.

  “I’d like to see it,” Diego said. “I don’t know a lot about your past.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “But if you don’t want to share your kittens and unicorns...”

  Didn’t he see what a mistake it would be to be alone together? She was feeling soft and vulnerable after an evening in her family’s company, creating a longing for what she couldn’t have.

  Chapter Eleven

  Diego’s guess had been stated in jest, and couldn’t have been further from the truth. Becca’s room wasn’t pink frills or kittens and unicorns. It was rock star posters and a corkboard filled with pictures of family and friends.

  “I went away to college,” Becca explained, looking slightly embarrassed.

  “And didn’t come back?” Diego picked up a small box on her dresser and opened it. A single diamond earring glinted inside, next to a class ring.

  She snatched the box away and set it back on the dresser with a snap. Definitely special, or he’d touched a nerve. She seemed to rethink her action and put it in the top drawer instead. Diego got a glimpse of something hot pink and lacy. Against Becc
a’s satin skin, it would be absolute sin.

  “I never moved back, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

  “Never moved on, is what it looks like.”

  Becca bristled. “Just because my parents kept my room like this doesn’t mean I didn’t mature. I’ve grown up in more ways than any of you will ever know.” She pressed her lips together as if holding in the rest of her statement.

  Once again, Diego sensed a mystery behind her words. Something held her distant from others, even from her family. As if she wasn’t fully sharing herself with the people she was closest to. He felt a sudden desperation to reignite her temper and erase the sadness and regret in her eyes. Even better, a spark of passion would burn off the sexual tension brewing between them. But he’d established that no-hands rule to save his sanity. If he had a boundary firmly in place, it would be clear when he was crossing it. At least, that was the theory. His body clearly didn’t want to obey his brain.

  He took a step closer. “Did you go far for college?” He was going to leave in six days. There was no reason to press for information, but the more he knew about her, the better he could protect her. At least, that was what he told himself.

  She shrugged. “Far enough that a commute home on the weekends required planning.”

  She didn’t mention where. He found that interesting. Most people were proud of where they’d attended school. Had it been her college class ring she’d wanted to hide in the drawer? “Was SSAM your first job?”

  She nodded. “When I was done with school, I’d heard of them and knew what I wanted. It was a perfect fit.”

  Done with school. Again, an odd way to phrase—or not phrase—her words. Most people would say they’d graduated with such-and-such degree. And why had an agency like SSAM been a perfect fit for a young girl graduating from college? From what he’d seen, most of Damian’s hires were experienced professionals, having worked in the field before coming to SSAM.

  Diego didn’t like that Becca was holding back or keeping secrets. Had a man hurt her? “You’re leaving a lot out.”

  She turned away.

  “Don’t hide from me,” he said. “We shared more than most people.”

  “That was a controlled environment. In the real world, it’s different.”

  He didn’t want it to be different. He wanted to recapture what they’d had. “What if there’s more?”

  She took a step back, out of his reach. “You said we shouldn’t be together...in that way...especially while working together.”

  He moved forward. “That doesn’t mean we can’t give it a try after the investigation is over. After other distractions are out of the way.”

  She retreated again, her rear coming into contact with her desk. “There can’t be anything.”

  “It’s as if you don’t even want to see if the spark is still there.” He could see it was there. He just wanted her to admit it.

  “Because I don’t.”

  He lifted a hand to brush his thumb over her lips—her lovely, lying lips. They trembled. He’d wanted to kiss them ever since he’d seen her across the gallery at the rehearsal party. “You react to me...the same way I react to you.”

  “That’s just basic human nature. Physical lust.”

  He stiffened. “The ‘it was only a bit of fun’ line again? What are you afraid of?”

  She gave a harsh laugh as he leaned closer, his hips leaning into hers. He only had to tilt his head to capture her mouth...

  “I’m not afraid.” Contrary to her statement, her voice hitched.

  In the depths of her wide brown eyes, he saw a mixture of anxiety and hope that mirrored what he was feeling. He closed the distance. Just one taste...

  As his lips touched hers, sensory memories consumed his brain, dashing his thoughts into incoherence. Her flavor on his tongue was like coming home. He knew her mouth, recognized the part of her bottom lip that, when kissed, plumped like a ripe cherry but tasted even sweeter. Her little moan of surrender unhinged something inside him. How could she insist that physical desire was all they had?

  Why bother pushing for more, especially if she’ll run away from you again? It would be torture, working with her but not touching her. But if he could prove to her that what they had was worth fighting for after this case was over...

  It won’t be enough. Whatever’s got her running scared will keep her away.

  His subconscious fought to be heard, but he smothered it as, like a flower unfurling its petals, she opened her mouth to him. His hands found her hips and held on for dear life as her tongue swept inside his mouth.

  God, he’d missed her. Fiery, bright and beautiful, she was like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Bringing happiness and a bit of awe into his life. Emotions that had lain dormant for months awakened at her touch.

  Her fingers dug through his hair. His scalp prickled deliciously at the contact. He groaned and hiked her up until she wrapped her legs around his waist, her bottom resting on the desk behind her. His erection pressed painfully against his jeans as he leaned over her, intent on devouring as much of her as he could, for as long as he could.

  Unable to resist touching her skin any longer, he dipped a hand under the edge of her blouse, then edged beneath the satin bra to cup her breast. Her flesh filled his palm, and he brushed a thumb across the nipple. She arched against him, moaning into his mouth. Her pelvis pressed harder against the ridge in his pants. God, he loved how responsive she was to his touch—like the motor of a high-quality racing machine, just waiting for his foot on the pedal to rev its engine.

  “Becca?” Dolly’s voice called from down the hall. “Your phone’s ringing in your purse. I didn’t know if I should answer it.”

  Becca ripped her mouth from his. His moist lips grew cold as her irregular breath blew against them. She unwrapped her legs from his waist, then pushed him away and dropped her feet to the floor.

  “I’ll be right down,” Becca called back before her mother could appear in the doorway. Thank goodness. Diego didn’t want to scandalize the sweet woman who’d welcomed him into her home.

  Becca started straightening her clothes, which he’d shoved this way and that in a frenzy to get to her skin. She turned to the mirror to finger-comb her hair. He wondered how she’d hide her swollen lips and pink cheeks.

  He stepped up behind her, planting his hands on her waist as he bent to place a kiss on her neck. He liked her short hair—easy access to more skin. “See? We’re good together. Too good. You make me lose my head.”

  She stiffened, then wriggled out of his grasp and moved toward the door. “You’ll regain your senses soon enough.”

  Confused by her cold tone, Diego wanted to tug her back into the room and question her until he understood what the hell had her defenses rising up again. But she was already halfway down the stairs, acting as if he had no effect on her world at all.

  Sunday, 8:10 p.m.

  Chicago

  The Fan touched the necklace in his pocket. With a promise of more cigarettes and star billing on the documentary, Tony had come through, giving him what he needed to prove his value to Damian and Becca. He’d held the little butterfly charm up to the light at least a dozen times since he’d retrieved it from the storage room where Tony had said it would be. He couldn’t wait to share his find. But there was much to be done before then.

  It had been a busy day, but he’d finished his interview at the prison in time to do some research and ensure that Fanta’s body had been found where he’d dumped it in a South Side alley—her home turf. He’d contacted his church to start funeral arrangements, and received kudos from the pastor for his involvement with the downtrodden—if only Pastor Bob knew how involved he really was, he thought with a grin. And he’d even put in a couple hours at work to make up for lost time.

  He had more yet to do tonight, but that meeting was best done during the darkest part of the night, when evil reigned.

  He finished unpacking his suitcase, started the laundry, and
went upstairs to put the kettle on. Mother would be home from her job at the hospice soon, and she’d want a cup of chamomile before bed on this cold, damp night. He’d reserved a bit of time to chat about her weekend.

  From the cupboard, he removed her favorite teacup with the gold-plated rim and delicate pink roses. He stood on tiptoe to reach the top of the fridge and pull down the Crown Royal, poured a shot into his mug and replaced the bottle. He’d have a quick nip to celebrate his recent accomplishments, and those yet to come, but he’d be discreet about it. Mother didn’t like seeing him drink. It reminded her too much of the Colonel, which is what she’d called his father. The Colonel had insisted on the title, and on respect. Even if he’d had to beat it out of them with his leather belt. Even if the infraction was small and the rules rigid.

  The only time the Colonel hadn’t touched him was during his illnesses. It was almost a blessing that the Fan’s childhood had been full of them. He’d spent so much time in the hospital that Mother had practically moved in there. In fact, it was when he was about ten that she started studying to be a nurse.

  But the Colonel—a nasty, raging drunk a majority of the time—had died of liver disease years ago. And sometimes a guy deserved a drink. Just one, though, because of his DNA.

  Was the desire to kill genetic, too? The Fan had often wondered if the Colonel’s violence had ever led him to kill a person. Or if the urge to kill had led to the violence of other sorts. Or maybe he’d found other ways to deal with the urges.

  These were the kinds of questions that had instigated the documentary...good versus evil, light versus dark...he was determined to find the answers to why he felt the urge to kill. And whether a good person still lived inside him. Because he felt like a good person. He made good choices. And if he had to make a bad choice, it was for the greater good. He had subdued his urges for years, channeling his quest for understanding into his interviews. But one day, he’d decided enough was enough. He’d begun killing, but only when justified—even if most of society couldn’t comprehend those reasons.