Julian grit his teeth, running a hand over his head. He wanted to rip each of the photos into a million pieces. What the fuck was this?
“You got a P.I. following somebody? Wait, is that your girl? With another dude?” Xander asked.
“Private investigator?” Julian echoed, thoughts forming in his head. The one thing he knew for certain was that Mena’s heart belonged to him. She wasn’t fucking around on him with another man. Never. But what the fuck was he looking at in these photos? Was someone following Mena? Watching her, taking photos of her when she didn’t realize it.
Was Dumay be behind this?
Julian nodded. “That’s Mena, but I don’t know who the fuck this guy is or why she’s with him.”
“Who sent you this shit?”
“Envelope says they came from Mena.”
“Bullshit,” Xander picked up one of the photos.
“What are you looking at?”
“Trying to see if I can tell if these pictures have been manipulated. I get tons of photos. The ladies go through a lot of trouble to make themselves look better than they do in real life. Trust me, I can tell if a photo has been enhanced. I bet you somebody put Mena’s face onto another woman’s body just to fuck with your mind.”
Oh, they were fucking with his mind, but Julian didn’t believe for one minute that the photos were fake. What he thought was more dangerous than someone tricking him into thinking Mena had moved on with another man. He’d welcome that over what was haunting him.
“Mena is in danger,” Julian said, turning to pace across the cell.
“You serious?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time that Dumay sent somebody after her.” Or the second time, Julian thought glumly. He’d always been there to rescue Mena from Dumay. How the fuck was he going to do that now that he was trapped behind bars? If that guy in the photos did anything to hurt her, there’d be no limit to the terror he’d rain down on Priscilla Dumay and anybody who’d ever worked for her.
“That’s fucked up. What are you going to do?”
Julian glanced at the small digital clock resting against the sink. Almost rec time. “Go to the one person in this place who can give me some fucking answers.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The silence was deafening.
Mena grabbed the cashmere blanket and wrapped it around her body as she eased down onto the sofa. Taking a sip of Riesling, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine what she and Julian would do on an afternoon like this when Mena left work early.
Normally, the surround sound speaker system would blast the rapid-fire bullets and intense drama of some military action show they ignored as they talked about anything and everything. She and Julian never seemed to run out of things to discuss. Mena loved to hear Julian’s perspectives on current events and debate with him when they didn’t see eye to eye. He even managed to be riveted when she talked about the most mundane aspects of restoring a difficult piece of art. Everything she’d ever wanted in a man, he embodied. Even the things she didn’t like about him were more endearing than annoying.
She sighed, resting a hand against her forehead. Another night without Julian. Each one harder to endure as the pain of missing him grew stronger. What she should have been doing tonight was celebrating the end of her marriage with Michael, but that had blown up in her face.
After Mena’s attempts to trick Michael into signing the divorce papers had failed miserably, she’d watched him sink into unconsciousness on the white sheepskin rug in the casita. Leaning over his body, Mena pressed her fingertips against his neck. The strong pulse had sent relief coursing through her. Staring at the ripped shreds of the divorce papers still clutched in his hands, she’d gathered the pieces and threw them into the fireplace.
Getting out of the situation would prove to be trickier than Mena would’ve imagined. Even though Regina had booked the casita under an assumed name, Mena feared what could happen if someone from the hotel found Michael passed out in the room. She hadn’t exactly been discreet as they visited the hotel bar and then the restaurant for dinner. The cops would be called and several witnesses at the hotel would be able to describe her as the woman seen with Michael that night. What would she do then?
With trembling hands, she called Omar and gave him the details of how the night had fallen apart. He hadn’t hesitated to tell her that his cousin in the PC-5 would be at the casita within the hour to help her clean up the mess with Michael.
Almost an hour to the minute, there was a knock on the casita door.
“Can I help you?” Mena asked.
“Hey, I’m Athena,” she said.
Mena stood there for a moment dumbfounded by the woman with the smooth dark caramel skin and gray doe-like eyes. She had the body of a dancer and a sweet, girl-next-door look and charm that left Mena confused.
“Is this the guy forcing you to stay married to him?” Athena asked, pressing the tip of her Nike tennis shoes against Michael’s face.
Mena nodded, then shut the door.
