Chapter 32
Chapter 32
W hen Poppy woke for work at three, Sully still wasn’t home. Such was her faith in him that she didn’t experience a flicker of doubt over his whereabouts, only a deep sense of regret that they’d argued before he went away. She’d said ugly things, harsh things that hurt him. Yesterday she received news from Burton’s that they’d officially hired her replacement. Of course she knew they would, but it made everything tangible, everything real. All her culinary friends in New York were moving on and moving up. Poppy was stuck in an unknown Texas town, eking out a living by sheer force of will. Most days she was insanely proud of what she’d accomplished, humble as it now was. Yesterday she’d had a little pity party for what she lost. Why hadn’t she told Sully that? Why hadn’t she explained?
Pride held her back. She didn’t want to admit, even to Sully, how hard she struggled to keep her head above water in the new venture, how close she’d come to losing everything. If Huck hadn’t taken a chance on her, if she hadn’t had that small cushion of savings to buy supplies… She shuddered to think of how close she’d come to failing, to sinking under the weight of another bad decision. Every dollar in her account was another sign of her success, a tangible way to say Hurricane Poppy was gone forever. She might have torpedoed her old career, but she was successfully making a new one, one metaphorical brick at a time.
Wearily, regretfully, she showered, dressed, and headed toward Huck’s . Sully kept threatening to buy her a car, and Poppy kept putting him off. Why do I need a car, with such a handsome chauffer? She loved being able to walk to Huck’s , or to the store, or anywhere else in town. It reminded her of growing up in Africa when she and her sisters walked everywhere. And of New York, which had seemed like a series of small towns, one after the other. Buying a car meant she was officially a country girl, but she supposed it was time. After the baby arrived, she couldn’t depend on Sully to take her places. She needed it for emergencies, if nothing else.
She let herself into Huck’s and flicked on the lights, pausing to make sure she heard no scurrying of little feet. After so many years in Manhattan, she’d never lost her fear of rats, nor the bacteria and mess they left behind. No feet. She breathed a sigh and stepped toward the kitchen, flicking that light awake, too. Her hand was on the refrigerator door, ready to give it a hard tug, when he spoke.
“Hello, Poppy.”
She whirled and came face to face with Diego Cortez. At first her shock overrode her fear. Her hand flew to her throat, trying to push her heart back down. “Diego, my goodness, you startled me.” She smoothed her hair because, even at three in the morning, he had the sort of buttoned down manicured look that made everyone else feel frumpy by comparison. And then, as he stood there staring at her, his black eyes wide and serious, her nerves began to prickle for different reasons other than surprise. “How did you get in here?”
“You’re looking well,” he said, as if they’d bumped into each other in the market instead of a closed restaurant in the middle of the night.
“Thank you. Why are you here?”
“You didn’t return any of my many texts,” he said, his bottom lip jutting in the semblance of a pout.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Because you’re a killer, and Sully forbid it. “There’ve been some recent developments in my life.”
“Oh, like what?”
“I’m married now.”
His smile widened, but in a way that sent shivers of dread down her arms. “How wonderful. Congratulations.” His fingers flexed, drawing attention to the black leather gloves he was sporting. Still smiling the chilling smile, he stepped forward. Poppy stepped back, bumping hard against the refrigerator.
“Don’t,” she said, laying both hands protectively over her bump.
“It can’t be helped,” he said. One hand reached up to her neck. She opened her mouth, intending to draw a breath, but it was too late. His thumb pressed hard on her windpipe, cutting off her air. She pushed at him, hitting and flailing, caught between panic and a fierce need to protect her unborn child. He easily put his arm around her, pinning her to him as he continued to cut off her oxygen. Spots burst before her eyes, red, then, blue, then purple, and finally everything dropped to a hazy shade of black.
S ully wasn’t sure which won at the moment—his exhaustion or his bitter disappointment. They’d received a tip about a heist about to take place, another live truck robbery, and they’d intercepted. Three of Cortez’s men had been caught in the act. In the subsequent shootout, one was killed, one was badly injured, and the third was taken into custody.
Sully questioned him for hours, stepped away to take a call, and when he came back, the man was dead. Murdered in Ranger custody wasn’t a headline anyone was looking forward to. For now they were saying it looked like natural causes, but everyone knew the truth. Cortez had gotten close enough to infiltrate, close enough to assassinate a potential informant onsite. And the worst part was that they had gotten nothing from him, not a word of connection to Diego Cortez.
And then Sully remembered Diego’s wife. He sent one of his men to bring her in for a friendly chat. At the very least, it would be enough to rattle Cortez. And he wouldn’t have the mother of his children murdered to keep her silent. It was highly likely she knew nothing about his business. She certainly couldn’t know enough to bring down the operation. But maybe, just maybe it would be the spark they needed to make Diego stumble. Otherwise Sully would likely be dealing with him for the rest of his life as a cop.
To his further frustration, he’d spent so long grilling the now dead man, he had nothing left. He was spent, and his lieutenant sent him home. Later, he would go back and watch the tape of his lieutenant talking to Diego’s ex-wife. It would probably all come to nothing, but he still wanted to see and hear the interview.
And there was still Poppy to contend with, already at work. He wanted to go straight there and demand a resolution to last night’s drama, but of course he didn’t. He respected her work, understood that her job was important to her. The best way to show her that was to support her and give her some space. Even so, the house seemed unnaturally still and silent without her there to greet him. He walked into the kitchen and sniffed, the hint of last night’s Moroccan chicken still redolent. His phone rang, and he reached for it on autopilot, hoping it was good news. Maybe Cortez’s wife cracked right away. Maybe they had him in custody. Maybe ponies became unicorns by wishing hard enough for horns.
“Sully.”
“Yes,” Sully said, confused by the unknown voice.
“It’s Huck.”
“Oh, hi.” His surprise quickly evaporated into concern. “Is everything all right? Is Poppy okay?”
“I hoped you could tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not here.”
Sully’s heart exploded out of his chest and skittered away. He dashed up the steps, three at a time, ripped open the closet, and saw her suitcase staring back at him. He spun in a circle and lifted her pillow. Her pajamas were folded neatly beneath. In the bathroom, all her makeup was present and accounted for. If she ran away, she took nothing with her. He ascertained all this in about five seconds, and then saw a piece of paper on his pillow. Picking it up, he saw her gentle, flowing script.
We’ll talk tonight, handsome. Hope you got the guy. XO, P.
“What do you mean she’s not there?” Sully finally found his tongue. Huck hadn’t prompted him, seeming to understand he needed a moment to come to terms with the shocking proclamation.
“I came in this morning like usual. No baked goods, no Poppy. Weirdest thing, though, all the lights were on.”
Sully gripped the phone so hard he thought it might crack. “Check the sink.” The first thing Poppy did when she arrived at work, after turning on the lights, was to wash her hands.
“Huh,” Huck muttered.
“What?” Sully asked, the dread of suspense already filling his chest.
“Her ring is here. And there’s a note.”
Sully swallowed bile. “What does it say?” he rasped.
“‘You take mine, I take yours.’ Weird. Does that mean anything to you?”
But Sully didn’t reply. He couldn’t, he had already shoved the phone in his pocket and sprinted to his truck.