Forbidden Fruit (38 page)

T
he officer working the front desk buzzed Liz into the third-floor offices of the N.O.P.D.'s homicide division. Liz smiled and exchanged a couple pleasantries with the woman, then started for Santos's desk, located at the back of the large room. As she passed various desks and cubicles, some of the detectives recognized her, smiled and nodded. She returned their greetings, fighting her mounting nerves and the terrible feeling that something was wrong.

She hadn't seen Santos since Lily's funeral three days ago. The few times she had talked to him, she had called him. Each time, he had sounded preoccupied, distant. She had sensed a reluctance to speak with her, and each time he had been apologetic about not having the time to see her.

Too apologetic. He had given her up already.

She shook her head. That wasn't it. There had been a break in the Snow White case; he had been working nearly around the clock. He simply hadn't had time to see or call her.

Or so he said.

She frowned at her own thoughts. Santos was going through a difficult period right now. Lily had been his only family; she'd been his anchor. No doubt, he felt lost right now, cast adrift. It was no wonder he had immersed himself in his work. It was no wonder he had pulled away from her.

Sure. It had nothing to do with him and her, nothing to do with their relationship.

Liz readjusted her grip on the picnic basket's handle. He didn't understand that she could fill the void Lily's passing had left in his life. He didn't see that together, the two of them could form a new family, one that would anchor him just as surely as his life with Lily had. He didn't realize that was what he needed. That
she
was what he needed.

Liz rounded a corner between cubicles and caught sight of Santos. He was at his desk, on the phone. Jackson was standing beside him, his expression grim.

Her steps faltered, and she moved her gaze almost greedily over him. Just looking at him stirred her. Just gazing at him caused her heart to burst into flight. She loved him so much.

What would she do if she had lost him?

Jackson saw her first. He smiled in greeting, then nudged Santos. Santos glanced up and for the space of a heartbeat, he looked trapped. Like an animal who had been pinned in the headlights of an approaching vehicle. Her heart crashed to her toes, and she fought off panic and a feeling of absolute despair. Everything would be all right; it had to be.

“Hi.” She forced a bright smile, stopped beside the desk and held out the basket. “I thought you guys might be hungry.”

Santos stood to greet her but didn't kiss her. Nor did he meet her eyes, not really. Instead, he slid his gaze guiltily away. “That was really thoughtful, Liz. Thanks.”

Her heart began to thunder, her palms to sweat. She set the basket on the corner of the desk.
Why wouldn't he meet her eyes?
She turned toward Jackson, almost desperately. She smiled. “I know how you two get when you're in the middle of a case, too busy to stop.”

“It's this maniac I work with.” Jackson laughed. “He never lets up. The jerk still thinks he's twenty and can live on coffee and that iron will of his.”

“Speaking of busy,” Santos murmured, ignoring Jackson's joking. “I wished you'd called, Liz. This isn't a very good…time.”

Santos's words landed heavily, painfully between them; their meaning obvious to all. Jackson looked at Santos in surprise, then cleared his throat. “I've got to make a call. Liz, it was great seeing you, and thanks for the food. I'll talk to you later.”

Right. If she ever saw him again.

Liz murmured goodbye to Jackson, then turned back to Santos, meeting his gaze evenly. “What's going on?”

He glanced at her, then away. “We need to talk. I've been meaning to call, but…this isn't the time or place.”

Liz stared at him, feeling the color draining from her face, the truth hitting her like a punch to the gut.
Glory. This was about Glory.

“You son of a bitch,” she said, her words choked. “You slept with her, didn't you?”

He looked almost comically guilty. She would have laughed if she didn't hurt so bad she felt as if she was going to die.

He took her arm. “Let's go somewhere where we can talk privately.”

She jerked free of his grasp, tears flooding her eyes. “You fucked her, didn't you?” Her voice rose. “Tell me you didn't, Santos. Tell me you didn't do that.”

“I can't,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Oh, God.” Liz hugged herself feeling sick. “After everything…after what she did to both of us…How could you?”

“I didn't mean to, Liz. I didn't plan it.” He lowered his voice. “It just…happened.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She searched his gaze, her own swimming with tears. “That you got carried away by passion? You bastard, it doesn't.”

Santos tried to take her arm again; she sprang away from his touch. “Liz, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, hearing the bitterness in her voice and hating it. Hating the bitterness that welled inside—toward him and Glory, at the cards she had been dealt.

“When were you going to tell me, Santos?” She jerked up her chin. “Or had you planned to keep sleeping with us both?”

Santos glanced around them, obviously uncomfortable. “This isn't the place for this discussion. Please, Liz, let's go somewhere we can really talk.”

“Why? So you can try to explain? Try to make me feel better? Forget it.”

“I didn't mean to hurt you. God, that's the last thing I ever wanted to do.” He looked away, then back. “What I said before, it was true. It just happened.”

“I suppose you're going to tell me now that it was a mistake, and you want me to try to forget it. That you want us to go on the way we had been?” Liz couldn't deny the hateful sliver of hope that bloomed inside her—hope that he did want that, that he still wanted her. Despite how much he had hurt her, if he still wanted her, she would forgive him.

But he said nothing. That damning silence told her everything, and her heart broke. She felt like such a stupid fool. For exposing herself with those last words, for her ridiculous hope, for everything.

She swung away from him. “I never should have trusted you. I never should have believed you when you said you didn't care for her—”

“I don't. But I realize now, that you and I…that it's not going to happen. It wouldn't be fair for me to string you along.”

Hate for Glory swelled inside her. Glory St. Germaine had stolen her chance at a great education, had stolen her chance for the future she'd always dreamed of. Now she had stolen the man she loved. What was next? Her restaurant? The air she breathed?

As if reading her thoughts, Santos caught her arm and gently turned her to face him. “This isn't about her, Liz. It's about us, about what is and isn't there. At least for me.”

She struggled with her tears, struggled to keep from humiliating herself any more than she already had. The truth was, she loved him so much she would beg if she thought it would bring him back to her. It wouldn't.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Well, you can't be much plainer than that, can you, Detective?”

“I'm sorry, Liz. I wished there was a way we could still be friend—”

“Don't say it. God, I love you so much I want to be with you forever and you want to be—” She choked back the words, nearly strangling on them. “That hurts almost more than I can stand.”

“Liz, I'm so sorry.”

He reached out a hand, but she slapped it away. “You've said that already, Santos. But if you were really sorry, you never would have slept with her in the first place. If you had meant all those things you told me, about your feelings, about her, you couldn't have. But it was all lies, wasn't it? Everything you told me.”

He shook his head. “I never lied to you, Liz. I never did that.”

“No. Instead, you lied to yourself.” With the heels of her hands she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I never want to talk to you again. I don't want to see you. And I'll never forgive…either of you for this. Not as long as I live.”

I
n the last days of her life, Lily changed her will. In an ironic twist of fate, she had deeded the River Road house to Glory, and had left everything else to Santos. The announcement affected Santos like a blow to his chest—not because he thought he deserved the house, or that he cared what it was worth, or that he thought Glory shouldn't have it. But because he loved it.

Because he thought of it as his home.

Santos stared at the attorney, knowing he had heard correctly, but not quite believing his ears anyway.

The River Road house was Glory's now. Never again could he go there to seek the quiet, the peace, it offered.

The truth of that left him reeling. Until that moment, he hadn't realized what a big part of his life the house had become.

He shifted his gaze to Glory. She, too, appeared stunned at the news. Overwhelmed, even. As if sensing his gaze, she looked his way. She met his eyes, the expression in hers apologetic.

He looked away. The last thing he wanted—or needed—was her sympathy. It was bad enough that she saw how he felt, bad enough that by sleeping with her he had revealed the depth of his desire for her.

And he did desire her, more since their lovemaking. Since then, wanting her had become like an itch he couldn't scratch, a hunger he couldn't satisfy. And the hell of it was, he knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Glory St. Germaine was off limits.

Twenty minutes later, they exited the attorney's posh downtown office and crossed the hall to the bank of elevators. Santos summoned one, then glanced at her. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, I…” Glory laced her fingers together. “I'm sorry. I had no idea she'd planned to…I never expected this.”

“Forget it.” The elevator doors slid open and they stepped onto it. Santos punched the lobby button. “I don't know what I would have done with the place if she had left it to me.”

“You could have sold it.”

“No, I never could have done that.” He made a sound of frustration. “And I couldn't have afforded to keep it up. Not on a cop's salary. It's better off with you.”

She touched his sleeve lightly, then as if uncomfortable with the gesture, pulled her hand away. “I know how much you love that house. I know you…wanted it.”

He met her eyes, instantly on guard. “So, you're a mind reader now?”

“I don't need to be.” She looked away, then back. “That day we were there, I saw the expression in your eyes when you looked at it. And today, I saw your expression when you heard the news.”

Santos swallowed hard, feeling exposed and too vulnerable. She saw too much. Far too much. She always had.

He shrugged, feigning indifference. “You love it, too. That makes it okay.”

The elevator reached the lobby and they stepped off. They crossed the green marble floor toward the building's grand front entrance.

“I've been wondering about something,” Glory murmured, almost to herself.

Santos stopped at the door. She looked troubled. “What's that?”

“Twelve years ago, my mother used family money to bail the hotel out of debt. At least that's where she told me the money came from. I only learned about it when I took over running the hotel.

“It was quite a large sum,” she continued. “I never questioned Mother's story because I'd grown up believing her family had been very wealthy.”

“But Lily was your mother's only family.”

“Exactly.” She tilted her head to the side, her expression thoughtful. “So, where did Mother get the money?”

Santos frowned. “How much is quite a large sum?”

“I could check the books for an exact figure.” She drew her eyebrows together, obviously searching her memory. “But I know it was several hundred thousand dollars. Four. No, more like five.”

Five hundred thousand dollars. An old lady could live quite comfortably on the interest from five hundred thousand dollars. Living, suddenly, without it would be tough.

“When was that?” he asked. “Do you remember?”

“Ten, almost eleven years ago now. It was the year we—” She flushed and looked away. “It was the year Daddy died.”

1984. The year he and Glory met. The year he learned that Lily was Hope's mother. The year Lily, suddenly, began to worry about money.

His forehead creased. Up until the end, Lily had taken care of her own finances. He hadn't asked questions; that was her business and none of his. And he had never cared what she had or how much.

However, it had been odd that until that time, Lily had seemed more than financially comfortable. She had never worried about money and had treated herself to whatever she wanted, within reason.

That had changed suddenly. He had noticed it for the first time a few months after his break with Glory. Lily had begun to fret over expenses; she had stopped making donations to charities, had stopped treating herself to the small luxuries she enjoyed, ones like eating out, manicures and movies.

It made sense. Lily would have done anything for her daughter, even financially cripple herself. He had made three deliveries to Hope St. Germaine. In the aftermath of Glory's betrayal, he had forgotten about them. Could he have been delivering a loan all those years ago? And if so, what had Hope sent back each time? A thank-you note? Or something more?

“What is it, Santos? You look strange.”

He blinked, realizing that he had been staring into space. He jerked his gaze back to Glory's and shook his head. “Do I? Just lost in thought.” He forced an absent smile. “It's been a long morning.”

He pushed open one of the glass doors, holding it open so she could pass through, then following her out. It had begun to drizzle while they were inside, and Santos hiked his suit-coat collar up around his neck. “Where are you parked?”

“Up the block.”

“I'm right here. You want a lift?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Thanks, but it's not that far.”

“If you're sure, I've got to run.”

“I'm sure.”

He started off, stopping and looking back at her when she called his name.

She met his gaze, hers thoughtful. “Where do you think my mother got that money?”

He didn't know. But he intended to find out.

He shrugged, not wanting her to know the direction of his thoughts. Not yet, anyway. “I haven't a clue, Glory. Why don't you ask her?”