Most women would have made a scene. Having taken the time to seek out her wandering husband, finding him in an expensive bar with a woman like Serafina, she might have been expected to raise a little hell. It would have been so much easier for Gabe had Maya done just that.
Instead she only looked at him, first with rage in her eyes, and then a second later with terrible disappointment. He’d loved her long enough that the look on her face needed no interpretation. Their marriage had come to an impasse. Finding him here was not only proof of lies and infidelity she’d already accused him of, it was evidence that he had given up searching for compromise. He’d chosen his work over his marriage, and her wishes no longer entered the equation. She had to deal with it, or not.
Her eyes glistened, but she did not cry. She cocked her head, shook it once, and then turned. As she stepped back into the bar, a young, too-tanned white guy reached out and ran a hand over the small of her back and her rounded ass, saying something Gabe couldn’t hear. Maya didn’t slow down.
“Shit,” Gabe whispered. He turned to Serafina.
“Your wife. I get it. I’m a big girl, Gabriel. Go on.”
He squeezed her hand, set his beer on the low wall of the fountain, and rushed after Maya, calling her name. The music and the chatter of the people crowding the bar drowned out his voice. Bodies flowed together and he weaved through them as best he could. One cluster of people blocked his path entirely, talking loudly to one another to be heard over the music, and he brushed none too gently by them.
One of the guys, young and cocky, shouted and grabbed his shoulder. Another night Gabe might have stared him down, taught him respect for his elders, but he shook it off, slapped the hand away, and kept going, bulling his way through and finally breaking free of the crowd. In the foyer, the hostesses smiled at him and wished him good night even as he ran past them, slamming out through the double glass doors.
He practically spilled into the parking lot. The doors swung shut behind him, muffling the music. The night air felt warm and sticky, too close around him. The lights of downtown Miami gleamed in every direction. He swung his head from side to side, heart racing, cursing himself and Maya both as he looked for her car, but he saw no sign of her until he started running for his own car and spotted her white Corvette tearing out of the lot.
Gabe faltered. “Fuck!”
He only hesitated a moment before once more breaking into a run. Behind the wheel of his aging BMW, he fired up the engine, reversed out of the space, and headed for home. If he kept the pedal down, he wouldn’t be far behind her, might even beat her into the parking garage.
But when he got home, Maya’s parking space was empty.
Gabe waited up, apologies and promises on the tip of his tongue, but Maya never came home that night. By the time she finally returned — shortly before noon the next day — all of his regrets had been replaced by suspicion and anger.
She came in disheveled, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn the night before, her hair unruly. One look at her and all Gabe could think was that she looked as though she’d just rolled out of some other man’s bed.
“Where the hell were you last night?”
Maya narrowed her eyes like she was seeing him for the first time. “I drove for a while, thinking about all the things I was going to say to you when I got home. Then I realized I don’t have to say any of them. You know how I feel, and you don’t care. So why should I bother?”
His heart clenched. He did care, but how could he argue with Maya? She was at least partly right. She’d made clear that she wanted him to change, to be a different man from the one she’d fallen in love with, and that wasn’t going to happen.
The ache that had been building in his head all night turned into a vise. Wondering where she had been the night before stoked a raging fire in him.
“Fine. But where did you sleep?” he said, following her back through the hallway and into the bedroom.
She led him to the bathroom door and stopped, turning to face him. “At a friend’s.”
Gabe felt sick. “What friend?”
“No one you know.”
She closed the bathroom door. He heard her lock it and just stood there, staring at the fake wood grain until he heard the shower come on.
31
Angie and Dwyer sat on the walkway, leaning against the railing, eating breakfast in the shade. The plastic jug of orange juice sat between them and Angie held the container of French toast and bacon. A voice inside her wanted to scream, but she squashed the urge. If she panicked, her fate would be entirely out of her hands.
“Cold French toast is disgusting,” Dwyer said, holding a triangular slice up on his fork and biting into it.
“And yet you’re eating it.”
“I’m hungry,” he said with a shrug.
Dwyer picked up the orange juice and took a swig. Sharing the bottle with him didn’t trouble her. They had shared far more than that. Her relationship with Dwyer had been all about the sex, and the fact that she thought he was cute and fun to be around. Now, though, sitting here and deceiving him, planning for her own future without taking his into account at all, she realized she had been lying to herself. She felt something for Tom Dwyer. Not love, exactly, but a connection.
But Angie had been telling herself there were no strings attached for so long that she knew she could pretend for a little while longer that she didn’t care. Long enough to do what had to be done.
“Hey,” Dwyer said. “You okay?”
“Is that a joke?”
Dwyer smiled. “Maybe ‘okay’ is the wrong word. But I know that look, angel. What’s on your mind?”
Angie tilted her head toward the door to the rec room. “Him. What are you all doing, Tom? What are you going to do with him?”
He looked almost hurt. “Nothing. Not me, anyway. With the captain ashore, Miguel’s in charge. I’m fourth down the line after Suarez, love, but nobody’s talking about doing worse to our guest than he’s already gotten. Captain Rio’s got a plan.”
“You promise?”
Dwyer narrowed his eyes. “Why do you give a shit, all of a sudden?”
Angie’s heart raced, wishing she could read his mind. “Why do I care if you guys kill a federal agent?” she whispered, glancing again at the rec room door. “I don’t want any part of that.”
“Neither do I, sweetheart. But we are part of this. Don’t let yourself think otherwise. Nobody wants things to go that far, and if we’re lucky and the captain’s careful, it won’t. But whatever happens, we’re all a part of it.”
Dwyer dropped his fork into the plastic container in her hand. Angie couldn’t tell if he was angry or just as frightened as she was, but their conversation had obviously touched a nerve.
“I’ve got to get back up top. Suarez needs to get some sleep.”
Angie nodded wordlessly and set down the container. She turned to gaze out at the ocean, letting Dwyer feel the distance he’d just put between them. As she’d hoped, it gave him pause, and he crouched by her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, fingertips touching her chin, turning her to face him. “I know you’re scared. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Something shifted in her then. Sex meant very little to her, but revealing her vulnerability was different. Dwyer liked that she seemed afraid, that she needed him, and Angie nursed a sudden resentment. But she couldn’t let him see how much it pissed her off, thinking that she needed anyone to take care of her.
“Anton is going to take over for me in a couple of hours,” she said. “Can I come up and see you?”