Like No One Else by Maureen Smith

it?” he grumbled.
    â€œSix-thirty. That was some nightmare you were having.”
    Paulo said nothing, leaning back against the headboard and dragging an unsteady hand through his thick, tousled hair. Naomi was right. He needed a damned haircut.
    Daniela was eyeing him worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?”
    â€œYeah,” he said gruffly.
    Daniela looked unconvinced. At thirty-four years old she was the youngest of the Santiago siblings. Her silky black hair was cut in a short bob that made her look like an exotic pixie doll. Her skin was golden brown, her oval face characterized by large hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and full, pouty lips. That morning she wore a tailored black designer pantsuit that made her look both businesslike and feminine, attributes she used to her advantage whether she was delivering a closing argument in the courtroom or conducting a meeting at her family’s law firm, where she was the youngest partner.
    When they were children Paulo had always treated Daniela like a pesky little sister, one who’d thrown temper tantrums when she didn’t get her way, followed him and Rafe everywhere they went, and routinely snuck into their room at the crack of dawn to jump up and down on their beds. Now as adults, Paulo and Daniela were closer than anyone could ever have predicted, bonding over their failed relationships—both were divorced—and sharing the unenviable burden of being the only siblings in their families who hadn’t yet brought children into the world.
    â€œI was walking by your room when I heard you calling out in your sleep.” Daniela hesitated, biting her full lower lip as she studied Paulo. “Who’s Tommy?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWho’s Tommy? You were shouting his name when I walked into the room.”
    â€œ Her name,” Paulo corrected. “And it’s not important.”
    Daniela frowned at him. “Not important? You sounded terrified, Paulo. Like something had really upset you.”
    â€œIt was just a bad dream,” he muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”
    Before Daniela could argue, Paulo tossed back the covers and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. After a quick glance down to make sure he hadn’t slept in the buff last night, as he often did, he stood and strode across the room to the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind him so he could take a leak.
    Shit, he wanted a smoke. Just to take the edge off his frayed nerves. The dream had been intense, disturbingly so. The shock and horror he’d felt when the dead woman’s face had morphed into Tommie Purnell’s had been all too real. His pulse still hadn’t returned to normal.
    He thought about calling Tommie just to see if she was okay, but what the hell would he say to her? That he’d dreamed about finding her dead, mutilated body in the woods? She’d probably call him a fucking psycho and hang up on him. And he wouldn’t blame her. He had no reason to spook her, or to attach any significance to the nightmare he’d just had. Maribel Cruz’s brutal murder had been fresh on his mind, considering that he’d left the crime scene just a few hours before he went to bed. It wasn’t the first time a victim from one of his homicide cases had worked his or her way into his subconscious, and it wouldn’t be the last. It was one of those “occupational hazards” nobody ever mentioned to you when you were thinking about joining the force.
    Washing his hands at the sink, Paulo surveyed his reflection in the mirror. He looked like hell, with bloodshot eyes, unruly hair, and nearly a week’s worth of dark stubble covering his jaw. He’d have to break down and shave before he left the house that morning. He didn’t want to embarrass his family by showing up at the law firm looking like a savage.
    Grimacing, Paulo rummaged in the cabinet until he located an