Page 25 of Queen of Ruin

I toy with various ideas—something exotic like a dancer, or something sweet, like a woman who makes her own wine and jam and sells them at a market. Neither of these feels right, either. I chase those ideas, seeking the same satisfying warmth that swept through me when I read the name Valentina, but nothing I can think of ignites anything close.

“How can I help you, doll?” The barman from before, slightly breathless, suddenly stands before me with a smile and a warm eagerness to serve. “Eating or drinking?” His eyes lift to my forehead. “Ooh. Maybe not drinking, actually.”

“Hi, I’m looking for Diego?”

“Diego?” The man looks me up and down, then turns and calls over his shoulder. “Anyone seen Diego? Oi, Mags, you seen Diego?”

A woman at the far end of the bar lifts her head from the drink she’s making. “Aye, he’s through the back talking to some cop,” she calls back.

My heart stops dead. A cop?

Oh, no.

The bartender turns back to me with a smile. “He might be a while, then. Can I get you anything while you wait?”

10

DIEGO

“You are a hard man to get a hold of, Mr. Pérez.”

“Diego,” I reply from my seat. “Mr. Pérez was my father.”

“Diego.” The Detective repeats my name with an odd curl of his lower lip and nods. “My point remains. You are a hard man to get a hold of.”

“I’m a busy man,” I reply cautiously, fighting to keep my face as passive as possible. “You know how it is. Can’t stop even for a second these days or you’re losing money to a competitor.”

“Is the bar business that cutthroat?” Dressed in slacks and a gray shirt, Detective Clark walks from one end of the staff room to the other. He refused the seat I offered him when he walked in and now every step sends my heart skittering through my chest.

There are a hundred reasons he could be here, but there’s only one glaring one who is tucked up in my bed right now, hopefully not in the same situation as me.

“It can be.” I suck in a deeper breath and hold it briefly. “Is that what this is about? My liquor license is up to date and we check every I.D. My taxes and business requirements are also all up to date.”

Clark finally stops walking. “This isn’t about your business, Diego.” He swivels to face me. “This is about your car.”

Oh, shit.

The urge to run has never been stronger, but Clark is between me and the door. I swallow hard even as my tongue thickens in my mouth. “You found it?”

Clark tilts his head. “Found it?”

“Yeah… I’m assuming you’re here because you found it? After I reported it stolen?” Technically, I only reported it to my insurance with a flimsy email, but I’ll clutch at that with every strength I have.

“You’re saying your car was stolen?”

“Yeah.” My voice trembles ever so slightly. “That’s why everyone’s been listening to me whining about having to take the bus. I hate public transport.”

“Who stole your car?”

I nearly choke on a scoff. “Isn’t it your job to find that out?”

“You see, Mr. Pérez, your car was found next to two dead bodies, so you can understand how vigilant we’ve been in trying to track you down.”

My lips part but my next excuse catches in my throat. I’ve been in trouble with the law for drugs more times than I can count and this is a thousand times more serious, but something about what Clark says has me hesitating.

Amber’s warning about cops being dangerous rings in my ears. If he has my car and he’s really a cop, it would have taken no time at all to find my address and just kick down my door.

But it’s been almost a week since that night and there hasn’t been a single soul looking for me, that I know of, at least.