Secure Location - By Beverly Long Page 0,55

something.

And now she was jumping into Slater’s bed.

It made getting shot seem like a walk in the park.

Better for all of us if you went back to Chicago tonight. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around and watch, or congratulate the happy couple when they finally made their way down to breakfast.

He got up and walked down the hallway. He opted for the stairs instead of the elevator, wanting to physically exert himself. Better that than stick a fist through a wall.

It took him less than five minutes to pack up. Like some sick fool, he checked her closet. She hadn’t moved her things yet. He ran his hand across the peach suit that she’d worn that first day. She’d looked so pretty, so professional.

He closed the door of her closet and left the suite. He didn’t bother to check out—Slater could handle that—he was handling everything else. He waited for the valet to get his rental car, sure that they were wondering why he’d had them park it less than fifteen minutes ago if he planned on leaving again so soon.

Nothing much was going how he’d planned.

Once the valet delivered his car, he got in, cranked up the air and turned toward the airport. His phone rang and he saw that it was Sam.

“Montoya,” he answered, hoping like hell that he didn’t start to wail in front of his friend.

“I got the scoop on Meg,” Sam said.

The only scoop that mattered was that Meg had chosen Slater. But Cruz kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. “Okay,” he said.

“Born in Houston. Parents were married. No other siblings. Lived there until she was fourteen. Then the family moved to Maiter, Texas, where they lived for a couple years. Family moved back to Houston. Parents got divorced about a year afterward. Meg lived with her mother until she went away to college in Chicago. Neither parent remarried, both are now deceased. Meg stayed in Chicago after college. You know the rest.”

Meg had told him that she’d grown up in Houston. She’d never mentioned Maiter. Had said that her parents were divorced and both deceased.

“I appreciate you getting back to me,” Cruz said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m on my way back to Chicago.”

There was a long silence on the line. “Are you okay?” Sam asked finally.

“Dandy,” Cruz said. “Just dandy.” He hung up. Then he called Detective Myers.

The man answered on the second ring. “I was just about to call you,” he said. “We’ve made contact with all the major retail stores in town to ask them to review their transactions to see if anyone purchased shoes, a jogging suit and a backpack recently. I’ve already heard back from a couple but no luck. The rest said they could get back to me within forty-eight hours.”

“That’s good,” Cruz said. Myers was competent. Cruz wasn’t needed here. Did he need it written across the damn sky? “I...uh...wanted to touch base with you. I’m leaving today.”

“That surprises me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s time,” Cruz said. There was no need to go into the details. He’d been dumped. Again.

“Does Meg know?” Myers asked.

“She does. Look, I wanted you to know what I found today. There’s a waitress who worked at a restaurant that Troy Blakely frequented here in San Antonio. She knows him. Said that he mentioned that he was from Haileyville. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes.”

“I drove there today. His parents both died about a year ago, the woman from natural causes, the husband three days later from suicide. What’s odd is that Troy wasn’t mentioned in the obituary and the neighbors I spoke with weren’t familiar with a son.”

“Then how do you know you had the right family?”

“The details that he gave the waitress match the details of the deaths. There’s something here, I’m just not sure what it is.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Myers spoke. “But you’re not going to keep looking?”

Now it was Cruz’s turn to weigh his words. “I can’t. Meg made it pretty clear that she doesn’t need my help.”

Chapter Sixteen

Meg had felt lousy for days. She was tired and she knew she wasn’t eating well—nothing sounded good, not even the pasta that she normally enjoyed. She attributed her general malaise to guilt over how she’d treated Cruz. She’d hurt him again.

He deserved so much better. She’d known that a year ago, when she’d left him the first time. Had remembered it six months