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With her eyes still on Tal, Maya pushed the door. “I’m here, Jamie. I’ve got a dozen more patients to see, Lieutenant, and that number doesn’t include any new arrivals. You could be waiting for quite some time.”
He ignored the stream of people rushing past. “Better waiting than lying on one of your tables. Do what you have to, Maya. I’ll handle McGraw.”
Great, she reflected, pushing through the door. Except that McGraw wasn’t the problem.
THE MAN CALLING HIMSELF Falcon crouched under a palm tree behind a lilac bush and watched time crawl by. He was afraid to leave his hiding place, terrified that Adam Tyler hadn’t blocked the shooter’s view, after all.
But no, he had to believe he was still a man of mystery in his boss’s eyes. A wanted, hunted man, but still an unknown commodity.
What would the big man do now? Obvious answer, he’d go for the last person Tyler had spoken to. The doctor who just happened to be his ex-wife. Yeah, that’s what he’d do, all right. And if Tyler had talked, if he’d told her…
Falcon began to hyperventilate. The woman wasn’t a cop, wasn’t trained. A little pain, and she’d crack, like the fatal egg he’d laid today.
He had to run, get away. Let Tyler’s ex die. Beautiful she might be, but beauty wouldn’t help her, couldn’t save her.
Giddy laughter swelled as he regarded the silhouette of the hospital before him. The woman was as dead as her ex-husband.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter Two
“Well, well. If it isn’t Drake’s go-to guy, hanging out in the E.R. at one of Miami’s top three hospitals. Wish I thought you were here because you’d been shot. However, since you appear to be walking upright, looks like I’m out of luck.”
Tal didn’t bother to turn or even look up as Gene McGraw strode into the lounge. He wouldn’t have made such a blustery entrance if there’d been other people around, but for the moment they were alone.
McGraw came to stand so close that his chest almost bumped Tal’s arm. “You’re looking a little unkempt, Lieutenant. Is this the appearance du jour of your homicide cronies up in Tampa?”
Raising a mug to his mouth, Tal turned. “You can’t goad me, Gene. You don’t matter enough at the moment.”
“Oh, that’s right. You and Tyler were pals, weren’t you? Started out together on the street. Quick series of high-profile busts, and it was on to vice. Then a parting of the ways. Butch went to fraud, Sundance to homicide.”
One thing McGraw seldom did was stir Tal’s temper. God knew he had one. It simply couldn’t be bothered squaring off with an overinflated jackass.
“Adam’s dead, Gene. He was shot from behind with a nine-millimeter handgun. You worked with Tyler, so you can be here. But this is a homicide investigation.”
Now McGraw did knock his thick chest into Tal’s arm, just hard enough to slosh coffee onto the floor. He stuck a finger out for emphasis. “This, Lieutenant, is your captain yodeling his swan song and you vying for his job. Or maybe you want to bypass captain and shoot straight to the next level. Cop on a rocket to the gold stars.” He flicked at the shaggy ends of Tal’s hair. “Gonna have to tidy up some, though. Can’t run a department looking like a back-alley gypsy.”
Tal held his stare at close range for several seconds. “Still a homicide investigation, McGraw.”
The detective’s torso bulged. “You listen to me, you—’
“Oh, cool. A hormonal free-for-all. Can I watch?” Maya breezed into the room and went straight to the refrigerator.
Tal admired her savvy entrance—to say nothing of her other assets. Like the thick, coffee-colored hair she wore clipped back from the most striking face he’d ever seen. It never failed to amaze him just how jaw-dropping her features were. The woman very simply commanded attention. He should know. She’d commanded his for seven years.
He knew McGraw missed the glitter in her bluer than blue eyes when the burly detective planted intimidating hands on the counter and leaned toward her. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Santori, I’ll ask the questions. You only have to answer.”
“It’s Santino, and we did this dance earlier.”
“Let’s do it again. Be concise, and we’ll be finished before you know it.”
After a slight hesitation, her lips quirked. Not the best sign in Tal’s opinion. “As you wish, Detective. I’ll give you two minutes.”
McGraw glanced at Tal, who shrugged and rested his butt on the table across the room. He opened with a gruff, “Did your husband—?”
“Ex-husband.”
McGraw’s features tightened. “Did your ex-husband,” he repeated, “mention any names before he died?”
“Yes.”
The detective glowered. “Well?”
“You said concise answers.”
He pushed up to his full height of six feet four inches. “Whose name did he mention?”
“Tal’s.”
“Why was that?”
“Adam wanted him to have his Shelby Mustang.”
Tal’s eyes narrowed, but beyond that he didn’t react.
“That’s it?” McGraw demanded.
She smiled vaguely, as if at some private joke. “Adam and Tal rebuilt that car. Adam loved it. His brother’s been involved in four traffic accidents over the past year. You don’t leave treasure to a fool.”
“No editorials necessary, Ms. Santino. Were there any other names?”
“He wanted his sister to take over his investments and for me to have his condo.”
“Did he—?”
“Say anything unusual or extraordinary?” Anger was creeping in, but only to her voice. She kept those remarkable features schooled and her body, also remarkable, relaxed. “That would depend on your definition of the words. He said he’d tell my mother I was doing well. She died seven years ago.” She capped her juice bottle, glanced at the wall clock. “Tempus fugit, Detective. Your two minutes are up.” Reaching into the pocket of her lab coat, she produced a set of keys. “Yours,” she said and tossed them to Tal.
He caught them left-handed and without taking his eyes off her.
McGraw reached the door first. “Would you recognize Orlando Perine if you saw him?”
Her brows went up. “As a matter of fact, I would.”
“Did Tyler show you a picture?”
“No.”
“Then how…?”
At a subtle head motion from Tal, she relented. “We had a board meeting last night to discuss the distribution of funds from a number of local businesses. The largest donation, over five hundred thousand dollars, came from Delgato Enterprises. If you don’t know it, Delgato is the company president’s mother’s name. As I’m sure you do know, the company president is Orlando Perine.”
“ARE YOU LEAVING?” JAMIE tried to respike her hair, which had wilted badly after six hours of nonstop action.
Maya tried—and failed—to focus her bleary eyes. “Yeah, definitely leaving. All the major traumas have been dealt with. Well, sort of dealt with.”
Slumped against the locker-room wall, Jamie frowned. “Does the ‘sort of’ refer to your husband’s death?”
“Ex-husband, and only partly. I’m still shell-shocked there. I think it has more to do with the police presence.” Specifically, Tal’s, but no way would she admit that out loud.
While Maya had half expected him to show tonight, after four years of not seeing him, the emotional punch had surprised her. Truthfully, it had blindsided her. Like watching Adam die…
“So, who was the cop?” Jamie gave her fingernails a casual inspection. “Not tall, dark and gorgeous—he’s out of my league. I mean the big one who looked like a rumpled golden retriever.”
“Gene McGraw. They call him Quick Draw, like the cartoon horse.” She slipped off her work shoes and stepped into a pair of red heels. “This McGraw’s more of a horse’s ass, but I’m told he gets the job done.”
“Is he married?”
“Are you serious?”
“Hey, twice divorced here, from bigger asses than your horse cop could ever be.”
“You’re a masochist, but I didn’t see a wedding ring.” Pulling on a light jacket over her jeans and tank, Maya closed her locker. “I want fresh air, a soft bed and no more cop questions. I figure if I’m lucky, I might get one of those things.”
“Wait.” Jamie caught her sleeve. “I want to tell you how sorry I am about Adam. I talked to him last spring, when he came in with a wounded suspect. I think he cared about you. A lot.”
Because she knew her usually cynical friend meant well, Maya smiled. “Thanks. Don’t let Driscoll bully you into double shifting.”
She made it through the door this time, snagged an apple from the lounge and made her way along the maze of hallways to the staff exit.
Adam’s face was in her mind. How could it not be? Then Tal’s appeared over it, and she whooshed out a breath.
Did visualizing Tal above the man she’d married, divorced and watched die tonight make her a monster?
Did she want to answer that question?
“Not until my brain defogs,” she said to the air.
Physicians were supposed to be compassionate, caring people. She had that covered. But what about selfless and forgiving? What about honest?
To block thought—and she desperately wanted to do that—she slipped her earbuds in and scanned her iPod for David Bowie.
Night had begun to fracture as dawn approached. Slivers of orange and red floated over a shimmering horizon.
They’d gotten married on the beach, she recalled. She’d let her mother arrange everything, from the rehearsal to the reception. She’d even let her set the larger-than-life guest list. She shouldn’t have, but she’d known her mother was dying, and she’d wanted to indulge her in every possible way, right down to rushing into marriage with the wrong man.
At least her mother had wanted to see her married and happy, unlike her father, who’d ditched them both before Maya’s fourth birthday in favor of—Well, twenty-six years later, that was still an open question. No one really knew what he’d wanted or where he’d gone.
Her uncles blamed his leaving on a pretty young accountant he’d met in Jamaica. Cousin Diego insisted he had a second family stashed away in Tennessee, but that was more likely Diego’s own twisted fantasy. Her mother maintained he’d simply needed space.
The apple turned to mush in her mouth. Maya dropped the uneaten half in a trash can, breathed in the still-humid air and told herself it didn’t matter why her father had taken off. It was the act that counted, and his leaving had hurt her mother far more than it had her.
Rooting through her shoulder bag, she located her keys. Tal would want to talk to her at some point. The thought came out of nowhere and brought a fatalistic “Damn” to her lips. Her avoidance layer was wearing extremely thin.
High above, palm fronds rustled. The shadows that lingered lengthened and shifted. The scent of verbena swirled around her. Stars still twinkled overhead, but the quarter moon was waning.
Maya located her car, then caught a sound much closer to the ground than the palm fronds.
She snapped her head to the right. For a woman who’d lived in Miami most of her life, it was an automatic response. Big-city girl, big-time guard.
For a moment there was nothing; then she caught a crunch of pebbles to her left. The black blur sprang at her before she could turn. It hit her hard and tackled her to the side of a large truck.
The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Her head slammed against the window; her shoulder against the metal frame.
Her assailant was bigger than her, Maya noted. Bigger, heavier and with momentum on his side.
But she’d lived with a cop; she knew how to evade the hand that tried to wrap around her throat.
Using her heel, she spiked his instep. Then she shoved her knee into his groin. She heard a rough hitch of breath and recognized the pain beneath it.
He slapped her back with his arm, and this time when her head hit, stars glittered.
She shook it off, had to. If she didn’t, he’d catch her with the next blow. Keys, she thought and, twisting sideways, freed her right hand.
She heard a snarl as he attempted to pin her. She hadn’t spied a weapon yet, but it would be a moot point if he got his fingers around her throat.
In the back of her mind, Maya registered a beam of light. It made him hesitate. It got him looking.
It gave her a chance.
He stopped her from stabbing his throat with her keys at the last second but forgot about the larger threat. While they wrestled, she rammed her knee full force between his legs.
He released her, with a curse, muffled by the black balaclava over his face.
Another light pierced the darkness. Swearing, he clutched his crotch. Then he dropped back, darted a look in both directions and bolted.
Ignoring the pain in her head and shoulder, Maya shoved away from the truck and ran in the opposite direction.
She grabbed her cell phone from her bag. Should she call 911 or Tal? After a quick debate, she went with the preferred option.
Did it even ring before he answered?
“Tal?”
“Stop running, Maya.”
“What? How do you know…?” With the phone pressed to her ear, and still heading for the hospital, she swung in a circle. “Where are you?”
The collision brought her up short. If his reflexes hadn’t been a split second quicker than hers, she’d have kneed him dead center.
