“It’ll be about nine hours to Barcelona, but this late in the morning, we’ll at least have avoided the people recovering from the clubs. If this is all a ruse to throw me off guard, I’d rather be around people who are awake and alert.”
“Do you think it’s a ruse?”
I consider that as I release the kickstand and get off the scooter. “No.”
Leira seems to agree with this assessment, nodding her head. I can almost sense the questions swirling around in there, desperate for release, but for once, she’s tactful enough to keep them at bay.
“Listen, Leira,” I say, catching her attention. “When we get to Barcelona, I’ll tell you everything. Everything. Until then, I’d rather not have those awake and alert passengers overhearing anything. We’re in enough trouble as it is.”
A tiny smile crooks the side of her mouth, making it tempting enough to kiss.
I push that back into a special mental place and focus on what needs to be done now.
“Let’s get tickets for the next ferry. We can take turns sleeping again. Once we get to Barcelona, we’ll have to be on guard, at least for a while.”
* * *
Leira is the first to sleep. We have seats in one of the larger areas. One of those Nicholas Sparks movies is playing up toward the front. For some odd reason, it’s the annotated version, in which the actors give commentary. Like everyone else on board, I tune it out.
At least I have something to occupy my mind.
I’ve already gone round and round in my head wondering who it is I’ll be meeting in a week. Instead, I now focus on how the hell they found me in the first place.
There are four people in the world who know what I do for a living, so to speak, and that I have a boat and a place in Ibiza. But my mind once again circles back to why any of my team would betray me.
I rewind running into Ulrich back on the beach. Was it truly a coincidence? Even if it was, he knows I usually spend the night there before heading back to the mainland. Plenty of opportunity to call up a certain someone to have people waiting for me.
But again, why?
Whatever the reason, I know for a fact that all future jobs are indefinitely on hold. At least until I figure this thing out.
Putting those files away in a to-be-continued drawer of my mind, I focus on other issues.
For some reason, my parents' anniversary party pops into my head. It’s next weekend.
I laugh softly to myself as I muse over the fact that only yesterday, the thought of attending was the worst thing I was dreading. Now, it seems like nothing more daunting than having to take the trash out.
It isn’t that I hate my adoptive parents. However, even at an early age, I always had the feeling that I was an accessory for their lifestyle, or rather, image. One son to help transition them from a wealthy couple to a wealthy family, so they could fit in with the rest of the millionaires in Marbella, one of the wealthiest cities in Spain. I’m pretty sure they even settled on me for adoption because of my “fine, handsome features,” as they were wont to say over and over.
I’m not sure what Sister Clara and Mother Agnes told them about my past. Never underestimate the powers of the Catholic Church for pulling that one off. Either way, I never once revealed what I saw that night when I was five. And they certainly never bothered to pry.
They were never cruel or abusive or even neglectful, which was an appreciated change from my prior circumstances. I had everything a child could ever want for, including too much freedom. I was the kid whose parents were always conveniently out of town, so the obscene house could be used for parties. I was the one with no curfew or rules keeping me from having fun. All in all, I had no complaints.
At least until I discovered the truth about them and what they’d done.
“Is it my turn?”
I snap out of the daze my eyes have fallen into, staring at the TV screen above us. The couple in the movie are in a lake kissing.
Leira laughs. “The Longest Ride? I wouldn’t have figured you for a romantic.”
My brow lowers with irritation.
“I’m going to sleep,” I say, adjusting my seat so it reclines just enough to be even more uncomfortable somehow.
I close my eyes to the sound of Leira laughing even more.
“Que sueñes con los angelitos,” she leans over to croon in my ear.
It’s a reminder of how sensual her voice is. The kind of voice that certainly doesn’t lend toward sleep. That, combined with that stupid lake scene in the movie only has my brain functioning past capacity. I’m surprised I haven’t grown hard.
Eventually, sleep overtakes me, mostly to visions of swimming with Leira once again, both of us naked and kissing. Angels in my dreams? Not with la Diabla occupying it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Leria
It’s nighttime when we finally arrive in Barcelona and the lights of the city dance in the darkness.
Enrique has woken up and, along with several other passengers, we watch as the city comes into view. Even with the danger looming over us, I can’t help but feel the excitement of the city ahead of us. It seems to take forever to get there and when we do, I’m practically dragging Enrique down to where we board the busses taking us closer into the city. With no luggage, we are the first to board.
When we get off, we walk for a while until we come to a roundabout with a large column statue in the center. At night it’s lit up, giving it an impressive air.
“Christopher Columbus,” Enrique explains, pointing to the figure mounted at the very top of it.
My eye is immediately caught by the activity behind it. It looks like a wide, well-lit path with several stalls. “What’s going on over there?”
“La Rambla. It is mostly for tourists.”
“Well, I’m a tourist,” I retort with a laugh.
“The circumstances aren’t exactly ideal, Leira.”
“What? Do you think they’re going to attack us here? Look how many people are around.”
He seems to consider that favorably, and I drag him in that direction before he can change his mind.
Shops selling souvenirs, mini outdoor cafes, artists with their pictures on display, men hawking flashing, spinning gadgets. Having nothing much to compare it to, it vaguely reminds me of Olvera Street in Los Angeles, a place that my school would take field trips to, though La Rambla is not as densely packed or quaint.
A young man sidles up to us and says something in Spanish, nodding his head up with a smirk as he eyes Enrique. He must not like what he sees on his face so he just as easily saunters away.
“Did he say coffeeshop? Why would we want to go to a coffee shop?”
Enrique laughs. “That’s code for drugs.”
“Coffee shop is code for drugs?”
“You’ve obviously never been to Amsterdam.”
“Obviously.”
Enrique laughs again. “Barcelona is a beautiful city and I love it here, but you have to be careful all the same. If you had a purse, I’d tell you to keep a close eye on it.”
“I guess you fit right in here,” I snark.
He throws his arm around my shoulder and draws me in. “And what would your father have to say about what you’re up to right now?” he murmurs in a taunting voice.
I smirk and roll my eyes. My smile fades as I consider that. I have no intention of giving this adventure up, even as dangerous as it may be. But Dad has to know I’m gone by now, and he’s probably assuming the worst.
“I should call him, or at least get in touch. He’s got to be worried sick.”
Enrique squeezes my shoulders with his arm. “Do you want to go back home?”
“No,” I say so suddenly even I’m surprised. I turn to look at him, and he’s studying me hard. “I said I would stay here with you and that’s what I want to do.”
He pauses before responding. “I don’t want to downplay the danger we’re in. You need to know just how easily and quickly things could go downhill.”
> I turn to stare ahead at the lights and the crowd filling this part of the city, and I realize—I’ve never felt so alive.
“Enrique, I’ve lived my whole life in the shadow of some mysterious danger. It’s taken almost half of my family from me. At least here? Now? I know what I’m facing.” I stop, forcing him to stop with me, then I turn to face him. “And I know who I’m facing it with. I’m staying.”
He stares hard at me for a moment, then nods. “In which case, I have an idea.”
Twenty minutes later, I have a pre-paid cellphone in my hands with international calling.
“Tell him just enough so that he knows you’re safe. Don’t tell him where we are, though. I don’t need another team of professionals swarming down on us.”
“Yes, I’ve got it, Enrique,” I say in a slightly patronizing voice. He smirks and takes a step back.
Then, I make the call.
It’s answered on the second ring.
“Yes?” The panic in Dad’s voice causes a pang of guilt to seize my chest.
“Dad, it’s Leira.”
“Leira.” He repeats my name with a mix of relief and anger. “Where are you? What have they done?”
“No one has taken me,” I reassure him in a soothing voice, even as I give Enrique a knowing look. He continues to smirk back at me. “And I’m fine, Dad.”
“Where are you?” He repeats. I can hear that authoritative tone creeping into his voice. It both reassures and annoys me. At least he’s past the phase of worrying, but now he’s back in Dad mode.
“I’m in…Europe and I’m going to stay here for a while.”
“I should have known sending you to that damn convent wouldn’t be enough!” he roars. “Never mind the danger I specifically warned you about! You of all people would find a way to escape as usual to go off on some adventure. No doubt with some boy.”
“He’s not a boy!” I snap, feeling my anger come to a head. Out of all the things to be concerned about, it’s the idea of me with a “boy” that upsets him the most? “He’s a man, Dad. Because I’m a grown woman, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Enrique’s face breaks out into a bemused smirk, which I ignore, lest I break out into laughter.
“A grown woman?” Dad repeats on the other end. “How much do you even know of the world out there, mija?”
“I guess I’m about to find out.”
“Leira, this is no time for your foolishness. There are people out there right now looking to take you, and all you’re interested in is—”
“Who?” I interrupt. “Who is it that’s trying to take me?”
That finally gets silence on the other end.
“This is not the time, mija.” I can tell by the tone in his voice that I’ve backed him into a corner he doesn’t like.
“Maybe now is the perfect time, Dad.” My voice is neither taunting or petulant. In fact, it’s so calm it’s almost somber. Even Enrique seems to be paying closer attention.
“Leira, there are things we obviously need to discuss, but first, I want you home. Now.”
He’s not going to tell me. Perhaps he never will. I’m almost certain that even in exchange for agreeing to come home, he wouldn’t tell me.
Because he obviously has something to hide.
For some reason, it has me feeling…disappointed.
Enrique’s earlier taunts come back to me about my father being in the drug business. The same father who swore to me that he wasn’t. The father who has never once lied to me.
“I’ll be home soon, Dad.”
I hang up before he can respond, handing the phone to Enrique so I don’t immediately call and take it all back.
“Are you okay?” Enrique asks, his brow lowered with worry.
I look up at him and any hint of guilt or fear eases from my mind. While Barcelona may not be the last place my father’s enemies might look for me, being here incognito is just as safe as anything.
Layla was taken down at the shipyards where Dad’s boats are. Lucinda was snatched while in the care of one of my father’s bodyguards.
“Let’s go,” I say, forcing a smile to my face.
Enrique, opens the back of the phone and does something with a piece inside. “Just to be safe, I’m destroying any traceable parts of this.”
I nod, and watch as he tosses the pieces in several trash cans. He comes back to me, putting his arm around my shoulders again to lead me on.
“We’re going to a hotel instead of my apartment here. I don’t want to take any chances. We’ll check-in, and then I’ll tell you everything.”
We end up at a hotel called Chic & Basic, which has a cool and funky interior. In the lobby are several young people that we blend in well among. If the circumstances were different, it would be Enrique and I laughing in the seating area underneath the bookshelves as we prepared for the night out.
Instead, we get our key and head up an impressive, winding marble staircase with a chandelier that hangs in the middle almost all the way to the bottom level. On our floor, every door is surrounded by a curtain of hanging strings, each lit up in different colors.
Inside the room is a single queen-sized bed. Oddly enough, the shower is what separates it from the window leading to the street below. I stare at the glass-encased shower, which can only be meant for an exhibitionist.
I drop my mind back to more pressing issues. I follow Enrique to where he settles on the edge of the bed. I sit next to him and wait.
“The name of the man I’ve been targeting, my father, is…Richard Coleman.”
Anything he says after that is lost in the echo of my stomach as it drops into an abyss. I’m not sure if it’s my mind or my body that is reeling in the aftermath of that.
It takes only a moment for Enrique to catch that something isn’t quite right with me.
“Leira, what is it?”
“Richard Coleman?”
His gaze sharpens so hard I can almost sense it being honed into a fine point.
“Yes?” He says with an edge in his voice. “What about him?”
“That’s the name of the man my father gave me. The one he told me never to mention to anyone.”
Part II
The Prince
Chapter Thirty-Five
Enrique
Richard Coleman.
What the hell does Leira, or rather her father, know about my biological father?
“Your father told you not to tell anyone about him? Why? What does he know?” My fingers are practically curled, and it’s everything I can do not to shake it out of Leira, even though I haven’t even given her a chance to respond yet.
“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head, obviously feeling the same frustration that I am right now.
I shoot off the bed, walking back and forth with my hand snared in my hair.
“You’re just now telling me this? After everything I said, you couldn’t figure it out that he was my father?”
“Me?” she retorts, giving me an accusatory look. “You’re the one who wouldn’t give me a name to begin with.”
I sigh, knowing she has a point. It doesn’t really matter since there wasn’t much I could have done with the information anyway.
“Besides, he only gave me the name and a location just before he sent me off to that convent. And it wasn’t like they had any cell service on that island so I could look him up.”
“Wait, he gave you a location as well?” I ask, stopping to stare at her. “What location?”
She pauses, giving me a wary look.
I sit down on the bed next to her. “Mira, Leira. Your father obviously knows my father. Whether they are working together or they are enemies, I still don’t know. Neither do you. But we’re here in Barcelona with people after us, and if we’re going to work together, we need to know everything.”
She takes a breath and exhales before speaking. “It was just an address. 147 Pathfinder lane in Lake Tahoe, Nevada.”
“Nevada?” I repeat,
cursing my luck. Then, an idea occurs to me. I pull out my phone and type the address into Google maps. I switch to street-view.
“It’s just a building,” Leira remarks as she looks at it over my shoulder.
It’s more like a house, as nondescript as possible. Just a one-story structure that looks like it should be part of those sprawling mini-malls I’ve seen in American TV and movies. Beige brick, brown roof, tinted windows, all without any indication that there’s activity inside. There isn’t even signage telling me what services are provided. Just the 147, noting the address.
I close out of the maps and type in the address to Google to see if it pulls anything up. No matter how I type it, with and without quotes, I get nothing.
“What exactly were you supposed to do with that information?” I finally ask Leira, feeling my frustration set in again.
She shrugs. “He told me to simply go there if anything happened to me, and give that name. Richard Coleman.”
“He has to be working with him, even if Richard does live in New York and not Los Angeles,” I say, exhaling a cynical laugh.
“He can’t be. My father isn’t a criminal. Why would he give me the name of one to protect me?”
“Exactly,” I accuse.
“Because your biological father is the protective type? The type to take in a damsel in distress and make sure she’s safe?”
That softens my resolve. Richard Coleman is a lot of things. White knight in shining armor is not one of those things.
“So what is it then?” I ask, mostly to myself as a way to work it out.
“Maybe my father has dirt on Richard. You know, information that he’s blackmailing him with?”
“But why hold onto it? If it’s that bad, why not just air it and put my father away?” I ask.
“To protect me,” Leira mutters. I turn to find her mouth hitched in a soft, crooked smile.
I’m still not entirely convinced, mostly because, if that’s the case, how the hell did he come across this information in the first place? The only answer I can think of simply brings us right back around to her father being a criminal.
Spanish Pirate: A BWWM International Legacies Romance Page 15
