Chapter Eight
Serafina
My morning starts with an unexpected wakeup call in the form of a heavy knock on the door. Before I respond, it opens and a woman in a uniform carries a breakfast tray into the suite. She sets it on the table and then turns to the double windows, covered by heavy drapes.
I sink further under the covers, waiting for her to leave.
Instead, she opens the curtains and bright sunshine floods the room. I groan.
“Good morning, Ms. Scala,” she says. “Mr. Mendoza asked me to serve you breakfast and make sure you have everything you need. A town car will be here to pick you up at ten.”
“Ten?” I’m still in a Jack Daniels fog, having taken more shots last night than I ever remember doing before. The fact I can form complete sentences is a small victory. “What time is it now?”
“Eight.”
“Thank you.” I slowly sit up, remembering Eagle confiscated my suitcase last night. “I’m not sure where Eagle hid my bag. I have a change of clothes in it.”
The middle-aged woman smiles. “Don’t worry, ma’am. It’s in the hallway.” She leaves the room for a moment, then returns with my bag. “Anything else?”
“No.”
“If you need me, there’s an intercom over there.” She points to a spot near the second bed.
As soon as she’s gone, I scramble out of bed and rush to the table. I’m starving. I uncover the dish and practically salivate at the sight of fried eggs, buttered toast, and a slice of ham. There’s coffee and orange juice, too. I’m not usually a breakfast eater, but I sit and indulge. The coffee warms my insides, the caffeine hitting me hard. Now, instead of an alcohol-induced stupor, I’m wired.
That’s when everything that happened last tonight becomes clear. The general feel of the bachelor party. The violent asshole in the guest house. The gun he shoved in my face. How Eagle appeared and took control of the situation. The shock and fear I felt being so close to the man I loved—will always love—again. Our kisses and intimate conversation.
I drop my fork on the plate and cover my face with both hands. A little ashamed . . . and excited.
When I decided to go underground five years ago, the man who helped me establish a new identity warned me never to return to Holly Beach. I managed to steal enough money from my brother to pay for my relocation and surgery. Though the plastic surgery I underwent was a success, a general reconstructive procedure doesn’t completely alter your face. At first glance maybe. But if I spent too much time around Eagle, he might figure out who I am. And there was that one moment when he asked if we’d met before.
I take a deep breath, feeling a bit like Cinderella. Unfortunately, the ball is over and it’s time to return to reality—the life I have in Texarkana. Though it’s not the future I planned for when I was younger,I’m in college part time, I have a nice apartment, a best friend, and some savings. More than some people ever get. I take a last bite of toast, then wander across the room to my bag. I unzip it and fish around for my jeans and T-shirt. Finding what I need, I head to the bathroom for a hot shower.
An hour later, I’m dying to get out of this house. The only reason I cooperated with Eagle last night was to spend some time with him. The memory of his hungry kisses will have to last a lifetime. Under no circumstances can I ever see him again. I had a couple weak moments—too close for comfort really. Selfishly driven by a need to reconnect with my old life. Angelique is dead. I have to keep reminding myself of that dreary fact.
I walk to the windows and stare across the vast front lawn. The Gulf of Mexico is yards away. The water sparkles in the sunlight, a beacon of lost hope. A bitter reminder of what I miss most. The beach, the smell of salt water, and that hometown feeling only somewhere as small and insignificant as Holly Beach can offer. I’m a damn fool. I step back from the windows, forcing the sentimental side of me to shut down.
This town nearly cost me my life. And I gave it up for Eagle, too. That man doesn’t know when to stop. He’d have fought the devil if he knew it meant I’d survive. I didn’t, though. Not in the eyes of the local police and coroner. My death was ruled a homicide. According to the death certificate, I was burned beyond recognition in a house fire. The arsonist was never caught.
I’m a walking and talking cold case. Never mind the grave robbery that happened a day before my death in the next county over. The police would have no reason to link the two crimes together. That’s all I know. Myfrienddidn’t provide more details than necessary. Just a chance to escape and the best fake passport and driver’s license I’ve ever seen.
I hear a car pull into the circular driveway and assume it’s my ride. Thank God. I grab my bag and purse, so ready. As soon as I open the bedroom door, Diaz appears.
“Ms. Scala.”
“Diaz.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, thank you.” There’s no reason not to be polite.
“If you’ll wait a moment, let me check the suite before I escort you outside.” He passes me in the hallway and enters the bedroom. Back seconds later, he says, “It seems you forgot something important.”
Shit, the envelope.
“Take it,” he urges.
“I can’t.”
