Broken Trust Page 14

  “What?” Nora gulped. “No. I …”

  Bill grinned. “Just joking. They think she killed Darla.”

  Fay cackled. “Why would they think that?”

  His tone dripped sarcasm. “Ballistic evidence? Flight risk? I wouldn’t know.”

  Bill winked at Fay and they laughed.

  Had they set Sylvia up? Yes, they probably did and they’re going to take her Ferrari and run away to Mexico. Sheesh, Nora.

  Darla’s murder probably had more to do with the missing $400,000. But maybe it wasn’t really missing. Nora needed to check out all the statements before she assumed it was gone.

  Fay nodded sagely. “I have no doubt she killed Darla.”

  “If she killed Darla, who do you think is next on her list?” Thomas walked up behind Fay. He unzipped his parka and gulped his coffee from Mr. Green Beans. The Trust ought to get a volume discount.

  They stood in her doorway discussing motives and future victims of Sylvia’s murder spree.

  How could they joke about this? Further, how could they stand that coffee? Thinking about hers, Nora’s stomach gave a twist.

  “Petal and Darla, they’re both strange if you ask me,” Bill said.

  The three of them carried on their gossip fest without including Nora. She didn’t know how to shoo them out of her office without being rude.

  “I don’t know how she can work for Sylvia. Do you know how many grad students I could get into the field on that bitch’s budget?” Thomas said.

  “Maybe you’ll get your chance now that she’s going to prison on murder charges,” Fay said.

  An unmistakable Latino accent floated over Bill’s shoulder. “I do not think Sylvia is going to prison.” Whatever Daniel Cubrero said sounded like silk on skin.

  Bill flushed. Thomas disappeared. Guilt settled on Fay’s features.

  “A police officer is downstairs now ready to conduct interviews. Perhaps you should make yourselves available to him.” Daniel spoke to Fay and Bill as he slipped into Nora’s office and removed the black sport coat he wore over a white shirt. His jeans snugged to his body like they were custom tailored. It occurred to Nora that they might be. That must be the finest Italian leather on his feet; the shoes probably felt more comfortable than her slippers and cost more than her Jeep.

  Fay’s eyes glazed slightly and her jaw slackened. Nora knew how she felt.

  Daniel raised Nora’s hand to his lips. Kissing her hand? Nora could never remember anyone kissing her hand before. Such an affectation and yet, it seemed natural for Daniel. “How are you this morning, mi bonita cita?”

  Bill’s eyes widened.

  In an effort to appear more grounded than the gapers in the doorway, Nora pulled her hand from Daniel’s and gestured to the wide work counter full of neat stacks. “I’m making progress.” Nora didn’t think she allowed herself to be undone by total handsomeness, but her stomach roiled and bile rose in her throat. Maybe the milk in the latte was spoiled.

  “Point me in a direction and I will do your bidding.”

  His accent sent a little shiver through her. Or was it the nausea from the latte? She burped a little, the taste of the bitter coffee revisited made her feel sicker.

  Daniel turned toward Fay and Bill. “The officer downstairs?”

  “Oh, certainly,” Bill said.

  “Nice of you to get so involved.” Fay blushed and blinked rapidly. “I hope we’ll see you again.”

  “Bueno.” He turned back to Nora, leaving the others to slink away.

  “I’m not really sure what we’re searching for. I’m starting with the most recent bank statements and working backward.” Oh. Her stomach whooshed up and turned over. She held a hand to her mouth.

  “Are you okay?”

  Nora waited for the wave of nausea to pass. “I think so.” Another wave hit her.

  Daniel grasped her arm. “You must sit down.”

  She let him lead her to the desk. She leaned against it and spotted a swirl of pinks and oranges outside her door. The fact it wasn’t blue made her want to sing. But it might be Petal, alone and afraid, wanting to hang out in a safe office or maybe hide in her closet.

  Nora plopped into her chair. She opened her mouth to call Petal into her office but what came gushing out wasn’t words. Nora didn’t have time to feel aghast at the stream of vomit coating the fine Italian leather of Daniel’s shoes.

  She swayed to one side of her chair, slid off, and passed out on the floor.

  twenty-one

  The emergency room beyond Nora’s curtained cubicle bustled with activity. The ER didn’t smell quite as hospitally as she’d expected, but enough antiseptic and chemical lingered to remind Nora where she was. Wheels, feet, voices, clanking, urgency—it all seeped under the drape to add to Nora’s anxiety.

  Nora watched the IV drip into the tubing attached to the back of her hand. It looked pale resting on the white thermal blanket. She got up enough nerve to peek at Daniel. “I’m so sorry.”

  He grinned, showing white teeth and inviting lips. “You’ve already apologized.”

  She’d emptied her guts and wasn’t sure her hair was always out of the way. She had sweated and then chilled. She must be gorgeous. Nora wanted to hide under the blanket and yet she had to make conversation after she’d puked on his shoes. “Thank you for bringing me here.” She had a sudden thought. “What about Abbey?”

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Abbey?”

  “My dog. I left him at the office.”

  The curtain around her bed swiped back. Cole burst in wearing his typical flannel shirt and jeans topped off with a navy blue down vest. He pushed his hair from his forehead and scanned her from head to feet. “Abbey’s in my pickup. Are you okay? What happened? Are you sick? Did you break anything?”

  Daniel’s eyebrows popped up in surprise. “Nora, you did not tell me you were married.”

  “I’m not.” To Cole she said, “Why do you have Abbey?”

  Daniel’s mouth formed a slight smirk. “My mistake.”

  Cole scowled at Daniel. “I didn’t think you’d want him shut up in your office when you weren’t there. What happened?”

  “I got sick. Threw up. I’m feeling better.”

  A doctor with a lab coat over a simple brown paisley wrap dress stepped into the curtained space. She held a tablet computer in one hand and planted her other on her hip, staring down the two men. “One person allowed at a time. One of you will have to leave.” She shook Nora’s hand. “I’m Dr. Taylor.”

  Could Nora get a prescription for that attitude? Dr. Taylor had no trouble asserting her control.

  Cole glared at Daniel.

  Daniel raised one eyebrow in response and spoke to Nora. “If your … friend … will see you home, I need to attend to a few chores.” Daniel bent over and kissed Nora’s forehead. Maybe he did it to annoy Cole in some testosterone standoff. But his familiarity startled Nora. They might slobber all over each other in Ecuador but Nora preferred her nice, roomy American personal space. Especially since she suspected she might smell a little “off.”

  Cole frowned.

  Dr. Taylor snapped the IV drip with her thumb and forefinger. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better.”

  Dr. Taylor studied her. “The nausea gone?”

  Nora nodded. “It didn’t last long.”

  “I’d guess you got it out of your system with all that vomiting.”

  Cole butted in, as if it were any of his business. “What made her sick?”

  Dr. Taylor swiped her finger across her computer screen. “Could be any number of things. Her symptoms suggest food poisoning.”

  “Can you run some test? Is this normal?” He sounded insistent.

  Dr. Taylor glanced from the screen. “We could. Yes. We could spend a lot of time and mone
y and not come up with anything definitive. Nora is feeling better.”

  “When can I go home?” Nora asked.

  Dr. Taylor tapped the drip again. “This is your second bag?”

  Nora nodded.

  “As soon as you empty this—unless you feel the nausea returning. If that happens,” she turned to Cole, “bring her back immediately and we’ll run those tests.”

  With that, she spun on her toes and zipped away.

  Nora stared at the bag, three-fourths drained into her veins. “You can go. I’ll call Abigail to come get me.”

  “Call Abigail if you want but I’m not going anywhere.”

  “What are you even doing here?” Not that she cared what Cole thought but she’d rather he didn’t see her this vulnerable.

  “I stopped by the Trust to talk to you and they told me you’d gone to the emergency room.”

  Could she poke a hole in the bag and make it drain quicker? “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

  “Benny called and …”

  Would that be Benny, her long-lost cousin? She dropped her head on the pillow. “I don’t care what Benny said. He’s just a guy living out on a mesa in the desert having delusional episodes.”

  Cole’s mouth tipped up in a half smile and his eyes danced. “Keep telling yourself that. You know better. You’ve seen it.”

  A year ago the kachina had directed her to save the mountain, but he hadn’t helped her save Heather. Nora saw the headstrong, passionate sixteen-year-old flipping her blue-back hair over her shoulder, courageous and foolish in her fight for her Hopi heritage.

  Did Nora blame the kachina or herself more?

  Nora felt tempted to tell Cole about her newfound heritage. She had the strangest urge to know what he thought of it. But she wanted to get used to it before she shared it

  Nora tried to reach up to tap the bag and force it to empty. Her efforts failed. If Cole would just leave she could relax and let her body rehydrate. “How is it you can just show up? Don’t you have a life?”

  He paused. “I’ve been in Wyoming on my family’s ranch. It’s slow season so they can spare me for a few days.”

  “I don’t need you to babysit me. Go home.”

  His ears turned red. “There are more pleasant things to do than be rejected by you.”

  “Okay then. We agree. You need to go home.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  He shook his head as if it were obvious. “Because you need someone to protect you.”

  Now he was really dancing on her nerves. “And since you think you saved my life once, you have the responsibility to keep saving me.”

  “It’s not a case of responsibility,” he said quietly.

  Time to stop the conversation before he said something she didn’t want to hear. She turned her head away.

  He didn’t leave. “You need to get away from the Trust.”

  She whipped her head around. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because someone tried to kill you.”

  “I got food poisoning.”

  “What did you eat this morning?”

  Nothing. When she got to the apartment last night she’d eaten handfuls of Cheerios from the box. The thought of Abigail’s annoyance almost made her smile. That was the last food she’d had.

  Until the coffee Mark brought.

  The coffee she couldn’t stand even though Fay and Thomas guzzled theirs.

  twenty-two

  Sylvia stood with her arms crossed assessing her dining room. The expensive original oil paintings and the thick hand-woven rug over the shining rosewood floor pleased her. The chandelier glittered, throwing sparkles into the dark cathedral windows. An ordinary person would think it adequate, maybe even like it. But it didn’t suit Sylvia in the least.

  The Chihuly should hang directly over the wrought iron and glass dining table she’d commissioned from an artist in Jackson Hole last year. A hard knot of frustration hit her gut as Sylvia adjusted one of the dining chairs. Until she had her glass, the room would be incomplete.

  Sylvia’s heels sank into the deep pile of the rug and the folds of her negligee swished softly against her legs as she paraded down the hall. She paused in front of a full-length mirror, the designer frame setting off her image. Daniel would appreciate the view. Too bad they’d had that spat after the police station last night. She’d expected him all day but he hadn’t shown up yet. Sooner or later he would return to her.

  The doorbell rang. The grandfather clock showed it was after nine. It could be Daniel, or maybe not. Her heart thudded against her ribs.

  She descended two stairs to the foyer and tiptoed to the door to peek out the side window.

  Daniel stood under the porch light. He oozed sex in his black blazer and jeans. He held a bottle of Courvoisier.

  Sylvia smiled in satisfaction. She adjusted the neckline on the slinky black negligee, patted her hair, then unlocked the door and swung it wide.

  “Buenos noches, Sylvia.” So much like his father; but he replaced the confidence of a mature man with the raw sexuality of a younger man.

  “Please come in, Daniel.” She stepped back and her vision dropped to his shapely backside as he walked past her.

  A splash of fur zipped by her, hurtling into the foyer. The damned calico cat slowed to a trot and wound around Daniel’s legs.

  “Oh, that pest!” Sylvia lunged for it.

  Daniel bent down and picked it up. He handed the bottle to Sylvia. He stroked the cat’s fur as he walked back to the door. “Mi gato bonito.” He murmured as if he actually liked the fur ball. He set it on the porch and gave it a gentle shove then stepped back inside.

  His focus slid around the oversized vases with their exotic dried grasses that had cost Sylvia a fortune. He looked up the stairs. “Very nice.” Whether he meant the house or her didn’t much matter. He wasn’t here for words.

  Clever Sylvia hadn’t wasted any time seducing Daniel three years earlier when she started at the Trust. The complicated twists of who used whom—between Daniel and his environmental sensibilities, Eduardo with his eyes on a most lucrative venture, and Sylvia with the expertise to pull it off—landed Sylvia at the Trust with a multimillion-dollar budget funded almost entirely by the Cubrero fortune.

  Daniel believed she researched climate change and he’d convinced his father to donate enormous funds. Eduardo knew he was paying for something entirely different than global warming research and that Sylvia and Daniel were colleagues, nothing more. Sylvia played one side against the other, hedging bets with her body and her brain. Why not? She had the skills.

  Catering to Daniel’s desires had more benefits than as simple insurance against Eduardo. “I have a fire in the living room. Why don’t we enjoy our drinks in there?”

  He inclined his head, willing to let the evening unfold as it would. He chose a sofa in the glow of the fire. Sylvia knew she would look irresistible in the dim light.

  After she’d poured the cognac into the snifters and settled next to him on the imported white leather sofa, she said, “I regret our harsh words yesterday. I know you provided me with the lawyer and you did your best. Please, can we forget our tiff ?”

  He reached out and trailed a long, slender finger along her jaw. “I don’t wish to fight you.”

  She made her eyes smolder with desire. “We fit together so well. It’s as if we recognize that spark that makes us different from other people.”

  He leaned closer and the scent of warm skin and subtle spice of his cologne wafted around her, spreading moisture between her thighs. “Let me show you how we fit together.”

  She unfolded herself from the sofa and held her hand out to him. He took it and stood. She led him from the room. “Let’s discuss this upstairs.”

  “Excellent idea.”r />
  He stepped close behind and slipped his arm around her, cupping a breast beneath the silk of her negligee. “We have found another area of agreement, no?”

  She swayed her hips climbing the stairs, giving him a preview of what would follow. They ambled down the long hall to her bedroom. It might be her favorite room in the house, decorated in black and white with splashes of red. The duvet highlighted the room with massive scarlet orchids covering the white satin.

  She pushed him gently onto the bed and stepped back. His body settled on the giant four poster she’d found at a Sotheby’s auction. She slipped her feet from the delicate mules. One spaghetti strap slid from her shoulders as she stared into his hungry eyes.

  He rose and pulled the other strap down, letting the silky fabric puddle around her ankles. He paused for only a moment. She found men loved to gaze on her exquisite beauty. He pulled her to him, bending to kiss and nip at her breasts.

  Like most men she’d allowed to touch her, Daniel relished her physical artistry and she enjoyed his worship. It didn’t take him but a moment to shed his clothes and lay her back on the bed. Sylvia went into her routine. What man could resist her?

  She let him climb on her, wild in his desire. She’d learned to moan in the right places and move beneath him in a way that excited him. After an appropriate interval, she increased the volume and frequency and raw tones of her moans, faked her orgasm, and let him finish his own journey.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy sex. All the foreplay and excitement of watching her partner get aroused created a deep pleasure in her. But the final act, the sweating body and heaving need, the squirt—all seemed sordid. There was a point when men quit seeing her as a priceless work of art and sought their own release—it made it impossible for her to climax. She’d take care of that later, alone in her masterpiece of a bed.

  Daniel rolled off. “You were right, querida. We have a special connection.”