Like No One Else. Maureen Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ mahogany furniture and thick oriental carpeting. It took several moments for him to realize that he wasn’t in a dark, creepy forest kneeling over the body of a dead woman.

      Not just any woman. Tommie Purnell.

      “Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing at his bleary eyes with the heels of his hands. “I need a smoke.”

      “You quit,” Daniela Santiago reminded him.

      This time Paulo swore in Spanish.

      Daniela laughed, a warm, lilting sound that penetrated the black cloud fogging his brain. “What time is it?” he grumbled.

      “Six-thirty. That was some nightmare you were having.”

      Paulo said nothing, leaning back against the headboard and dragging an unsteady hand through his thick, tousled hair. Naomi was right. He needed a damned haircut.

      Daniela was eyeing him worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?”

      “Yeah,” he said gruffly.

      Daniela looked unconvinced. At thirty-four years old she was the youngest of the Santiago siblings. Her silky black hair was cut in a short bob that made her look like an exotic pixie doll. Her skin was golden brown, her oval face characterized by large hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and full, pouty lips. That morning she wore a tailored black designer pantsuit that made her look both businesslike and feminine, attributes she used to her advantage whether she was delivering a closing argument in the courtroom or conducting a meeting at her family’s law firm, where she was the youngest partner.

      When they were children Paulo had always treated Daniela like a pesky little sister, one who’d thrown temper tantrums when she didn’t get her way, followed him and Rafe everywhere they went, and routinely snuck into their room at the crack of dawn to jump up and down on their beds. Now as adults, Paulo and Daniela were closer than anyone could ever have predicted, bonding over their failed relationships—both were divorced—and sharing the unenviable burden of being the only siblings in their families who hadn’t yet brought children into the world.

      “I was walking by your room when I heard you calling out in your sleep.” Daniela hesitated, biting her full lower lip as she studied Paulo. “Who’s Tommy?”

      “What?”

      “Who’s Tommy? You were shouting his name when I walked into the room.”

      “Her name,” Paulo corrected. “And it’s not important.”

      Daniela frowned at him. “Not important? You sounded terrified, Paulo. Like something had really upset you.”

      “It was just a bad dream,” he muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

      Before Daniela could argue, Paulo tossed back the covers and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. After a quick glance down to make sure he hadn’t slept in the buff last night, as he often did, he stood and strode across the room to the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind him so he could take a leak.

      Shit, he wanted a smoke. Just to take the edge off his frayed nerves. The dream had been intense, disturbingly so. The shock and horror he’d felt when the dead woman’s face had morphed into Tommie Purnell’s had been all too real. His pulse still hadn’t returned to normal.

      He thought about calling Tommie just to see if she was okay, but what the hell would he say to her? That he’d dreamed about finding her dead, mutilated body in the woods? She’d probably call him a fucking psycho and hang up on him. And he wouldn’t blame her. He had no reason to spook her, or to attach any significance to the nightmare he’d just had. Maribel Cruz’s brutal murder had been fresh on his mind, considering that he’d left the crime scene just a few hours before he went to bed. It wasn’t the first time a victim from one of his homicide cases had worked his or her way into his subconscious, and it wouldn’t be the last. It was one of those “occupational hazards” nobody ever mentioned to you when you were thinking about joining the force.

      Washing his hands at the sink, Paulo surveyed his reflection in the mirror. He looked like hell, with bloodshot eyes, unruly hair, and nearly a week’s worth of dark stubble covering his jaw. He’d have to break down and shave before he left the house that morning. He didn’t want to embarrass his family by showing up at the law firm looking like a savage.

      Grimacing, Paulo rummaged in the cabinet until he located an electric razor and shaving cream, conveniently supplied by the housekeeper. He wished she’d left a fresh pack of Marlboros for him as well. Hell, he would have loved to draw in a deep lungful of nicotine right about now. Giving up smoking was harder than he’d ever imagined, and he’d kicked the habit more than four years ago. But every so often his body craved what it couldn’t have.

      Like too much booze.

      And Tommie Purnell.

      Ruthlessly shoving the thought aside, Paulo opened the bathroom door and called out to Daniela, “When’d you get in last night?”

      “Around one.” Daniela stood at the French doors, where she’d just opened the drapes to let in the sunlight. “Mom didn’t want me taking a cab late at night, so she sent Mr. Mackey to pick me up,” she added, referring to the family’s longtime driver. “Mom said you offered to do it, but she told you not to because she wanted me to be surprised when I got home and found you here.”

      “And were you?” Paulo drawled, lathering his face and neck with shaving cream.

      “Of course.” Daniela grinned. “I know how paranoid you are about keeping your coworkers from finding out we’re related. That’s the only reason you didn’t move into the guest cottage when Mom and Dad offered, even though you wouldn’t have had to pay rent and you could have enjoyed Lydia’s wonderful home cooking every night. And God knows the guest cottage is a helluva lot nicer than that dump you call an apartment.”

      “Don’t start,” Paulo warned, chuckling.

      “I know, I know.” Daniela heaved a long sigh, stretching out across the foot of the mahogany sleigh bed with her head propped in the crook of her palm. From that angle she could see Paulo through the open bathroom doorway. “Don’t mind me. I’m just feeling sorry for myself because I’m a thirty-four-year-old divorcee still living at home with my parents. I guess I just figured if you’d moved into the guest house, you’d always be around to keep me company.”

      “Not necessarily,” Paulo countered, gliding the electric razor along his throat. “Between your long hours and mine, we’d probably see each other about as often as we do now.”

      “You’re probably right.” Another deep sigh. “Listen to me, throwing a pity party for myself after the terrible thing that happened to poor Maribel Cruz. I couldn’t believe it when Mom called to tell me.”

      “Did you know Maribel?”

      “Not very well. I’d spoken to her a few times around the office, and she seemed really nice.” Daniela paused, making a face. “Unlike her boss.”

      “Ted Colston?”

      “Yeah. Him. I never understood how Maribel could put up with him. He’s such an asshole.”

      Paulo raised an amused brow. “He’s a lawyer. Isn’t that a given?”

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