Details of his appearance registered with her. He had shaved, and he wore a decent suit in a dark blue-gray; his hair actually looked brushed, instead of looking as if he’d run his fingers through it and left it at that. Some people might think he looked respectable. She knew better, knew that the cold, enigmatic dark eyes in no way reflected the streak of violence that ran just beneath his surface. He probably had a knife strapped to his leg, a pistol holstered in the small of his back, and God only knows what other weapons hidden on his body.
But why was he here? This didn’t concern him. They had parted on bitter terms, and he was the last person Milla wanted with her during the wrenching hour she faced. She was still so furious she could barely tolerate being this close to him. She felt the rage bubbling up all over again, tightening her throat. How dare he—?
She stopped the thought before it could completely form. Going over and over things wasn’t going to change what he’d done, wasn’t going to make her change her mind. Oh, she could try explaining things to him, but what would that accomplish? He had totally misjudged her, he was wrong, and even if he apologized she doubted she could ever forgive him. He knew—knew—how important Justin was to her, knew the hell she’d gone through searching for him, and still he’d kept her son’s location secret from her. How could she ever forgive him?
It enraged her even more that Diaz was still convinced she was in the wrong. She wanted to slap him so hard his teeth rattled. Instead she ignored him.
“Do you need to check out?” he asked.
“No.” If she had to talk to him at all, it would be as briefly as possible.
They left the hotel by the front door, and she started to give her car receipt to the parking attendant, but Diaz said, “Leave it here. I’ll drive.”
“I don’t want to ride with you.”
“You can do it the easy way, or the hard way. Up to you.”
She didn’t even glance at him, just continued walking beside him as he led the way to a dark blue Jeep Liberty. The easy way was hard enough; she didn’t want to contemplate what the hard way would do to her. The north wind the weather forecaster had talked about bit through her clothes, and she wished she’d put her coat on before coming outside; she concentrated on how chilled she was, anything rather than think about him or what she was facing.
He put her suitcase in the back with his battered duffel, then opened the passenger door and put her inside. The sun had warmed the interior of the Jeep, and once she was out of the wind she was comfortable. She preferred being chilled, preferred being anywhere else, with anyone else. She prayed for strength, for control, for help in doing this right. She had to put Diaz out of her mind and concentrate on Justin, or she’d never be able to do this.
“Do you know where they live?” she asked distantly as he got behind the wheel and started the motor, then put the vehicle in gear and pulled out of his parking slot.
“Yes. I drove by there yesterday.”
So he’d been a day behind her. She was surprised he hadn’t been closer, that he hadn’t shown up at her hotel in Chicago. But unless he was here to prevent her from talking to the Winborns, why bother? She went rigid as it occurred to her she was now locked in a vehicle with him, helpless to do anything but go where he took her. Stupid!
She whipped around as far as her seat belt would allow, her gaze lethal. “If you take me anywhere but to the Winborn house, I swear I’ll—”
“That’s where I’m taking you,” he said grimly. “Though it’s a little late for you to think of that, if I’d decided otherwise.”
“So I’m not as good at being dirty and underhanded as you are,” she snapped, and turned back to face the windshield. She paid close attention to the turns he took, making certain she didn’t look up and find herself on a highway heading out of Charlotte. If he took one wrong turn, she would scream, she’d hit him, she’d pull on the steering wheel—anything to attract attention.
Though if he really intended to kidnap her, she realized, none of that would stop him. He’d just knock her out and do as he’d intended. But what use would that be, unless he intended to keep her locked up somewhere for the rest of her life? She was never going to change her mind about seeing the Winborns. She had set her course, and she would keep to it.
The rest of the drive was made in silence. At twelve fifty-seven he pulled the Jeep into the Winborns’ short concrete driveway. Rhonda’s champagne Infiniti SUV was in the right bay, Lee’s more serviceable extended-cab Ford pickup in the left. Milla’s heartbeat suddenly doubled, leaving her feeling weak and light-headed. Don’t let me faint, she silently begged. Please don’t let me faint. She took slow, deep breaths, forcing her heart rate to calm.
Diaz got out and came around to open the door for her. His dark eyes narrowed as he surveyed her, but he didn’t say anything, just took her arm and all but levered her out of the seat. If it hadn’t been for him, she didn’t know if she’d have had the strength. She grabbed the briefcase but left her purse on the floorboard. Diaz noticed, of course, and locked the doors behind them.
The small front yard was immaculately kept, with thick grass that had turned brown, and pots of bright red chrysanthemums. More potted plants were on the steps leading up to the sheltered front entry; someone, probably Rhonda, had a green thumb. Milla found she liked the picture of Rhonda humming as she carefully repotted plants, or trimming away the dead leaves and branches.
Before she could reach out to ring the doorbell, the door opened, and both of them stood there looking almost haggard with worry. Pity squeezed Milla’s heart. She had tried to reassure them, but maybe she had handled this all wrong. If she had, it was too late now to change. Lee reached out and opened the glass storm door.