to consider the possibility that Maribel’s murder was someone’s way of retaliating against the company. Which might explain why liar was written on the wall.”
“Jesus,” Ignacio muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What a damned nightmare.”
Naomi gazed imploringly at Paulo. “But it’s just a theory, right? You don’t have any evidence to support the idea that Maribel was deliberately targeted by a former plaintiff?”
“No, I don’t. All I have at this point are a lot of unanswered questions. When I talk to Colston tomorrow, I’ll ask him about some of his most recent cases, see if that might provide any potential leads. It’s a start.”
As Naomi and Ignacio reached for each other’s hands, instinctively seeking a physical connection, their wedding rings’ light caught the firelight.
“I’m glad you’re in charge of the investigation,” Naomi said quietly to Paulo. “I wish to God this awful tragedy hadn’t happened, but it comforts me to know that you’re on the case, doing everything you can to find Maribel’s killer.”
“I’ll do my best,” Paulo said grimly, “but I can’t make any promises.”
“Of course. We don’t expect you to.” Naomi glanced at her slim gold wristwatch. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you stay here for the night? Daniela’s flying in tonight and would be thrilled to see you when she gets home.”
“Where is she?”
“Attending a conference in New Mexico. She switched to an earlier flight after I called to tell her about Maribel. Angela and Rebecca were tied up this evening and couldn’t make it over here, but they’ll be at the office tomorrow.” Naomi paused, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Do you still keep a change of clothes in the trunk of your car for surveillance duty?”
“Yeah,” Paulo said, and immediately realized his mistake.
“Great! Then you can just get dressed here in the morning and head out with us to the office. I’m going to help Lydia prepare your room,” Naomi announced, and before Paulo could open his mouth to argue, she rose from the sofa and strode purposefully from the room.
Paulo stared after her in amused disbelief for a moment, then looked at Ignacio, who merely lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug.
“I didn’t even say yes,” Paulo muttered.
Ignacio grinned. “Since when has that ever stopped her?”
Paulo was running, trying to keep pace with the barking dog streaking through the wooded forest. The night air was thick and suffocating. The moon hung full and bright overhead, threading silver through the dense canopy of trees. Broken branches, exposed roots, and moss-covered rocks littered the ground, slowing his progress. But he kept running, lungs burning, heart thudding in his chest. He was too close to stop now.
The hound’s barking had grown louder, more agitated. The animal had found something.
And then Paulo saw it. A woman’s nude body.
Swearing under his breath, he knelt beside the crumpled form. Thick black hair had fallen over the woman’s face; even in the darkness, Paulo could see that the hair was matted with blood. He reached out and carefully turned the body over. The tangled hair fell away to reveal Maribel Cruz’s face, eyes wide and staring sightlessly, mouth open in a scream no one would have heard out there in the forest. Her throat had been viciously slashed.
As Paulo reached for her, the dog that had led him here gave a low warning growl that brought Paulo’s head up. The hound stood rigid as a statue, staring alertly into the shadowy trees. Paulo’s skin prickled, the muscles in the back of his neck tightening. He scanned the dark woods. Though he saw nothing, he sensed another presence nearby.
A malevolent presence.
Watching him.
As Paulo’s hand eased toward his holstered gun, the woman on the ground suddenly moaned. Startled, Paulo looked down. Instead of Maribel Cruz, he found himself staring into the face of Tommie Purnell.
He recoiled, his gut twisting savagely in protest. No!
Without warning Tommie’s dark eyes snapped open. “Help me, Paulo,” she whispered. “Please help—”
“Paulo? Are you awake?”
Paulo lurched upright in bed, violently dislodging the hand that had been resting on his shoulder. His heart hammered painfully against his rib cage, choking the air from his lungs. Perspiration dampened his skin.
“Are you okay?”
Shaken and disoriented, Paulo stared at the young woman perched on the edge of his bed, then looked around the semidarkened room, with its gleaming mahogany furniture and thick oriental carpeting. It took several moments for him to realize that he wasn’t in a dark, creepy forest kneeling over the body of a dead woman.
Not just any woman. Tommie Purnell.
“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing at his bleary eyes with the heels of his hands. “I need a smoke.”
“You quit,” Daniela Santiago reminded him.
This time Paulo swore in Spanish.
Daniela laughed, a warm, lilting sound that penetrated the black cloud fogging his brain. “What time is it?” he grumbled.
“Six-thirty. That was some nightmare you were having.”
Paulo said nothing, leaning back against the headboard and dragging an unsteady hand through his thick, tousled hair. Naomi was right. He needed a damned haircut.
Daniela was eyeing him worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly.
Daniela looked unconvinced. At thirty-four years old she was the youngest of the Santiago siblings. Her silky black hair was cut in a short bob that made her look like an exotic pixie doll. Her skin was golden brown, her oval face characterized by large hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and full, pouty lips. That morning she wore a tailored black designer pantsuit that made her look both businesslike and feminine, attributes she used to her advantage whether she was delivering a closing argument in the courtroom or conducting a meeting at her family’s law firm, where she was the youngest partner.
When they were children Paulo had always treated Daniela like a pesky little sister, one who’d thrown temper tantrums when she didn’t get her way, followed him and Rafe everywhere they went, and routinely snuck into their room at the crack of dawn to jump up and down on their beds. Now as adults, Paulo and Daniela were closer than anyone could ever have predicted, bonding over their failed relationships—both were divorced—and sharing the unenviable burden of being the only siblings in their families who hadn’t yet brought children into the world.
“I was walking by your room when I heard you calling out in your sleep.” Daniela hesitated, biting her full lower lip as she studied Paulo. “Who’s Tommy?”
“What?”
“Who’s Tommy? You were shouting his name when I walked into the room.”
“Her name,” Paulo corrected. “And it’s not important.”
Daniela frowned at him. “Not important? You sounded terrified, Paulo. Like something had really upset you.”
“It was just a bad dream,” he muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”
Before Daniela could argue, Paulo tossed back the covers and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. After a quick glance down to make sure he hadn’t slept in the buff last night, as he often did, he stood and strode across the room to the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind him so he could take a leak.
Shit, he wanted a smoke. Just to take the edge off his frayed nerves. The dream had been intense, disturbingly so. The shock and horror