Twilight. Sherryl Woods
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“Save it,” she said harshly. “Save it for someone who’ll buy your phony sympathy.”
Anger radiated from her in almost palpable waves. Rick had known she blamed him for Ken’s death. A half-dozen people had told him exactly how bitter she was toward him and Yo, Amigo. In fact, he had stayed away from the funeral for that very reason, out of consideration for her feelings, justified or not. He’d figured Ken’s graveside was no place to force a confrontation. Later he’d tried to see her, but she’d been gone, off in Florida to recover from the tragedy, her best friend had told him.
Now he realized that he should have seen her sooner, should have gone at once to offer his condolences, to explain how deeply he, too, was grieving over the death of her husband. He doubted she would have believed him any more then than she did now, but he knew how wounds could fester unless they were cleansed right away. This soul-deep wound was no different than one to the flesh. It had had more than a month to worsen dangerously.
Ironically, he had anticipated that sooner or later, she might come after him. He just hadn’t expected it to be in the middle of the night.
Gazing into her bleak expression, he tried to tell her now what he would have said weeks ago, if he’d had the opportunity.
“Your husband was the best friend—”
He never got to finish the sentence. Her open hand connected with his face in a stinging slap that rocked him on his heels.
“Don’t you dare say that,” she said. “Don’t you dare.”
Rick fell silent, uncertain how to cope with such anguish and outrage. Used to coping with broken teenaged dreams with words and hugs and timeworn platitudes, he could think of nothing that would touch Dana Miller’s hurt, or calm her fury. Obviously, she needed to lash out at someone and she’d picked him.
Since the topics of Ken Miller and his death were clearly off-limits, despite their obvious connection to tonight’s break-in, he decided to focus on why Dana Miller was at Yo, Amigo headquarters in the middle of the night. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.
“You expected to find answers here, didn’t you?” he asked softly.
The direct question seemed to surprise her. Her gaze clashed with his. “It’s the obvious place to start.”
“The police thought so, too,” he reminded her. “They’ve searched through every file, talked with every one of the kids who comes here regularly, questioned every potential eyewitness. They’ve almost destroyed the program in the process.” He regarded her defiantly. “I won’t let you start the whole thing all over again.”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” she told him coldly. “I will do whatever I have to do to find Ken’s murderer. You can’t stop me.”
He found her resolve chilling, but it bolstered his own commitment to salvage Yo, Amigo, at any cost. “Oh, but I can. These kids need a safe haven. They need one person who believes in them. That’s me. They had Ken, too, but he’s gone now.”
“Because of you,” she accused bitterly.
“Not because of me or these kids,” Rick insisted. “I’d stake my life on that.”
“Then you’re a blind fool,” she said. “He was here, in this neighborhood, because of you. Week after week, he risked his life by coming here. Eventually the odds caught up with him.” That said, she turned her back on him and headed for the door.
Rick couldn’t let her go, not like this. “Dana?”
Her determined footsteps faltered, but she didn’t look back.
“I will do anything to help you find Ken’s killer, but I will not let you destroy Yo, Amigo. There’s too much at stake.”
“You can’t stop me,” she said again.
“I’ll report what happened here tonight, if I have to,” he said, catching her attention. Her eyes blazed when she turned to face him. He went on with his warning, hoping to scare some sense into her. “I will let the police know that you’re on a vigilante’s mission. They’ll stop you.”
She choked back what sounded like a sob, but her voice was steady when she said, “Do what you have to do, Mr. Sanchez. And I will do what I have to do.”
Before he could think of anything to say to that, she slipped out into the night and vanished even more quietly than she had arrived.
More shaken than he’d ever been by an encounter with a rival gang, Rick sighed at her leaving. She was a handful, all right, everything Ken had ever described her as being.
And he had a terrible feeling that tonight had just been the first skirmish in what was likely to turn into all-out war.
* * *
Dana climbed into her car a half block from Yo, Amigo and leaned back against the seat. Her whole body was shaking, not from the very real danger that existed all around her in this neighborhood, but from that face-to-face confrontation with Rick Sanchez.
How could she have been so stupid, so careless? Obviously she’d lost not only her mind, but her touch. She’d been so anxious to begin her search for answers, so determined not to stay away from the boys one second longer than necessary, that she’d gotten off the plane and plunged ahead on her first night back in Chicago. She’d done it without thinking things through, without so much as a day’s surveillance of how the stupid program operated or who was likely to be in the building. She’d just assumed it would be empty at night. Assumptions had been the downfall of more than one private eye. She knew that, and she’d acted impetuously anyway.
Now Sanchez knew she was after him or, if not him directly, then one of those precious criminals he defended so arduously.
“Blast it all,” she muttered, hugging herself to ward off the chill that came from getting caught on her very first attempt to gather information.
She drew in a deep breath and made a promise to herself that tonight’s foolishness would be the very last mistake she’d make. She couldn’t afford another one, not with a man like Rick Sanchez. Ken wouldn’t have admired him so if he’d been anything less than brilliant and committed. That meant he would be every bit as passionate in his defense of his boys and his program as she would be in her search for the killer.
His offer to help echoed in her head. Of course he wanted to help. He wanted to steer her as far from Yo, Amigo as he possibly could. She couldn’t afford to be taken in by the compassion or the sorrow he’d expressed. He had his own agenda and it was not the same as hers. Far from it, in fact.
For a moment she allowed herself to wish it were otherwise. The next days and weeks promised to be lonely, albeit frantically busy. It would have been nice to have someone with whom to share theories, as she once would have with Ken.
But Rick Sanchez was not that man. She thought of the powerful, barely leashed strength he’d radiated, the taunting arrogance as he’d held her down before he’d learned who she was. The memory made her shiver, this time with unwanted awareness of just how dangerous a man he was.
She shook off the sensation that she was flirting with disaster. She couldn’t afford to be scared off now. Tomorrow, when she’d had some rest, had a chance to compose herself, she would plot out her strategy. And no one—not even the formidable Rick Sanchez—would stand in her way.
2
The greatest act of courage Dana had ever performed wasn’t breaking into Yo, Amigo. It wasn’t fighting off an assailant that had turned out to be the man she held responsible for her husband’s death. It was walking back into the house she and Ken had shared for most of their marriage.
With her heart thudding dully, she hesitated on the tiny cement stoop, unable to push the key into the lock. Her fingers, so nimble earlier, felt stiff and awkward now. Her key ring seemed