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Why would he change now?
The answer was simple: he wouldn’t.
Cruz Montoya played by his own rules, and his brother knew from personal experience that bending or breaking every rule just never worked out.
Never.
* * *
“Seriously, Dad. I’m okay. Thanks for the offer.”
“Maybe tomorrow?” her father suggested when she didn’t agree to drive over to his place for dinner. “Ginny would love to see you.” The concern in his voice pulled at her heartstrings.
“Maybe,” she said, thinking of her half sister, the imp. She loved that kid. Kristi forced a smile into her voice even though she didn’t feel it. A headache was beginning to form behind her eyes and she leaned against her desk in her office, her gaze sliding to the stack of legal pads where she’d taken notes on her next book about the 21 Killer. “Give Ginny a hug from me. But don’t count on tomorrow. Maybe next week. I’ve got a ton of stuff to do around here.”
“But you have to eat and Olivia makes a mean jambalaya.”
“No arguments there.” But even the mention of one of her favorite dishes didn’t interest her. She had no appetite. “I’ll text you. Promise.” Staring through the window into the night creeping through the city, she ended the call feeling empty and lonely and wondered if she should have accepted her father’s invitation to dinner. Just for something to do. To get out of the house. She would have except she didn’t want to fall into the trap of running back to “Daddy” every time her life turned upside down. She was a grown woman. A pregnant grown woman, she reminded herself.
She snapped off the lights in the office and walked downstairs to the bedroom.
Pausing at the door, she felt another cold gust of loneliness and disbelief rush through her as she stared in the semidarkness to the bed, mussed as she hadn’t bothered making it, the duvet half sliding to the floor.
Oh. God. She braced herself against the door frame, then refusing to break down again, stiffened her spine and walked into the room.
Jay was gone.
She had to face it.
Get on with her life.
She snapped on a bedside lamp and set her jaw against a fresh spate of tears.
“No more,” she said aloud, even though her voice trembled.
Reluctantly she opened his closet and stared at the neat row of sports coats and shirts hanging just as he’d left them, the jeans folded on the top shelf, his shoes placed tidily beneath his dress shirts. Her own closet was a mess in comparison. Dresses and blouses hung haphazardly, hats and purses strung out over the shelves, her shoes and boots lying wherever she happened to kick them off.
She slipped one of Jay’s shirts from its hanger, a light blue chambray he’d worn just two days before he died, and held the soft fabric to her face, lost for a second in the smell of him, his aftershave still clinging to the collar.
“Come on, Kris, pull yourself together.”His voice was so clear, so close, she half expected to feel his fingers on her shoulder, the warmth of his breath against her nape.
Instead she felt nothing. She stepped out of her own sweater and donned his shirt, rolling up the sleeves, returning to the living room to watch TV. Her thoughts strayed, as they always did these days, and by eleven she couldn’t stand staring listlessly at the boob tube a second longer.
She slid out of her jeans, but still wearing Jay’s shirt, she tumbled onto the bed where she tried to read a book. No reason to turn out the light because she was convinced that tonight was no different than all the other nights since Jay’s death, that sleep was unlikely to come and even when it finally did, it would be riddled with horrific nightmares of that bloody and harrowing night. But the book couldn’t hold her attention, her eyelids heavy. No surprise there. She hadn’t slept in what seemed like forever. She tossed the novel aside and, convinced she would never drift off, that she was destined to be forever sleep deprived, she turned out the light to stare at the ceiling. But when the quiet of the night surrounded her, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Creaaak!
The floorboards were groaning against someone’s weight.
“Jay?” Kristi mumbled into the pillow as she opened a bleary eye. What was he doing creeping around at . . . she glanced at the bedside clock. God, it was after three in the morning and—
Her head cleared.
Her heart stopped.
Jay wasn’t in the house. He would never be in the house again, but someone or something was.
She was suddenly wide-awake and straining to hear as she lay in bed.
