Free Shelter by Lauren Gilley Page B

she said instead.
                  The pauses were becoming ridiculous. “I’m sorry about your job, honey.”
                  Another thanks , and Alma hung up with a shake of her head. That had been a close call. Even if she was looking at Carlos in a different way, she wasn’t ready for anyone else to.
     
    **
    Good & Green signs were posted along the street in front of Dolman Plantation. Which meant Carlos wasn’t surprised that someone had tracked him down at work. Only, when his supervisor told him he had a visitor waiting by the truck, he’d anticipated Sean or one of his associates.
                  Instead, Tom Harris stood beside his smoke-grey BMW, hands in the pockets of his pressed black pants, a scowl on his face. 
                  Carlos froze, and then scolded himself. He wasn’t some dumb kid working for the Harris family anymore. He wasn’t at their mercy. And if this was about Alma – and that was a great big if – he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Tom could get the fuck over himself. Rich prick, he thought, glancing at the car again as he tugged off his gloves and slid them through his belt.
                  “Carlos,” Tom greeted, saying his name like it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Afternoon.”
                  He nodded in acknowledgment, not willing to indulge in false pleasantries.
                  “Funny thing: Alma’s car wasn’t in her drive this morning.”
                  Carlos shrugged.
                  “But it was parked in front of your apartment complex.”
                  “She was upset. Wanted to come by and talk.” He frowned. “Seems she can’t do that at your house.”
                  Tom gave a tight-lipped non-smile. “I’ve known you Morales boys too long to believe you ever have ‘talking’ on your minds.”
                  “You can believe what you want,” he was being a shit and didn’t care.
                  “Your cousin was bad for my daughter.”
                  Carlos snorted.
                  “Alma had… has …so much potential. Her mother and I just want what’s best for her. And when she gets over her loss, she’s going to realize that.”
                  “So what’s this then? You telling me to stay away from her?”
                  He twitched another of those pretend smiles. “Not yet.” Tom turned around, the Beemer’s lights flashing because he no doubt had pressed the fob in his pocket. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
                  Carlos watched him climb into his prick-mobile and drive off, engine purring, a polite amount of steam snaking out of the car’s tailpipe. He felt his jaw clench. His hands curled into fists inside the pockets of his Carhartt jacket. He wasn’t going to be falsely accused of holding Alma back: not after he’d finally had her in his arms. Which meant he couldn’t give Tom Harris’s pompous ass anything to complain about. It was long past time he got out of the drug business.
                  Carlos called Sean on his walk back to the planting bed he’d been digging by hand before Tom’s arrival. Got voicemail, cursed, and tried the “office” number. His secretary, the lovely Aisha with the Beyoncé hair and ass that wouldn’t quit, answered and agreed to pass along the message that Sean needed to call him back at his soonest convenience. He checked his inbox for texts before he tugged his gloves back on, but as he’d feared – or maybe figured – there were no messages from Alma.
                  Damn it , he thought, hefting his mattock and swinging it mercilessly down at the root he was trying to dislodge from the earth. He’d no doubt spooked her: pushed her too hard, too fast. She’d wanted to leave after that first time,