Red Hot Christmas (27 page)

She showed Sydney what could never have such an ordinary description as apartment. The huge, one per floor unit took her breath away. The open layout and richness of detail—with tiny mirrors making a pattern in the hallways, and comfy, oversize furniture in the living area could have been yanked from one of those decoration magazines. Heavy taupe drapes framed the countless windows, and a small breeze swirled the curtains.
 

Strings of colorful lights flickered below the crown molding, giving the place a quaint vibe. Green and burgundy red throw pillows crowded the L shape sofas. Sydney blinked when she spotted the ginormous Christmas tree in the middle of the living area. Holy crap. That thing was a monstrosity, loitered with golden bows, hanging balls, and ornaments—some of them even seemed a bit old, like a couple of small china frames, with baby pictures inside.
 

Enough gifts for a family of eight were arranged under the tree. The wrapping was so luxurious; she didn’t need to read the labels to recognize some super high-end stuff. His mother’s voice fell into the background, as Constanza showed her the life-size nativity exhibit just across from the tree. While Constanza went on to say a known artist had made that piece for them several years ago, Sydney glided her hands over Joseph’s figure, her eyes overwhelmed with the precision of details and nuanced colors. Mary and baby Jesus were there too, along with a couple animals.
 

Sydney’s pulse jittered. Where would she fit at the Soto perfect Christmas? She wouldn’t, of course.
 

 
“Everything okay?” His mother stopped in front of a bedroom door.

“Yeah.” Sydney tucked some strands of rebellious hair behind her ear and eyed the opened door.
 

“I don’t mean to pry, but what happened to your forehead?”
 

“Oh.” Sydney touched the bump, which felt smaller under her fingers. Thankfully, ibuprofen had worked its magic and she had almost forgotten it was there. “I’m a nurse, and I had a patient who was very combative. No big deal.”
 

Constanza shot her a compassionate smile. “Sorry about that. By the way, this is your room.”

The most beautiful place she had ever been offered to sleep in—that is, if she were able to fall asleep. Delicate shades of pink ruled in the room, from the silky bedspread, the textured walls, to the vases of daisy flowers sitting on the white vanity counter. An armoire stood next to the sleek plasma TV, the only evidence they didn’t slip into a time travel machine.
 

“Wow.” She whistled.
 

“I had a designer help me with the rest of the place, but this room I did myself.” His mother hesitated, and assessed the place with guarded familiarity. Sydney was about to ask why that room was so important, when his mother recomposed, and said, “If you ever, er, upgrade the status of your relationship, Alejandro’s room is across from yours.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and the woman quite possibly enjoyed it. A grin formed on her cherry stained lips.
Lady, have you ever heard of boundaries? We just met
. She bit the tip of her tongue and offered her a tight smile. Was that common in families, to be this involved, or just his family? Sydney wouldn’t know.
 

She crossed her arms over her chest. Was she in way over her head? The question haunted her after she found herself alone. Hell, she survived jail. In comparison, this was a paid luxury vacation. Wait, this
was
a luxury paid vacation. Although her mind wouldn’t allow her to take advantage of the lavish surroundings. The only place her thoughts took her was harsh reality. Patty, her only friend, had died. Her heart raced every time she remembered that fact.
 

For the next thirty minutes she tried to lie down for a nap, without much luck.
 

A knock on her door made her jump from the bed. She drew a long breath before clasping the heavy door handle and turning it.
 

“Hello,” he said. Alejandro leaned on the threshold. Totally at ease, he had on dark jeans and a white T-shirt that contrasted against his tanned skin. His wet, dark hair and the fresh soap scent oozing from him hinted at a recent shower. The random image of hot water gliding over his naked body made her stomach flutter. Sure, Hot Shot looked good enough to eat; but she was on a man diet.
 

“You left my mom intrigued,” he said, his accent heavy.
 

She finally let go of the door handle, but didn’t move an inch. Why should she invite him into her temporary territory? “I take it that isn’t a good thing.”

A smile that could cure third world country diseases formed on his lips. “That’s great, actually. But that’s not why I came.”

She licked her lips. “What is it?”
 

“Joe sent me some information on you. Before I went through it, I stopped and decided talking to you about things first would be the right thing to do.” He narrowed his eyes at her as if there was a way he could figure her out.
 

A chill swept down her spine.
 

She crossed through the bedroom, hearing his powerful steps behind her. Too late to kick him out now. “How far have you gone? In all your…reading?” She hated how strangled her voice sounded.
 

“Abandoned by birth parents. Eight foster homes.” His sexy drawl didn’t mask the ugliness of her past. Nothing could.
 

She crossed the room and headed to the balcony. The breathtaking view of Buenos Aires struck her. The sky was grey and the clouds crowded each other. A few thin rays of sunshine trespassed the darkest clouds. Swallowing hard, she turned to him. “It’s going to rain.”

She enjoyed running in the mud, her feet getting soaked and brown, and savoring the taste of the rain. When she was a kid, oh how she loved sticking out her tongue and tasting the droplets of rain. There was no flavor, but she created them in her mind. Since her first foster family never gave her ice cream, she pretended the drops of water on her tongue were melted snow cones and fantasized about the different flavors she would taste one day. Strawberry. Pineapple. Lemon.

She closed her eyes and opened them, to find him studying her. He moved a couple strides in her direction, and she took a step back until she pressed against the wrought iron of the balcony. She sucked in a breath. Was she really doing this? Telling this total stranger about her darkest crappiest times.
He already knows.
“Also…I did time in prison. One year.”
 

“Why?” he asked, his voice as soft as a cloud.

“Fraud. When I was studying to become a paramedic, I worked part-time as an executive assistant. My boss, Mr. Phillips, was involved in some fraudulent scam and used my name on an offshore bank account.”

“Phillips? As in the Mr. Phillips that took down a bunch of big investors and left his daughter to clean up the mess?”

“Yes.” The sprinkling shifted into thick, watery drops. She fought the urge to stick her tongue out and find out if the rain tasted any different in Argentina than it did in the US. Marching back into the bedroom, she twisted her hands together.
 

He followed her inside. With his hair damp, curling at the tips, Alejandro was more dangerous than ever. His face was unshaven, and she wondered if his chin would feel rough against her palm. She clenched her fist, her fingers biting into her skin so hard that a ripple of pain lashed at her. Did he expect her to keep talking?
 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he studied the few items she had managed to unpack. He held the black and white frame, and eyed it with interest. “You brought this all the way from Chicago?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Call me superstitious, but it brings me good energy.”

He frowned; no doubt he had found the store logo on the picture and probably pegged her for a lunatic now. What kind of girl bought a frame that came with a promotional picture, and kept it? What kind of girl took it everywhere with her, and ended up getting used to the happy image of a smiling woman and a bearded man swinging a toddler?
 

“It doesn’t have a real picture.”
 

 
“Give it to me,” she said, and rushed to yank the frame from him. He didn’t fight her, but simply stared at her, his eyes sparkly against the gloomy atmosphere. Maybe she had come across like a crazy person carrying a frame across the continent without a real meaningful picture. “I haven’t had the time to put a picture in it yet. I’ve been busy. Alejandro, that doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is…I didn’t do the fraud. Not knowingly. He gave me some papers to sign once, in German, saying he’d help me go abroad for a coveted paramedic workshop. The way it got twisted in court was that I stole money from him.”

“Couldn’t you prove—?”

She snarled. “With my state appointed lawyer against the team of hungry serious fraud office sharks? They needed a win. The case was a showcase for them. Putting me away as well as my asshat boss was all for a good cause.”
 

He nodded and stared at the floor. “I’m sorry.”
 

“You believe me?”

“Does it matter?”
 

She shrugged. “Of course not.” She uncurled her fist and flexed her fingers. Besides how charming and illegally delicious he was, Alejandro came from wealth and a family that was knee-deep into politics. What guarantee did she have that, given the opportunity; he wouldn’t screw her over for his benefit? This time, it wasn’t just about fraud, but actually people dying.
 

“What’s the story behind the scars?”
 

“A foster kid in the same house as I was, threw hot water at me,” she tried to say it casually, but it came out strained anyway. “That’s all.” She rubbed the back of her neck, hoping her firm tone would end the conversation.
 

“In my culture, we hug and touch people to make them feel better.” He ran his fingers through his hair and stared deep into her eyes. Moisture evaporated from her throat as he continued. “I know you don’t want that.”
 

She bit the inside of her cheek. “No.”
 

“How can I soothe you?” His voice dropped an octave.
 

 
“I don’t need soothing. I’m a big girl.” She produced a smile, unsure if she was lying to him, or herself.

Chapter 4

“Any news?” Alejandro breathed into the phone.
 

Lucia, the maid, smoothened her hands over the pristine black and white uniform. With a shy smile, she pointed at the formal dining room. He mouthed a
“gracias,”
and hoped his wink would hint he would join Sydney and his family soon. With a nod, Lucia headed back to the guests.
 

Alejandro slid his fingers over the sparkly ornaments on the huge tree, in the middle of the living room. A picture of his late father had been imprinted on one big ball, hanging on the top just below a golden angel.
 

“Frank’s current wife will get substantial life insurance from his death. She’s in her early thirties, and they just recently married.”

He passed his hand over his face. “Even if she had him killed, why would she go after Sydney and why kill the other one?”

“Whoever wanted to hurt Sydney maybe did so because they thought she knew something that could jeopardize the perfect murder. What if the killer watched from a distance, and saw Frank trying to tell her something? He or she doesn’t know what Frank told Sydney.”

Alejandro rubbed the bridge of his nose. Something didn’t add up. “Why would Frank tell Sydney I was at risk? That, besides the identity of the person who attacked Sydney, is the big question.”

“I know. Sydney’s building doesn’t have a video security system otherwise we would know by now. I’ve talked to a few of her neighbors, though. Alejandro, are you sure you want to have her close to you?” Joe asked.
 

Alejandro turned around, and saw them at the table. His gaze drifted to Sydney, fidgeting in her chair. “Yes.”
 

“She was in prison for fraud. And the fact that you took her to the hospital with a head injury…what were you thinking? What if someone finds out? Not going to take a reporter too long to decide you’re an abusive guy through and through and Sydney is just the newest of your victims. Carla is still fresh in their minds.”
 

He was so sick of hearing about Carla. “That was sorted out. I was innocent. She admitted it. Besides, nothing would stop me from getting her medical attention,” he said firmly.
 

“I hope you know what you’re doing. You could land yourself in hot water for helping her.”
 

Alejandro ended the conversation, and hung up the phone. Soon, he joined his mother, his uncle and Sydney at the table. Sydney was toying with her fork, seeming lost in thought. She wore a green, knee length dress. The turtleneck intrigued him more than the shapely legs partially exposed. Who in their sane mind would cover their neck in the height of a South American summer? Of course, the AC worked its magic and he himself didn’t break a sweat—at least not room temperature related.

“What do you do in Chicago, Sydney?” tío Evandro asked, serving himself another portion of grilled
picanha.