She Can Kill (She Can Series) by Melinda Leigh Page A

girl,” Eva said. “If anyone asks why you are sad, just tell them you are missing Mama.”
    With a solemn nod, Maria left the barn.
    “Help me hide him.” Eva bent and took hold of the man’s ankle.
    Christopher took the other foot. “Who is he?”
    “His name is Juan Menendez. He’s a lieutenant in a local militia. His boss is one of our best clients.”
    Together they dragged the body down the aisle. They hid him behind a cabinet in the wash stall.
    “Now what?” Christopher asked.
    “We get Nicolas. He will know how to make the death look like an accident. It won’t be difficult. Everyone knows how much Juan likes his tequila and cocaine.” Brushing the dirt from her hands, she rose onto her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
    Heat filled Christopher. At that moment, he would have done anything for her.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    Sarah turned off the engine of the minivan and stared up at her childhood home. The old Cape Cod, with its peeling paint and torn window screen, looked depressed. A beat-up sedan sat in the cracked, stained driveway. Thursdays were slow at the inn, and she’d finished early. Troy wouldn’t bring the girls home for a couple of hours. Now was a good time to check on her father, though her visits home were getting harder and harder.
    She reached across the console and lifted the takeout container from the passenger seat, some lasagna left over from the inn’s lunch menu. Her father didn’t answer the doorbell, but then she hadn’t expected a greeting. She used her key and went inside.
    The smell hit her like a slap, a combination of rotten food and mustiness. Covering her nose and mouth with one hand, she walked through the dingy living room. The wide bay window couldn’t let in enough light to offset the shroud of depression that smothered the house. She found the source of the odor in the kitchen: a sink full of dirty dishes and an almost empty quart of milk left to sour on the counter.
    Worried, she deposited the takeout on the table and opened a window. “Dad?”
    Apprehension raised goose bumps on her arms as she approached the den. Wooden blinds over the three windows blocked the daylight, and the light from the twenty-year-old console TV flickered over the room. Her father lay in his recliner. She walked closer, dread gathering in her belly, her eyes focused on his thin chest. At the first rise and fall of his ribcage, she exhaled in relief.
    He wasn’t dead, just drunk.
    Ironically, the realization weakened her legs. Her father had been drinking himself to death since her mother died seven years ago. It was only a matter of time until he got his wish.
    The darkness closed in on her, and her lungs constricted. She went to the windows and started opening blinds, letting the sunlight pour into the room. Dust floated from the wooden slats.
    “What the hell are you doing?” Blinking, her father struggled to bring the recliner upright.
    Ignoring him, Sarah opened the last blind, then fought with the window lock until it gave. She pushed up the sash. Cold, fresh air flooded the room, and Sarah inhaled. “I bought you some food.”
    He was on his feet and moving toward her on shaky legs. He pushed her out of the way. She stumbled sideways, grabbing for the arm of the sofa to steady her legs.
    One rough hand slammed the window shut. An arthritic finger pointed at her nose. “Leave me alone.” He closed every blind until the familiar gloom settled over the space.
    “Fine.” She backed away. Sadness tightened her throat. “You win. I can’t keep doing this.”
    Returning to his chair, he lifted a glass from the end table to his lips. “You know where the door is.”
    “You have two grandchildren you’ve never met. If you decide you want to live, call me.” Sarah glanced over her shoulder on her way out. “You have my number.”
    “It’s a shame,” he said in a slurred voice. “You were the good girl. Did too much time with your sister give you that smart