“Hey!” A man’s voice followed her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Cruz, feet planted shoulder-width apart, backlit by the diner, a tall, broad-shouldered, and far-too-sexy man. As if it finally hit him that she was actually taking off and leaving him, he started forward at a dead run, all the while yelling her name.

Too late.

Lucia lowered her head as the engine whined. She shifted, and the bike hit a pothole in the parking lot, shimmied, then straightened as she reached the street. She slowed slightly, then gunned it.

Hang in there. You can do this, she told herself, but sent up a quick prayer, just in case God was listening.

The headlamp burned bright as the thick Louisiana night rushed by, the wind catching her braid so that it streamed behind her like a long black snake.

She roared past a park and told herself to obey the traffic laws, to not push the speed limit and risk being pulled over. Not until she reached the freeway. Then she could let the Harley out, run it through its gears, and ride, as her cousin would say, “hell-bent for leather.”

She rounded a corner, sweeping through an amber light as she headed northwest.

Was it her imagination, or did she hear the hiss of sibilant laughter over the roar of the Harley’s big engine?

Heart in her throat, she closed her mind to the images of a dying nun, her throat rimmed in blood as she lay over a bed of glinting metal, the blood dripping onto her tattered gown, her face blurred beneath the veil.

“Psssst!”

“Leave me alone!” she cried to the rising wind. She saw the signs for the freeway and stepped on the gas to leave New Orleans and Cruz Montoya behind forever.

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 46

So I slept with my husband, Valerie thought. So what?

No big deal, right?

Then why did it feel massive? As if Val’s life had shifted on its axis?

Oh, for the love of God, she was starting to sound like some starry-eyed heroine in a chick flick. Stop it, she told herself, and rolled over.

Slade was lying on his stomach, arms folded under his squashed pillow, his head twisted in her direction. The sheets were tangled and bunched over his buttocks. He slept soundly, snoring softly, his face relaxed, his tanned skin in contrast to the white sheets. A shock of hair fell over his eyes, and dark lashes rested against his cheeks. Her heart filled at the sight of him as it had so long ago. She stared at the width of his shoulders and the slope of his spine, all taut muscles covered with smooth, golden skin.

Why had she been resisting him so long?

What was wrong with falling in love with her own husband?

Especially one she felt now had been vindicated, falsely accused by yours truly.