Stranger in my Arms by Rochelle Alers Read Free Book Online Page A

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    â€œ El es guapo! But don’t let Jorge see you flirting with him, Milagros,” the other woman warned in English. “The two of you are practically engaged.”
    â€œ Almost engaged, but not blind,” Milagros whispered, winking at her best friend. She returned to her customer, placing the bottle of beer and a chilled glass on the table. She was the epitome of professionalism when she jotted down Merrick’s order of black beans, white rice, baked chicken and an avocado salad.
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    Merrick lingered at the restaurant, eating, reading a Spanish-language newspaper and viewing a Spanish-language television station. It was as if he wanted to immerse himself in a language he’d learned from the Mexican housekeepers in the employ of his foster parents.
    The foster parents were all cut from the same fabric: Godfearing folks who felt an obligation to take care of the less fortunate. They never stopped to think that the money they received from the state for their charges helped pay for luxury cars, state-of-the-art electronic equipment, expanding their already sprawling homes and vacationing in exotic getaways.
    Forcing himself not to think of his troubled childhood, he paid the check, leaving a generous tip, and walked out of the restaurant. He put on his favorite New York Yankees cap, successfully concealing his dark auburn hair, and set off on foot to tour the area. He stopped at the Brigade 2506 Memorial that commemorated the exiled victims of the unsuccessful 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba. The sun had set by the time he returned to pick up his vehicle and check back into his hotel room.
    Unaccustomed to the heavy food and the winter heat he lay down on the bed in the air-conditioned room. Within seconds of closing his eyes, the face of Alex flooded his mind. Cursing under his breath, he sat up and reached for his cell phone on the nightstand. The only way he was going to exorcise her was to talk to her.
    Merrick dialed her number as if it was something he did on a regular basis. It rang three times before he heard her greeting.
    A smile crinkled the lines around his eyes. “I told you I wouldn’t forget.”
    Her sultry laugh came through the tiny earpiece. “You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you? Are you trying to prove to me how smart you are, Mr. Former CIA Man?”
    A bright smile spread over his face. “No and no. Right now I’m full of arroz frijoles, pollo y aguacate .”
    â€œYou speak Spanish?”
    â€œSí, que tú hablas Español, también?”
    â€œYes. Both my parents speak the language. Who taught you?”
    There was a pause before Merrick said, “That’s a long story.”
    â€œI have all night, Merrick.”
    â€œAll night for what, Ali?”
    â€œTo listen to you tell me about yourself.”
    â€œWhy don’t you wait until we see each other again?”
    â€œWhere are you?”
    â€œI’m in Miami.”
    â€œThat’s one of my favorite cities. The architecture is spectacular.”
    â€œIt is very colorful.” Merrick wanted to tell Alex that she was spectacular but didn’t want to come on too strong. “Now that I know you didn’t give me the wrong number, I’ll let you go.”
    â€œThe wrong number!” she repeated. “If I hadn’t wanted to give you my number, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
    He chuckled softly. “So, you do want to be my friend.”
    â€œIsn’t that why I gave you my number?”
    â€œNo, Ali. You gave me your number because you promised to tutor me in art history.”
    â€œIt’s going to have to be an accelerated course.”
    â€œI told you before that I’m a quick study.” What Merrick hadn’t told Alex was that he had a photographic memory. He’d become known in the Marine Corps as “Lock and Load” because if he saw something or someone once,