Hot Schemes by Sherryl Woods Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t wage a struggle for the keys to his car. After being eased protectively through the crowd of reporters by Marshall and Domínguez, he kidded with the security guard for a moment, then hauled himself into the passenger seat, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
    Worried by his ashen complexion, Molly hesitated before turning on the ignition. “You all right?”
    “Let’s just say I’m glad the kids don’t have soccer practice today,” he said, referring to the team he coached and on which Molly’s son played. “I’m not exactly up to running wind sprints.”
    “It’s not too late to check you in here,” she said.
    “Not a chance. Most of the people I know who check into this place wind up dead.”
    “You’re a homicide detective,” she reminded him as she reluctantly turned on the engine. “You don’t come here with folks who are hale and hearty.”
    “Just drive. I’ll be fine.” As he said it, he flipped on Spanish-language radio, known for the feverish, generally one-sided, anti-Fidel pitch of its political commentary. It was the first place a terrorist might turn to claim credit for a politically motivated bombing. Molly tried valiantly to pick out distinguishable words from the rapid-fire clip of the newscast. Unfortunately she was lost, even though Spanish classes had left her with at least a serviceable vocabulary.
    “Anything?” she asked finally in frustration.
    Michael shook his head. “There’s mention of the boat blowing up, but no more than that. Perhaps I should go to see Luis myself.”
    The Luis in question was undoubtedly the controversial news director, Luis Díaz-Nuñez. If Michael was thinking of dropping by the studio, it could only mean he intended to go on the air to stir things up a bit. She could just envision the ensuing on-air shouting match.
    “Now?” she asked incredulously. “It is five thirty in the morning. You’ve just left a hospital … you will note that I did not mention that you were not even officially released from said hospital … and you’re wearing clothes that should have hit the laundry at least a month ago.”
    “It’s radio,
amiga
, not TV.”
    Molly prayed for patience. “Michael, has it occurred to you that perhaps after the disappearance of your uncle, the bombing of his boat, and a concussion, you might not be thinking too clearly?”
    “No,” he replied matter-of-factly. He looked at her and grinned. “Okay, I will not go to the radio station now.” He glanced out the window for the first time as she turned from Twelfth Avenue onto Seventh Street and headed west into the heart of Little Havana. “Where are you taking me?”
    “Where do you think?” she said dryly. “To Tío Miguel’s, where everyone has gathered for an all-night vigil. If I don’t put you on view in front of the family immediately, they’ll just come chasing down to Kendall after you the minute they discover that you’re out of the hospital.”
    She regarded him hopefully. “Maybe we can just do a drive-by-and-wave sort of thing.”
    He laughed at that. “And Felipe accused me of being a dreamer. You don’t think I have the energy to do a radio broadcast, but you figure I can undergo an inspection by my relatives? Wait and see,
amiga
. An hour with Luis would have been child’s play by comparison.”

CHAPTER
FIVE
    “Castro! I live for the day when I can spit on his grave,” Tío Pedro said angrily over the weeping of the three Huerta sisters in Tío Miguel’s living room several hours later. It was midmorning and the entire family had been gathered there all through the endless night of waiting.
    When Michael and Molly had arrived at dawn, his mother had rushed from the house in her too-large, flowered housedress and matching hot-pink flats. Standing on tiptoe, she had kissed him soundly on both cheeks, then held him at arm’s length while she examined him visually from head to toe, clucking at every scratch. There were plenty to cluck over.
    Rosa