I nodded but didn’t say anything else. Just as well, because we pulled over then, coming to a stop in front of a sprawling Santa Fe–style adobe house with stately saguaro cacti planted in the front yard, along with several varieties of lower, more sprawling succulents blooming in vivid hues of yellow and hot pink. I undid my seatbelt and got out, glad of the chance to stretch my legs at last.
The heat hit me like a wall, though, feeling almost like a physical weight on my chest. True, I’d been to the Phoenix area several times before, but those McAllister expeditions always happened sometime between November and March, either after the endless scorching summer or before it had a chance to begin. Not that we didn’t get hot in Jerome in the summer, but not like this.
Connor seemed singularly unaffected by the heat, though, moving smoothly around the rear of the SUV to join me on the sidewalk.
“How come you’re not even breaking a sweat, Flagstaff boy?” I asked as we headed up the front walk.
“I lived down here for four years, remember? I’m used to it.” He paused and amended, “Well, used to be used to it. I’ll admit that I don’t miss the heat too much, now that I’m back in Flag, but I can live with it.”
I didn’t know why anyone would want to, but I just shrugged, reaching out to push the doorbell. About a minute later, a tall young man around Connor’s age appeared at the door.
“Come on in,” he said. “She’s expecting you.”
The enormous door of carefully aged wood, banded in black iron, didn’t open onto an entryway as I’d expected, but rather a large courtyard laid with red sandstone flags. A fountain splashed into the hot, still air, and vivid flowers bloomed from hanging containers of brightly painted Mexican pottery.
We followed the young man — who I thought I recognized as one of the “bodyguards” Maya had brought with her to Connor’s gallery opening in Sedona — through the courtyard and on through a second, equally enormous door into a high-ceilinged foyer. In here the air was cool and friendly, obviously the product of a very hard-working air-conditioning system. From the entry, we went into a large living room decorated with heavy hacienda-style furniture. Faded Persian rugs covered the red-tiled floor.
Maya rose from one of the leather couches and came toward us, hands outstretched. “Connor, Angela, so good to see you…together.”
From her emphasis on the last word, I gathered that she’d known about our separation. Who exactly had been her informant, I didn’t know, although I had a feeling it was probably someone in the McAllister camp and not the Wilcox clan. “Thank you for letting us stop by,” I said, not wanting to jump right into Connor’s and my relationship status.
“It’s no problem, and not too much out of the way for you, I hope.”
“No, not at all,” Connor said. “We’ll just get on the 101 Loop and head home from here.”
“Ah,” she replied, dark eyes twinkling. “And where exactly is home for you two?”
Trust Maya de la Paz to get right to the heart of the matter. But I wasn’t going to let her distract me from the true reason for our visit. “Jerome, Flagstaff,” I said shortly. “You know. Actually, though, Maya, I wanted to ask you something.”
“And it must be important, or you could’ve simply asked on the phone, rather than driving all the way here. Ah, here are the refreshments,” she put in, smiling as the young man returned with a silver tray laden with a pitcher of lemonade and three heavy hand-blown glasses, rims tinted cobalt blue. “I thought you might be thirsty after your long drive.”
“Thanks, Maya,” Connor said, reaching out for one of the glasses and handing it to me, then taking one for himself.
“It’s nothing. I’d invite you to stay for supper as well, but I can tell from the look in Angela’s eye that she’s on a mission, and will want to be on the road once your business here is finished.” Her dark gaze sharpened, even as she took a sip of her lemonade. Setting the glass down on a sandstone coaster, she asked, “And did you find what you were looking for in California?”
“Sort of,” I hedged. Yes, I’d lectured Connor about being truthful and not hiding things, but now, with Maya’s shrewd eyes studying my face, I wondered how much I should really tell her. After all, this was Wilcox and McAllister business. The de la Paz clan really had no stake in this game. Then again, we probably wouldn’t have even been able to go to California if Maya hadn’t put in a word for us with the Santiago family there. Beside me, I could feel Connor shift, hear the leather squeak faintly under his weight, and I could tell he was waiting, too, wondering how much I planned to reveal.