by Phoebe Conn
“That’s a good one.” He tapped his pencil on the paper. “That’s one way to go, but I want something tragic, not so true it’s funny.”
“We’ll have to work on it and give it some real thought. I love the tune. You’ve caught the blues perfectly. The words will come with time.”
“I was wrong all the time,” he sang, “and every mistake was mine.”
Tears welled up in Libby’s eyes, and she blinked them away. “Women are going to love that.”
“Men are wrong all the time, aren’t they?”
“Other men,” she said softly. “Not you.”
He laid the papers on the coffee table and pulled her across his lap. “I remember the first time I kissed you.”
“Is that part of the song?”
“No.” He nuzzled her throat. “You’d run off and left me once. I didn’t want you to run away again.”
Her brows dipped in a slight frown. “You were wrong that time, and it’s no wonder I left you on the beach. Perhaps it was a cultural misunderstanding.”
“No, I was an ass.”
“Leave that line out of the song, please.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him until it was difficult to recall the subject under discussion.
She sat back but remained relaxed in his arms. “My mother warned me about men in general, but her main point was to watch out for the self-centered type who think only of themselves. They’re easy to spot. They never stop talking, and they don’t listen when a woman interjects a thought.”
“You’ve met some?”
“Oh yes, here’s an example. I’d dated a man a few times, and we were having dinner together when he began a long explanation of everything he’d done that day. When he finally paused to eat, I mentioned I’d had a difficult day too and was concerned about one of my classes.”
“Trouble with the professor?”
“Thank you, you asked me to provide details. He began talking about his car. That was enough for me, and I made an excuse when he asked me out again.”
“It sounds as though he needed your mother’s coaching. You didn’t think to coach him yourself?”
“If I’d told him, sweetly of course, that he needed to give me some time and attention, he wouldn’t have understood what I meant. He’d just have stared at me as though I’d grown a second head. Either way, we were done.”
“I feel sorry for him, but I’m glad.”
He had the warm sexy glow in his dark eyes, and she was very glad too. “How autobiographical is your song? Do you have a lot of regrets you’ll turn into lyrics?”
“I have only one huge regret, that I didn’t understand how unbalanced my grandmother was before she attacked Maggie. Carmen had always been mean and aloof, but none of us realized she was deranged. She remained in the chair at the end of the coffee table, sipping hot chocolate while your sister nearly bled to death here on the sofa. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen, in or out of a bullring.”
She shuddered to suppress that horrible image. “We should have told our parents.”
He brushed a stray curl from her eyes. “It would have just frightened them.”
“True, but they ought to know, and they ought to know someone is out to kill you.”
He hugged her. “They’d make you fly home tomorrow.”
She could hear her father demanding she go directly to the airport. “They’d make me fly out tonight, but I still feel guilty for keeping them out of the loop. Speaking of tomorrow, what is our plan for Orlando Ortiz?”
“I’ll let him know someone followed us in his wife’s car. I’ll tell him how I was injured and the arson here. He’s a man with many contacts, he might be able to suggest a way to improve our security.”
“I see, you’re not calling him out, you’re treating him as an ally.”
“Everyone needs powerful allies.”
“Of course, unless his wife in involved, and then we may be in worse trouble than we are now,” she warned.
“Let’s not waste any more of tonight. I’ll have Manuel come in and help me up the stairs.”
“Not a second of tonight was wasted,” she exclaimed. She pushed out of his arms and stood.
“A poor choice of words,” he explained. “I don’t count every minute out of bed as wasted, but I can’t think of anything else when we’re in one. Is that better?”
She waited while he phoned Manuel. “I rather liked the dining room table, and the closet episode was memorable too. I won’t forget sex on the dresser either.”
He grabbed his crutches and shoved to his feet. “Let’s go out on my balcony. The railing is high enough to keep you from falling over and no one will be able to see through the bougainvillea to know what we’re doing.”
“This is such a charming house, I love exploring it. I’ll see you in a minute.” She went on up the stairs and into her room. She’d hung the lavender lingerie in the closet and carried it into the bathroom. She leaned close to the mirror and studied her flushed cheeks. Santos definitely got to her, no matter where they were. She was still embarrassed about the photo shoot that morning, but she envied the way he moved through every day with such natural confidence.
She waited until she heard him come upstairs with Manuel to pull on the nightgown, and then gave him a few minutes before she knocked on his door. He’d pulled off his shirt, and she hugged him just to feel his smooth bare skin. She slipped from his arms and went on out onto the balcony. A light fog hung over the sea veiling the stars, and giving the night a soft romantic mood. “Is every night this pretty?”
She turned to face him as he came up behind her and a laser’s red target dot appeared on his forehead. “Get down!” she screamed. She tackled him so hard he fell back into his room and the bullet meant for him slammed ineffectually into the balcony’s side wall.
Chapter Twelve
Terrified, she grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry, I know I hurt you, but stay down.” She crawled over to the nightstand beside his bed to pick up his phone and turn out the lamp. “Call the police.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “I’d no idea you liked to play so rough.”
“This isn’t a joke, Santos! Someone took a shot at you. If you’d gone out on the balcony first…I’m going to be sick.” She made a mad crawl for the bathroom and found the toilet in the dark. She turned on the light and stood to rinse out her mouth with water. She’d skinned her elbow hitting the floor and blood had run down her arm onto the beautiful nightgown. She used a washcloth to clean up and sponge the nightgown before the bloodstain set. She leaned back against the counter and listened to Santos talking on his phone. The bullet hole in the wall ought to convince the police he was in danger, before death caught up with him.
Manuel sat with them in the den, but he’d been watching television and hadn’t heard the shot. The detective questioning them, Fernando Nuñez, was a red-haired man with a flourishing mustache. He took what appeared to be precise notes but Libby couldn’t understand a word of Santos’s account until he translated for her. When the detective looked at her, she nodded. “That’s exactly what happened. Santos followed me out on the balcony and someone took a shot at him. If I hadn’t been there to see the red laser target dot, we’d need the coroner.”
She’d changed into her jeans and a black sweater, and with her hair pulled back, she looked as serious as she sounded. Her long sleeves hid the damage to her elbow. “This began with a mirror in the arena, then arson here, and now they’re shooting at him.” They’d shown Nuñez the photo Cazares had taken of Victoria Rubio and the man they believed to be the shooter. She lifted it from the coffee table and waved it.
“Find these two, and you should be close to solving the crime.”
The detective nodded thoughtfully. “What makes you believe this pair is behind the attempts on your life, Mr. Aragon?”
Santos translated his question for Libby then replied in Spanish. “She was watching the house earlier this month and attemp
ted to make friends with Libby’s sister. The photo comes from a protest demonstration at the bullring last week. The man followed Libby when she walked to the marina and spoke to her. They’re obviously hovering somewhere nearby. Victoria worked for a boutique down the beach. That’s where we got her name.”
Libby provided the name of El Sol y La Luna, and when the detective did not appear to be impressed, she stood. “Santos, we need to give him the drawings and e-mails sent to your agent’s office.”
“They’re on the desk,” he replied.
She handed the folder to Nuñez. “Look through this, please. The secretary has made a habit of throwing away any uncomplimentary fan mail so Santos never saw it. Now she’s saving everything for him. The horrible drawings must come from the man who took a shot at him.” She’d expected Santos to translate for her, but the detective answered her in English.
“Ms. Gunderson, ugly cartoons aren’t proof.”
“What do you call the bullet in the wall upstairs?” Furiously angry, she paced in front of the men. She now understood why Rafael had walked out of the police station when they’d refused to believe the mirror incident had been attempted murder.
Santos sent her a warning glare. “We appreciate your efforts, Detective Nuñez. If we receive any more threats in the mail, they’ll be sent to you.”
Nuñez rose and carried the folder with him. “Please do. Ask your security service to provide more frequent patrols by the house, and I wouldn’t go out on the balconies.”
Libby had to bite her lip as he left. His men had found no trace of the attack on the beach, and she doubted they’d discover anything new in the morning. They had pried the bullet from the wall to document the shot, but it was unlikely to lead to the shooter.
When the detective left, Manuel sat forward in his chair. “We need lights with motion sensors so if anyone comes too close, they’ll be blinded by the light.”
“He used a high-powered rifle,” Santos explained. “He could have been on a boat a half mile away. I will add the lights, though.”
Manuel rose. “Do you want me to help you up the stairs?”
Santos met Libby’s gaze. “No, I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. Be careful when you go out.”
“Do you think he would shoot the chauffeur for practice?”
“Yes,” Libby assured him. “We don’t know how long he was watching the house, hoping for a clear shot at Santos. If he was still watching when the police came, he has to know he missed.”
“I will be doubly careful,” Manuel promised on his way out.
Santos propped his right leg on the coffee table. “Pour yourself some Bailey’s, and I’ll have the scotch.”
Libby brought him a glass and retook her place beside him on the sofa. The Bailey’s tasted as smooth as chocolate milk, but she was careful to sip rather than pour it down her throat in a single gulp. “We’re in real trouble here, Santos.”
He regarded her with a dark stare. “I know, and insulting the police won’t help. Nuñez may prove to be a better detective than he appeared tonight, and I’ll keep paying Cazares for leads. I’m sending you home tomorrow.”
He was used to being obeyed, but she wasn’t intimidated. “I’m not going. My contract doesn’t end until mid-August.”
“I don’t give a damn about the contract. You’re going home before a stray bullet hits you. Take me to court if you want to argue contract details.”
“A conscientious personal trainer doesn’t abandon her clients.”
“I’m used to it.”
“What, being abandoned?” He’d never been so aloof with her, and it hurt. “Then your luck has changed. You hit the floor so hard, your head must hurt too badly to make any decisions tonight. You wanted to show me the ranch. Let’s go there Thursday after you see the orthopedist.”
“You hit the floor awfully hard too.” He drained his glass and set it on the coffee table. “Cattle aren’t particularly interesting to watch.”
If he thought the prospect of boredom would be more motivating than danger, he was again dead wrong. “They would be with you.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. You have to trust somebody sometime, and I won’t lie to you, not ever. My mother warns me I’m too blunt, but that’ll work to your advantage.”
He sighed unhappily. “I still want you to go home.”
“I’m going back to school when our contract runs out. I’m out of here before the end of August.”
“If you’re still alive.”
“Our fate overtakes us wherever we are.”
He rested his head against the back of the sofa then winced in pain. “Promise not to throw me on the floor again?”
“I’ll do it again if I have to. Let me bring you some ice.” She took a towel from the bathroom and returned with a bowl of ice. She wrapped a couple of cubes in the towel and held it to the back of his head. “I wish we knew why the shooter is so mad at you.”
“Crazy people don’t need a reason.”
“That’s scary.”
“I’ve finally scared you? Will you go home?”
“No. Let’s sleep here on the sofa again. It worked pretty well the last time we did.” When the ice had provided all the comfort it could, she took the pillows and blankets from the cupboard, but even snuggled close together, neither could rest.
“Tell me about the class that upset you.”
Someone had nearly put a bullet through his head, and he recalled a chance remark of hers. He astonished her. “The class was a requirement, and Professor Phiggs was the only one who taught it, so I couldn’t drop out. He was maybe my father’s age, but didn’t behave in a fatherly manner. He ogled all the girls, but for some reason, he was particularly fond of me.”
“So am I.”
His breath was warm on her cheek. “I’m fond of you too. Have you heard enough?”
“No, it’s just becoming interesting.”
“All right. I like to sit toward the front of a class, but I moved to the back hoping he’d forget me, but he began strolling up and down the center aisle while he lectured. He’d stop by my row and look right at me. I concentrated on my notes. We had to write several papers for the class, and he always gave me an A and added a note inviting me to come and discuss my work during his office hours.”
“Did you go?”
“No, of course not. There were rumors he’d been too friendly with girls in his classes, and I didn’t want my name added to the list. He made the whole semester uncomfortable for me, and as I said, I was trapped in the class.”
“You couldn’t report him to the department head?”
“He was the department head. All I’d wanted from the guy I was dating was a few comforting words, some support.”
“Poor guy.”
“You’re on his side?”
“No, not at all. I feel sorry for him because he ruined his chances with you and wouldn’t have understood why.”
“What should I have done, said something like, ‘Look you squirrel-headed twit, when you’re out on a date, listen to what the girl has to say.’ How’s that?”
“Squirrel-headed twit?” He laughed and hugged her tight. “Promise me if you ever consider me a squirrel-headed twit, you’ll tell me why.”
“Yes, sir, I will.” They were so comfortable together, but his breathing slowed long before she fell asleep, and she was so badly frightened sleep promised only nightmares.
Santos hadn’t asked Libby to wear one of her short dresses to see Orlando Ortiz, but she knew looking like harmless arm candy would work to their advantage. When they were shown into the man’s corner office, they had as fine a view of the harbor as they would have had from the bridge of one of his huge cargo ships. She took the chair to Santos’s left, crossed her legs and made no effort to tug her dress down an inch or two. Rafael refused to call Carlotta Ortiz his mother, and they weren’t going to mention her. If Ortiz knew about Rafael, fine. If he didn’t, h
e wouldn’t hear it from them.
Orland Ortiz’s silvery gray hair enhanced his deep tan, and his dark brows and lashes made his deep brown eyes his most prominent feature. He’d been a handsome young man, and in his fifties, he’d kept his looks and his slim athletic build added to his powerful image. His well-tailored whiskey-brown suit fit him perfectly. His pale blue shirt was custom made and the cuffs monogrammed with his initials. His dark paisley tie and matching handkerchief added a subdued hint of color.
“I was amazed when my secretary said you’d called to make an appointment, Mr. Aragon. My wife is a great fan of yours. She takes our sons to see you whenever possible, and she was horrified when you were injured. How may I help you? Are you interested in investing in one of my firms?”
Sunlight shooting through the expanse of glass at his back gave him a glowing halo. The bright light also made it difficult to meet his gaze, which Libby assumed was his intention. He projected an air of confident strength, and, while his words were welcoming, he sat back in his chair and remained aloof.
Santos had worn a white linen shirt with navy blue shorts and looked as professional as he could at present. He smiled easily, as though this meeting were no more than a casual conversation. “I’m glad you mentioned your wife. I’ve had problems with overzealous fans recently, and someone followed me in an SUV belonging to her.”
Ortiz glanced down at his desk calendar. “When was this?”
“Last Wednesday. I was taking my sister Magdalena’s family to see the Sagrada Familia cathedral. We were in my Hispano-Suiza, so she may have only wanted to see the car. But I thought I should ask.”
“Of course. We’ve all had to take a greater interest in our own security.” He reached for the phone on his desk, and after a brief conversation, he hung up and smiled. “We live in the penthouse, and Carlotta will join us shortly. May I serve you something? Coffee, tea?”
“I’d love an iced tea,” Libby responded, while Santos shook his head. “What a magnificent view you have here. Your penthouse must be spectacular.”
“Thank you, it is.” He touched the office intercom to make her request. “What brings you to Spain, Miss Gunderson?”
