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She crawled over him and wiggled to rub his cock against her clit. “Am I rushing you?” With a teasing kiss, she swallowed any objection he might have had. She’d fallen so unforgivably hard for him, but what she truly needed was the promise of love he’d never spoken, and she wouldn’t beg for the sweet words, not now, not ever.
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday, Alejandro had to interrupt his proposal plans to see Lieutenant Montoya. The man looked even grimmer than usual. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
The lieutenant escorted him into his office. Files were neatly stacked on the desk, and as soon as Alejandro was seated, he opened one. “You’ll be relieved to learn René Charles wasn’t seriously injured. That is the man’s name. He’s a Spaniard of French descent. He claims you jumped him without provocation, and that he carries a knife for his own protection.”
Shocked by the absurdity of René’s claim, Alejandro leaned forward. “You can’t believe him.”
“No, of course not. He’s been arrested several times for assault after bar fights but never served any time. We found a trace of Mr. Campos’s blood on his knife; obviously he’d not cleaned it as thoroughly as he’d imagined. When confronted with the blood evidence, he claimed he’d worked as a model for Mr. Campos but hadn’t been paid. When he demanded the money he was owed, an argument ensued, and enraged, he killed the photographer. The brutality of the scene makes his story plausible. If he’d gone there intending to kill him, he’d have been quick about it, and there would have been no blood-splattered walls.
“He admits to working as a chauffeur for Mr. Lamoreaux, but swore the man had nothing to do with his argument with Campos. We have him for the murder but haven’t found any proof Lamoreaux had anything to do with the attacks on you.”
“René rented a car after I’d mentioned going riding to Lamoreaux. He didn’t just drive down the street either—he came after me. Isn’t that a clear link? He wasn’t out for a stroll when he walked up behind me either.”
“René claims he needed the car to run errands and had no interest in you, although he despises cyclists who take up too much of the road.”
Alejandro fought to hang on to his temper. “This isn’t right.”
“I agree, but it’s all we can prove. Now I need your written statement.” He handed over a clipboard with the proper form.
Alejandro drew in a deep breath and sat back to scan the information required. “There isn’t much to tell. He came up behind me, and I kicked his feet out from under him. What more should I say?”
Montoya rose and went to the window to adjust the blinds. “It’s important to state you felt threatened. You didn’t attack him without reason. Include that he’s a large man and menacing in appearance. Perhaps you saw his knife?”
“I didn’t, and I’m not going to add my lie to his.” He wrote only the facts as he knew them, signed his name and handed Montoya the clipboard. “Thank you for doing what you could, even if there’s no way to prove Lamoreaux is involved.”
The lieutenant nodded. “It’s my job, Mr. Vasquez, and I recommend you have nothing more to do with the Frenchman.”
“I won’t.” Alejandro shook his hand and left.
He called Ana, stopped by her condo and made his point clear as he came through her door. “Even if there’s no way to tie Lamoreaux to René Charles, I don’t want you to ever see him again.”
Ana had worn her hair down and flipped an errant curl away from her face. “Do I appear so lacking in intelligence I can’t be allowed to make my own decisions?”
He saw Fatima shake her head and duck into the kitchen. “No, you’re probably a lot smarter than I am, but…”
She interrupted him with a raised hand. “This is Friday, and we never argue on Fridays. If I call Lamoreaux and tell him I’m taking a lengthy vacation, will you be happy?”
He clamped his jaw shut rather than reply, but undeterred, she chose her usual place on the sofa and called the shoe designer.
“Lucien, Alejandro and I are having a baby, and I’m sorry, but I’m not accepting any new work. I plan to take off a year or two, perhaps three.”
“I’m stunned,” the designer responded. “You mentioned a complicated relationship, but you needn’t stay with Vasquez unless you sincerely want to. Please meet me so we can talk. You might feel differently about your future after speaking with me.”
She covered the phone and looked up at Alejandro. “Maybe I should see him.”
“No!” he responded with hushed force.
“I’m not sure what I could say, Lucien, but thank you for being sympathetic. There are so many lovely models, you’ll have no trouble replacing me.”
“You’re so beautiful, my dear, no one will ever replace you.”
“Thank you, that’s such a lovely thing to say. Why don’t we meet for a drink in a hour or so?” She named a popular cafe along Las Ramblas. He agreed, and she ended the call.
“What are you doing?” Alejandro asked. “Do you think he’ll confess? This is real life not some scripted TV show, and you shouldn’t put yourself at risk.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s clear I’m involved whether I want to be or not. Why would Lamoreaux send René Charles after you unless he wants me for himself? He showered me with gifts, arranged for me to model for him, and when I mentioned photography, he offered a project to give me a whole new career. He’s so anxious to draw me in, he’ll probably talk for hours in an attempt to convince me to leave you. If I appear to give it some thought and then choose to stay with you, he may become angry enough to say something incriminating. You could be there, but just out of sight.”
