As he escorted Desiree to the front door, Michael looked around for Ileana’s silver Honda Civic. There were several gray cars, but he couldn’t be sure if one was hers.
But when they stepped into the coolness of the building, Ileana stood up from a table and waved to them. Michael’s body came alive at the sight of her. He couldn’t believe it had only been this morning since he’d seen her.
Michael curbed the urge to kiss her in greeting, although it was difficult. He noted she was holding herself back as well. He settled for holding out his hand.
“Ileana. It’s wonderful to see you.” Would anyone notice if he kept hold of her hand? “I’d like you to meet my assistant, Desiree Carver. Desiree, Ileana Alvarez Calderon of the Calderon Consortium.” Unfortunately, he had to release her hand so the two women could greet each other.
The brightly striped tablecloths echoed the striped awning out front. White ceiling fans circled wildly overhead. The place was packed with dark-haired Cubans talking with great excitement.
“I can’t believe the celebration,” Desiree exclaimed. “And a lot of the people we saw were too young to have emigrated from Cuba.”
“It’s like mass hysteria,” Ileana agreed. “It’s contagious. It’s all anyone can talk about. I barely got any work done yesterday or today.”
“We’ve lost a couple of hours ourselves,” Michael said.
“How do you feel about moving to Cuba?” Desiree asked.
The look of pain on Ileana’s face was quickly suppressed. “I don’t want to go, but I have no choice.”
“But you’re an American citizen. You have a choice.”
Ileana shook her head. “I’m Cuban. My allegiance is to my family. My duty is to Calderon.”
“I don’t mean to judge you, but that seems old-fashioned.”
“Yes, it is. It was a hard adjustment for me when I went to college to live with non-Cubans, to hear thoughts so different from Cuban thoughts, from my family’s thoughts. I’d lived my entire life within the walls of this place.” She waved around her. “Talk about culture shock. But four years at Florida State could not sever my family ties and seven years at Calderon has only made my sense of duty deeper. And I’m more Americanized than my kin, so imagine how the others feel.”
Michael’s foot found her ankle under the table and rubbed gently. She smiled, but it was a shadow of her usual one.
“Are your family’s American spouses moving, too?” Desiree asked.
“Cubans in this community rarely marry non-Cubans.”
Desiree gaped. Michael avoided Ileana’s gaze.
Desiree asked many more questions which Ileana answered patiently and with pride in her voice. Despite the problems, she loved what she was.
Eventually the talk turned to business and Desiree burbled about the upcoming buying trip.
“When are you going overseas?” Ileana asked.
“As soon as we can, although probably not sooner than a couple of weeks,” Michael answered.
“We’re going to Singapore, too. Can you imagine the exotic items we’ll see? I’ll have to remember to take enough money to buy Christmas presents for my family.” Desiree touched Michael’s wrist. “Back street bazaars. Maybe we can stay at a hotel off the beaten path so we have easier access to the local tradespeople.” Her brown eyes glowed with excitement.
“I’d love to see Singapore,” Ileana said a little wistfully. There was an odd note in her voice.
“I can’t wait. I wish we could leave tomorrow.” Desiree gave Michael a look of apology.
Lunch took much longer than Michael had expected. It was nearly three o’clock and they still had to fight the traffic to get back to the office.
Michael escorted the ladies outside, careful not to touch Ileana where Desiree might see. He was dying for a taste of Ileana’s lips, but didn’t know how he could accomplish that. This secretive business was not his way.
The crowd outside the restaurant had grown more boisterous. Loud salsa music and laughter assaulted his ears. He sidestepped a pair of what smelled like drunken college-aged students, forced against the whitewashed wood of the building. This situation was going to degenerate if alcohol was being added to the mix.
Ileana’s gaze followed the pair past Michael and widened. She opened her mouth.
But the gunshots drowned any sound she made.
“Ileana, get down!” Michael shouted. He threw himself at Desiree, who was closer to him. God, he couldn’t reach Ileana!
“Michael!” Ileana screamed as she dived for him, not caring about the bullets. It was exactly as she’d dreamed! When she’d seen him outlined against the white wooden building, she’d known danger was imminent.
The gunshots panicked the crowd of revelers around them. Screams pelted Ileana’s ears from every side. Like dominoes tumbling, the surrounding crowd hit the deck in an outward spiraling wave. Car brakes screeched. The crash of two cars colliding started another round of screams.
“Michael!” Ileana crawled to him, heedless of her expensive slacks.
“Stay down, damn it!” he ordered.
Desiree lay on her side gasping, her face paling. As Michael turned her onto her back, Ileana saw the spreading scarlet stain on the woman’s peach blouse.
Oh, God.
“Shit!” Michael hissed. “Desiree, lie still.” He moved her hands away from the wound and blood spurted. “Christ!” He tore off his jacket and applied pressure to the wound.
This couldn’t be happening!
“Call 9-1-1,” Michael ordered through gritted teeth as he pressed down. Still the crimson stain spread alarmingly.
Ileana scrambled for her fallen purse and dug out her phone. Bystanders faced them, some still lying down, some sitting, the brave ones getting to their feet. Other people had phones in their hands, too.
She felt stupid and slow as she relayed their desperate need to the 9-1-1 operator. Desiree’s limbs had grown lax, her lips alarmingly blue in the blazing August heat.
“Hold on Desiree. Damn it, hold on!” Michael ordered.
“What happened?” several people around them asked. The question rippled outward through the crowd.
“Tell Jamal,” Desiree’s whisper hissed in the air. She coughed and blood flecked the corner of her mouth. “I love him.”
“You can tell him yourself.” Michael’s voice was harsh, his face a stone mask.
In the distance a siren wailed, then a second one. Ileana glanced around. Cars had come to a standstill. She pushed to her feet. The ambulance wouldn’t be able to get through.
“Move these cars,” she ordered the bystanders. People looked at her dumbly.
Ileana pushed people out of the way until she stood at the edge of the sidewalk. “Move your cars!” she shouted. “We need an ambulance. Get out of the way!” She waved her arms in the direction away from the sirens.
“Get out of the way!” she snarled at one driver who was rubbernecking.
The sirens weren’t coming any closer. They probably couldn’t get through. Ileana faced that direction. “Clear the sidewalk,” she yelled to the crowd, signaling them off. “Clear a path! Pass the word. Clear a path!”
As word passed through the crowd, people stepped off the sidewalk into the snarled traffic. Was she only making matters worse? She wrung her hands. She had to do something.
“Please, can anyone see if help is coming? Is anyone a doctor?” she shouted.
A middle-aged woman pushed through the crowd across the street. “I’m a registered nurse.”
Ileana parted the people between her and the restaurant. They were all facing away from her, standing in a hushed circle around Michael and Desiree. When Ileana moved the last person in her way, with the nurse behind her, she stumbled to a halt. Michael knelt with Desiree’s slack body clutched to his chest.
The nurse walked around them, knelt, and pressed two fingers against Desiree’s neck.
Ileana didn’t think she breathed as she waited. Then the nurse shook her dark head and bowed it. “I’m sorry.”
No!
Ileana had only left them for a few minutes. Desiree couldn’t be dead. Nooooooo. It was a silent scream in her head. She stumbled to Michael’s side, her only thought now to be with him. He looked up when she touched him and the anguish in his eyes made her heart clench. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, but instead of leaning his head against her, he turned his face away.
“I’m sorry,” she told him.
“Make way!” a man shouted, and in moments a pair of EMTs and two uniformed policemen pushed through the circle.
The nurse stood and spoke to them in a hushed tone. One of the EMTs knelt where the nurse had. He searched for a pulse too. He, too, shook his head.
A young cop knelt too. “Sir, if you’ll lay the lady down, we can help you.”
“You can’t help her now.” Michael sounded choked.
“We need to find out what happened,” the cop told him.
“Somebody killed her. Some damned idiot with a gun,” Michael snarled.
“Sir, why don’t you let go of her and tell me about the shooting.”
Michael looked up at the young African-American police officer. “My brother works homicide. Rick Ziffkin. Call him. I don’t care if it was an accident, it was still murder.” He choked. “Oh God. I have to call her boyfriend and tell him what happened.”
“That can wait,” the cop advised, his voice gentle but firm.
The cop and both EMTs peeled Michael’s bloody fingers from Desiree. Then the cop pulled Michael to the side. His white dress shirt was covered in wet scarlet splotches. He had a bloody smear across one cheek to his temple where he must have swiped his face.
After the cops moved him away from Desiree, he didn’t look at Ileana or hold her hand. He was shutting her out, or walling himself in.
• • •
As the cops questioned him, Michael’s mind swayed from how close that shooter had come to killing Ileana instead of Desiree, to the horrible knowledge that Desiree was dead. God was a vicious god, turning His wrath on the people closest to Michael, punishing him over and over. Michael would not pray now for Desiree. He would not make obeisance to a God who was this cruel.
It could have been Ileana. Michael broke out in a cold sweat. He lost what the cop was saying. Wouldn’t that be ironic—if she’d been killed by her own people? He was emotionally shaky.
“Mr. Ziffkin, do you want to sit down?” Robinson was the young cop’s name, Michael remembered.
Michael shook his head. He was afraid if he sat he wouldn’t be able to get back up again. He was afraid he’d cry like a baby.
“So you didn’t see anyone with a gun, didn’t actually see it happen?” Robinson asked.
“No. There were so many people, so much noise.” They should never have come to Little Havana. Once they’d realized what was happening down here, they should have stayed away. “It’s my fault. I should not have come here, not today. It’s my fault she’s dead.” Jamal might never speak to him again. God, Jamal.
Ileana gasped. “Michael, it’s not your fault.”
“I need to call her boyfriend.” The blood drying on Michael’s palms was sticky and uncomfortable in the muggy heat.
“We’ll need to notify her next of kin.”
Michael flinched. “That would be her son. He’s four. She lives...lived...with Jamal Blake. He’s my best friend.”
He heard Ileana inhale, a surprised sound.
“All right. Make the call while we wait for your brother. Although you understand this isn’t his jurisdiction.”
Michael nodded. He didn’t care. The cops could fight it out amongst themselves. He couldn’t take anymore right now. He just needed a familiar face near him. One who could take care of himself.
Michael found his discarded jacket and fumbled through the pocket for his phone. His fingers shook as he speed dialed his friend. God, what should he say?
“Michael, man, what’s up?” Jamal sounded happy.
That only made what Michael had to say harder. “Jamal.” He choked. He couldn’t get the words out.”
“What is it?” His friend’s tone was sharp. “What’s wrong? Is it your mom?”
Michael was aware of Ileana watching him in concern, as his valued control slipped where she could see it. “Jamal, there’s been a shooting. Jamal, it’s Desiree.”
“Is she all right?” his friend demanded sharply.
“No.” The word sighed out.
“How bad?”
“She’s dead. Bled to death before the EMTs got there.” Michael knew he should pretty it up, but the horror of it slipped out.
“No!” Jamal gave an anguished cry. “Where are you?”
“Little Havana.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Jamal, you can’t get in here. That’s why the EMTs couldn’t get through. Thousands of Cubans have jammed Little Havana. Traffic’s not moving. Don’t come down here, man.”
“I’ve got to see her!”
“Wait!” Michael held the phone away from his face. “Where should he go?” he asked Robinson.
“The downtown morgue on Seventh Street.”
Michael repeated the information to his friend.
“The morgue,” Jamal sobbed. “Oh God. It’s true.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I’m done with the cops. You won’t be alone.”
After a minute of hoarse sobs, Jamal demanded. “What the hell were you doing in Little Havana?”
Making one of the worst mistakes of his life. “Meeting a client.”
“Didn’t you see what was going on down there? What the hell were you thinking to drag Desiree into something like that? I thought you were my friend!”
Michael took that last shot in the solar plexus. “I’m sorry.”
“You bastard.” Jamal sobbed and hung up.
Michael felt like crap.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ileana repeated.
“Like hell it wasn’t,” he snarled and looked at her for the first time. The sympathy in her face poured over him like acid. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. He deserved a horsewhipping. Jamal had entrusted Michael with the love of his life, and now she was dead. For the second time in his life, Michael had failed to protect someone.
It could have been Ileana.
They stood in the clinging afternoon humidity while the police went over and over the events until Michael thought he would scream with frustration.
Finally he snapped, “Does Desiree have to lie here in this heat?” He nodded towards the blanket-covered body. The EMTs had already left.
“Just until Homicide gets here,” Robinson said.