No One Heard Her Scream

the cell phone from her jacket pocket.

On the second ring, Hastings answered the call.

'Hey, Sam. When you're looking for that hammer, check into masonry tools first, will ya?'

'Any particular reason to start there?'

'Just a hunch. Let me know what you find out.'

Becca ended the call, deep in thought. Rudy worked on the renovation project at the Imperial, probably as a mason, his usual gig. Suspicion twisted her gut, her professional instincts grappling with the love she felt for a dead sister.

Becca shut her eyes, letting her training take over. She would follow the evidence, even if it led to someplace she didn't want to go.

CHAPTER6

Becca opened the front door to her condo and tossed her keys and purse onto the kitchen counter. She didn't flip on any lights. Instead, she opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of Glenmorangie single malt scotch whiskey, pouring a small glass. She resisted the urge to call Santiago. It was late. After her forced vacation, she'd have plenty of time to make contact. So, without changing clothes, she collapsed on her sofa and stared out the windows from the un-lighted room.

Dim lights from the Riverwalk bled through the glass. A kaleidoscope of pastel dappled her carpet and walls, mixed with murky shadows. Stirred by the faint breeze outside, branches of cypress made the colors undulate in the dark and across her body. Hypnotic.

She took a swig of scotch. It shocked her system and burned her throat. But once its heat radiated through her chest and down her arms, she melted into the cushions of her couch.

The noise from the city throbbed, a dull pulse, out-of-sync. Becca shut her eyes and let the events of the day close in, the faces of Danielle and Isabel clouding her mind. Alone in the dark, she felt grief the most. It emanated from deep inside, leaving her no place to hide. By the time she opened her eyes, tears streaked her face. Her skin prickled where the tears had strayed, the air starting to dry them. She finished her scotch and went for more, but when Becca stood, a glimpse of white caught her eye.

A white rose lay on the brick outside her window, its green leaves stirred in the breeze. And another had been dropped on the fire escape steps, at eye level, so she wouldn't miss it. For an instant, her heart leapt in her chest.

'Diego,' she whispered.

A part of her felt too fragile to withstand his influence. But an even greater part willed him to be on the rooftop, waiting for her. Becca walked to her kitchen and took another dose of liquid courage, grimacing with the potency of the scotch. At the window, she took a deep breath and raised the pane. No amount of self-control would rein in the feeling. Her heart pounded in her rib cage.

Becca picked up the first rose and ducked through the window onto the landing. More flowers lay on the steps, leading her to the roof. Her eyes trailed the roses to the top. The white lights of her rooftop garden replaced the stars in the night sky, shimmering points of light. He must have turned them on, another invitation.

But Becca had a plan for Diego Galvan. And it had nothing to do with a starlit night and roses.

Diego stood on the edge of the light near a parapet wall, feeling more at home in the shadows of Rebecca's garden. Sand and small pebbles crunched under his boots in this section. Clay Saltillo tile pavers covered the rest of the rooftop decking. He ran his fingertips along the greenhouse. Had she constructed it herself? He understood her need to have such a place, admired her for it.

He cocked his head to one side when he heard the window slide open below. Rebecca was home. Diego turned to face the steps to the roof and waited, but the beat of his heart ramped up a notch, an unnerving reaction.

You're acting like a damned kid, Galvan. Get a grip. He pulled open his brown leather jacket and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to appear casual. When she peered over the wall, he walked toward her and spoke up.

'I hope you don't mind. I made myself at home.'

He offered his hand to help her over the brick wall—a well-intentioned and chivalrous gesture. But Diego couldn't help himself. He watched her move. Not even the conservative pantsuit hid her tight athletic body. If she looked at him now, Rebecca might be afraid of what she would see reflected in his eyes. He cleared his throat and glanced away.

'For a guy who lurks in the shadows, you do like a grand entrance. I'll give you that. Thanks for the roses . . . again.'

When she touched his hand, a jolt of electricity shot through his system. He tried to downplay his reaction to her, but the exercise would be pointless. He had seen it before, in her eyes. In his mind and his heart, Diego knew the truth. This woman saw through his detached facade, making him feel raw and exposed. And in doing so, she forced him to remember the man he used to be. She shed light on every dark corner of his being, making him feel. . . redeemable.

'I tried your front door, but you weren't home. This was . . . Plan B.'

The faint breeze tousled her hair, the strands cascading the light. She stood close enough for him to smell a fragrance on her skin, a subtle floral scent. Provocative and feminine. And he smelled alcohol. Rebecca had been drinking. But Diego stopped breathing altogether when he looked into her eyes. Steely defiance and a quiet restraint defined them, an intoxicating blend.

She held his hand, clutching his fingers even after she had made it over the wall. He took in every detail of her face, committing it to memory, knowing the moment would not last. Perfection so fleeting.

'Glad you stuck with Plan B,' she replied, a fragile smile on her face and expectation in her eyes. 'We have to talk.'

Yes, talk. About what? Words failed him. His brain failed him. He only wanted one thing—to kiss those lips.

Diego memorized the line of her lips, the soft skin glistening in the moonlight. With his free hand, he traced a finger along her jaw, lost and completely seduced. And she surprised him by permitting his brash move. Encouraged by this, he leaned closer, lowering his lips to hers. He pulled her to him, knowing he took a liberty. The heat of her body felt so good next to his, every curve fit. He couldn't stop himself.

But she could.

'No, please .. .' Even though she placed a hand to his chest, her eyes carried a very different message. 'I need to. . .'

'What do you want, Rebecca?' he whispered.

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to his lips. He clung to the hope she would change her mind and kiss him instead. But Rebecca only took a deep breath and pulled away from his arms. And his emptiness returned.

She crossed her arms, looking cold. And her lips trembled. Diego shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on her shoulders. She smiled at his gesture.

'Thank you, but you don't have to . . .'

She tried to hand the jacket back, but Diego raised his hands in protest.

'No, I insist.' He jammed his hands into his jeans, ignoring the breeze filtering through the weave of his turtleneck sweater. 'I suppose you want to know about Cavanaugh.'

'Yes, what's going on between you two? You kept our little coffee break to yourself. Why is that?'

The truth. It should have been an easy thing to share with someone like Rebecca. But Diego had grown accustomed to his secrets. He wouldn't risk exposing them, not even for her. What part of the truth would he share? He'd have to tread a very thin line.

'I don't tell Cavanaugh everything. It is a game we play.'

Diego circled the spot where she stood, not taking his eyes off her. A slow, calculated maneuver. Butthe woman didn't give an inch. She turned with him matching his intensity.

'Not good enough, Slick. You don't strike me as the type of guy who wings it. That was a deliberate move on