Page 127 of Desperate People

I nod.

His eyes widen.

“Look, sir, that’s all my manager. I love my wife.”

I believe him.

“The flowers?”

“What flowers?”

“Did you send her flowers?”

“No, not me, hermano. My manager handles that. I like Lucy. Qué linda, sí? But I only have room in my heart for my wife and baby.”

He nods toward the woman, chest rising and falling fast, like he’s waiting for permission, waiting to see if I’m going to rip him apart or let him walk out of here with his pride intact.

I nod back.

And just like that, he’s off, moving toward the woman. His arms wrap around her, tight and possessive.

For a second, I watch, surprised by the tenderness.

I follow them into the small outer room.

“Sorry for the confusion,” I say, voice even but carrying all the weight of the situation.

What? I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong.

Then, just as I’m about to leave, I add, “Oh, by the way, I bought this building. You like it here?”

“The privacy is good,” he answers, nodding once.

“One more thing,” I say, spinning back to face him. “How come you don’t sing like that on any of your singles?”

“My manager,” he explains quickly. “He says once I top the charts, I can have creative control. The new single—the one he sent your wife—that’s the one he thinks will do it. But I mean no disrespect, I swear.”

I study him for a moment, then say, “I’ll be in touch.”

Then I turn and walk out.

Relief and rage are twisting in my gut like a goddamn storm.

El Tigre is in the clear, for now.

But the real bastard?

The one who’s been creeping around my wife’s life, invading her space, sending threats wrapped in flowers and creepy intentions?

I don’t know who the hell he is.

And I’m running out of patience.

But the hunt isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Chapter Thirty-One-Lucy

---