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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

THE MALDONADOS

David still feels like crap. Muscles sore, monster headache. But at least he’s out of that low-end hospital. They should be ashamed of themselves. Hospitals should be temples of the gods, but that one? A disgrace.

He sits at a high-top table on the patio at the Ritz. Nina hasn’t spoken to him since they’ve been back. The task force head told them to stay near a phone, but otherwise keep out of the way. The stunning view of the sun glinting off the ocean is a contrast to the dark worry set in his bones about Stella.

“Ouch,” a voice says. “What happened to you?”

David turns and sees her. Blonde. Early thirties. Pretty.

It takes him a beat to realize she’s referring to the bandage on his head, covering the gash from when he took the fall.

“Long story.”

“I’ll bet. Mind if I sit?” She holds a cocktail, gestures to the open spot at his table.

He looks around. Hesitates. But maybe some company will distract him from thinking about Stella, about Cody Carpenter, about Nina. Keep him from losing his mind.

She asks him why he’s in town, where he’s from. He deflects to questions about her.

She says she’s just flown in from Florida for a bachelorette party. Her brother’s fiancée, whom she can’t stand, is from the area.

“She’s an actress.” She rolls her eyes.

A lot of David’s patients are actresses, but he doesn’t mention it.

“I can’t believe he’s marrying her.” She shakes her head, gazes out to the ocean.

They sit in the silence, her hair blowing in the breeze, the heavy scent of her floral perfume wafting through the air.

“You married?” she asks at last.

“Yes,” he says. He’s not sure for how much longer, but for now it’s true.

“Happily?”

Avoiding the question, he replies, “How about you? Married?”

She guffaws. “Do I look married?”

“What’s married look like?”

She gestures to his bandage.

“You’re young to be so cynical.”

“You’re old not to be.”

She’s so pretty. But this is not the time. As much as he likes holding the attention of a beautiful woman, trying to keep his mind off Stella, it isn’t working. He needs to go.

He makes an exaggerated show of looking at his watch. “It was nice to meet you.” He steps down from the tall chair.

“Was it something I said?”

“No, I’ve just got a lot going on.”

“I’ve heard.”

It’s then he sees the phone on her lap. It’s set at an unusual angle, like she’s been recording him.

“Do you think Cody Carpenter did something to The Five?”

“Are you videoing—” He stops, turns, and heads toward the door to the hotel.

“Or do you think this is your daughter punishing you?” she calls out. “A hoax?”

He picks up his pace.

“David! Do you blame yourself?”

His heart is thrumming. But it breaks at her next words:

“Well, you should blame yourself.”