“Dead men don’t pay,” he says through heavy breaths as he holds the gun limply in his lap with his good arm. “I’m still breathing and richer than you can imagine. Play ball, and you have a clean slate and a nice payday.”
The four of them look at one another and seem to come to some decision.
Chapter Fifty-Seven Leira
Enrique has been taken to the hospital with a police escort. They still haven’t made clear if it’s for his protection or to keep him in custody.
I can’t blame them. It is a confusing case, and far too high profile to fuck up. I’m sure the press are already camped out in front of the building like vultures ready to tear apart this juicy corpse that’s been festering for twenty-some odd years.
I suppose I should feel something, having killed a man. That area of my brain is just numb. I have no regrets. Even if it hadn’t been in defense of Enrique, I don’t think I’d feel the need to repent for killing Richard Coleman. Some men just deserve to die. He was one of them. I’ll deal with God’s judgment when that time comes. I suppose He has His own opinions on the matter.
My gaze slides to Lucinda curled in a chair on the other side of Richard’s office, huddled in a blanket. Now that her secret lover is dead, the life seems to have gone out of her. I force a bit of it back with yet another hard stare in her direction, warning her that she had better stick with the script everyone else involved in this devised.
Whatever punishment she has coming to her will be handled internally…by la familia.
That just has me thinking about my father. Enrique told me that they had made contact. No doubt, Dad is already here in New York, reading everyone the riot act in order to gain access to his daughters.
Suddenly, I’m exhausted.
“I’ve told you everything that happened, every damn detail,” I say to the detective. “Even his own guards confirm my version of things.”
“Your version of things?” he asks, giving me a suspicious look. I know he’s trying to trip me up.
I stare at the detective and straighten up, giving him a level gaze. “Perhaps I should call my attorney, and he can repeat my version of things. My father, Pablo Montoya, of Montoya Shipping in California, has probably already called him.”
He stiffens and a brief flash of resentment colors his eyes before they go dull with humility. “You aren’t under arrest Miss Montoya. We just need to get everything down while it’s still fresh in everyone’s head.”
“And I would like to see my boyfriend, who has also done nothing wrong except try and rescue me. Hopefully, in time to catch him when he gets out of surgery.”
He stares at me a moment longer. It’s probably a good interrogation technique under normal circumstances.
I’m far too jaded.
“I suppose you are free to go. However, we may have some follow up questions as the investigation continues.”
“Naturally,” I say in a cynical tone.
Right now, I still have some questions of my own.
* * *
The detective was nice enough to have me escorted down Richard’s private elevator to a patrol car that took me to the hospital where Enrique was.
I sit in the emergency room waiting area, still perfectly incognito since word about the most recent high profile shooting has yet to trickle to this corner of New York City.
After only a few hours, Enrique makes an appearance, his arm in a sling. We managed to get him into a pair of jeans before we called the police. A shirt was too much for him, considering his arm, so he walks out wearing a hospital gown over his jeans, and slippers on his feet.
I smile at him, and lift up the shoes the police allowed me to take from the scene. The grin he returns causes the butterflies in my stomach to stir a little.
“That was quicker than I expected,” I say as he sits down next to me with a weary sigh.
“Through and through, they said. Hit nothing major. It’ll take a while to heal, and I’ll have a badass scar.
“Sexy,” I say with a smile.
“Rawr,” he says with a grin, waggling his eyebrows.
I laugh and kneel on the floor in front of him. “Allow me,” I say as I remove his slippers to help him with his shoes.
“I think I like you like this,” he says suggestively.
“Don’t get used to it. I’m just as feisty as ever.”
He laughs as I tie up the laces of the first shoe.
While I work on the second shoe, it all begins to hit me and my fingers begin to tremble, making it impossible to do the second lace.
Enrique’s free hand comes out to take my chin and lift it so I’m facing him.
“It’s all over, Leira. You’re safe,” he says, his eyes holding onto mine as though they’ll never let go. “I came for you. I’m here. And I meant what I said in there. Te amo.”
That fills me with enough strength to finish. When I do, I rise up on my knees to meet him.
“I’m here too. I’m not leaving. And I meant what I said. Te amo.”
We kiss, and even in the least romantic place in the world, it still spins around us, tilted on an axis that for once seems to lean in our favor.
I pull away and give him a critical look. “What exactly was your exit plan back there? Did you really steal his files?”
He chuckles and a grin spreads his face. “It was a bluff. Something I learned from Magnus Reinhardt back in Monte Carlo.”
“You set that whole thing up as a bluff?”
“Well, you as usual, dropped in to interfere with my original plans.”
I punch him lightly in the shin.
“Ouch,” he
