by Phoebe Conn
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday, Alejandro had to interrupt his proposal plans to see Lieutenant Montoya. The man looked even grimmer than usual. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
The lieutenant escorted him into his office. Files were neatly stacked on the desk, and as soon as Alejandro was seated, he opened one. “You’ll be relieved to learn René Charles wasn’t seriously injured. That is the man’s name. He’s a Spaniard of French descent. He claims you jumped him without provocation, and that he carries a knife for his own protection.”
Shocked by the absurdity of René’s claim, Alejandro leaned forward. “You can’t believe him.”
“No, of course not. He’s been arrested several times for assault after bar fights but never served any time. We found a trace of Mr. Campos’s blood on his knife; obviously he’d not cleaned it as thoroughly as he’d imagined. When confronted with the blood evidence, he claimed he’d worked as a model for Mr. Campos but hadn’t been paid. When he demanded the money he was owed, an argument ensued, and enraged, he killed the photographer. The brutality of the scene makes his story plausible. If he’d gone there intending to kill him, he’d have been quick about it, and there would have been no blood-splattered walls.
“He admits to working as a chauffeur for Mr. Lamoreaux, but swore the man had nothing to do with his argument with Campos. We have him for the murder but haven’t found any proof Lamoreaux had anything to do with the attacks on you.”
“René rented a car after I’d mentioned going riding to Lamoreaux. He didn’t just drive down the street either—he came after me. Isn’t that a clear link? He wasn’t out for a stroll when he walked up behind me either.”
“René claims he needed the car to run errands and had no interest in you, although he despises cyclists who take up too much of the road.”
Alejandro fought to hang on to his temper. “This isn’t right.”
“I agree, but it’s all we can prove. Now I need your written statement.” He handed over a clipboard with the proper form.
Alejandro drew in a deep breath and sat back to scan the information required. “There isn’t much to tell. He came up behind me, and I kicked his feet out from under him. What more should I say?”
Montoya rose and went to the window to adjust the blinds. “It’s important to state you felt threatened. You didn’t attack him without reason. Include that he’s a large man and menacing in appearance. Perhaps you saw his knife?”
“I didn’t, and I’m not going to add my lie to his.” He wrote only the facts as he knew them, signed his name and handed Montoya the clipboard. “Thank you for doing what you could, even if there’s no way to prove Lamoreaux is involved.”
The lieutenant nodded. “It’s my job, Mr. Vasquez, and I recommend you have nothing more to do with the Frenchman.”
“I won’t.” Alejandro shook his hand and left.
He called Ana, stopped by her condo and made his point clear as he came through her door. “Even if there’s no way to tie Lamoreaux to René Charles, I don’t want you to ever see him again.”
Ana had worn her hair down and flipped an errant curl away from her face. “Do I appear so lacking in intelligence I can’t be allowed to make my own decisions?”
He saw Fatima shake her head and duck into the kitchen. “No, you’re probably a lot smarter than I am, but…”
She interrupted him with a raised hand. “This is Friday, and we never argue on Fridays. If I call Lamoreaux and tell him I’m taking a lengthy vacation, will you be happy?”
He clamped his jaw shut rather than reply, but undeterred, she chose her usual place on the sofa and called the shoe designer.
“Lucien, Alejandro and I are having a baby, and I’m sorry, but I’m not accepting any new work. I plan to take off a year or two, perhaps three.”
“I’m stunned,” the designer responded. “You mentioned a complicated relationship, but you needn’t stay with Vasquez unless you sincerely want to. Please meet me so we can talk. You might feel differently about your future after speaking with me.”
She covered the phone and looked up at Alejandro. “Maybe I should see him.”
“No!” he responded with hushed force.
“I’m not sure what I could say, Lucien, but thank you for being sympathetic. There are so many lovely models, you’ll have no trouble replacing me.”
“You’re so beautiful, my dear, no one will ever replace you.”
“Thank you, that’s such a lovely thing to say. Why don’t we meet for a drink in a hour or so?” She named a popular cafe along Las Ramblas. He agreed, and she ended the call.
“What are you doing?” Alejandro asked. “Do you think he’ll confess? This is real life not some scripted TV show, and you shouldn’t put yourself at risk.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s clear I’m involved whether I want to be or not. Why would Lamoreaux send René Charles after you unless he wants me for himself? He showered me with gifts, arranged for me to model for him, and when I mentioned photography, he offered a project to give me a whole new career. He’s so anxious to draw me in, he’ll probably talk for hours in an attempt to convince me to leave you. If I appear to give it some thought and then choose to stay with you, he may become angry enough to say something incriminating. You could be there, but just out of sight.”
“You’re damn right I’ll be there, and I’m calling Montoya. He’ll post undercover men, and I’m afraid we’ll need them.”
“We’ll be out in the open, so Lucien can’t behave too badly.”
He responded with a particularly colorful oath he’d picked up along the docks.
Montoya was as exasperated as Alejandro, but he met them at the café. “What is it you’re trying to accomplish, Miss Santillan?”
“It’s a simple plan. I’ll play on his emotions, and he might admit more than he means to. If not, all we’ve wasted is an hour.”
“And man-hours from my budget,” the lieutenant muttered under his breath. “Find an outside table and be ready for him.”
Alejandro hadn’t spoken to her since they’d left her condo, and she didn’t expect him to wish her luck. He followed and took a table close to hers and hid behind an open newspaper. Her table could be viewed from all angles. Feeling safe, she ordered limeade and waited. Lucien walked up within minutes.
“What a charming place. Do you come here often?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. A waiter should come by soon.”
Lucien moved his chair close to hers and regarded her with a knowing smile. “We won’t be staying. You’ll love my home outside Paris, and I’ll make you far happier than Vasquez ever could. Young men have no idea how to really please a woman the way I do.”
His blue eyes shone with an admiring warmth, and his seductive accent made his promise seem sincere, but she wasn’t even tempted. Instead, she spoke up, hoping Alejandro would overhear. “I’m sorry if I gave you any such hope. You’ve been so kind, and I merely wished to say good-bye in person.”
“How thoughtful.” His voice took on a deep strident edge. “I’m a very successful man, and I’m always armed when I’m in Barcelona.” He opened his jacket to provide a glimpse of his handgun. “Don’t make me resort to force.”
She sat up and twisted her hair over her shoulder. “Are you threatening me while we’re surrounded by witnesses?” Two middle-aged women who had been passing the café stopped outside the ring of tables and pointed at her. She nodded and smiled, and, appearing flustered, they walked away.
Lucien whispered against her ear, “Nothing so crude as a threat. No one will see a thing. You’re leaving with me. Stand, and I’ll help you with your crutches.”
The marble-topped table had a wrought iron base. She grabbed the edge and shoved hard to force the table over. He scrambled to get out of the way, but the edge of the marble slab slammed hard across his foot, and he howled in pain.
Alejandro, already half out of his chair, grabbed Lucien’s arms and pulle
d him upright. He saw the gun before Lucien could reach for it and blocked the move. Montoya’s men swarmed them, and Alejandro pulled Ana into his arms. “I heard enough to know you were in trouble. Did he threaten to shoot you?”
Trembling, she leaned against him. “Not quite, but I didn’t expect things to go downhill so quickly. He meant to take me to Paris whether I wanted to go with him or not.”
Alejandro hugged her tight. “This is the absolute end of it, Ana. Don’t frighten me like this ever again. The car wreck wasn’t your fault, but this stunt was deliberate, and you could have been badly hurt, or worse.”
She saw more than one passerby raising a cell phone to take photos and knew they were in for another round of tabloid coverage. Certain Alejandro had only begun a lengthy tirade, she was grateful for an excuse to step out of his arms. “There are too many people watching for us to talk here.”
He looked over his shoulder and stepped back to take her hand. “Maybe they’ll believe we’re filming a movie.”
Ana had no such hope. Lamoreaux was quickly taken away, and Montoya joined them. “He has no permit for the handgun, and his foot appears to be broken—a terrible shame, of course. What prompted you to tip the table?”
A waiter had already set the table upright, and Ana retook her chair to describe her brief conversation with Lucien. “He tried to force me to go with him, and I objected. It has to be a crime to kidnap people off the street.”
“As well as indoors,” Montoya added. “When I tell René Charles Lamoreaux has been arrested, he may be more forthcoming. He may have been well paid for his silence, but if Lamoreaux isn’t free, he won’t get another euro from him.”
“I’m glad you were able to make an arrest. Thank you for being here.” She looked to Alejandro. “Let’s go home.”
He picked up her crutches. “Home?” he repeated. “Just where is that?”
She touched his sleeve. “Please—you know where I want to go.”
Alejandro nodded to Montoya as they walked away, and the lieutenant shook his head. Whether it was in envy or sympathy, Ana couldn’t tell.
“Send Fatima home early,” Alejandro urged as he parked in front of her condo.
She’d seldom seen him looking so determined and assumed he meant to have it out. “I’m not going to fight with you, but if it’s wild sex you want, come on in.” She opened her door, and he circled his SUV to grasp her waist and set her down gently. “I would never have gone to meet Lamoreaux alone,” she swore. “I was safe with you and Montoya’s men there. Please drop it.” She took her crutches and waited for him to open the condo’s main doors.
He remained on the walk. “You couldn’t count on being safe.”
“Maybe not, but you were willing to ride your bike to trap René Charles, so you’ve no room to criticize me.”
“I’ll take all the room I need. Was today just a daredevil payback?”
“Not at all.” She caught a breath, relieved no lurking paparazzi were in sight. “Would you please open the door? Or I’ll wave to the guard to let me in.”
He yanked open the door. “I’ll be busy tomorrow with the burial at sea. I’ll pick you up Sunday afternoon, and we’ll do something fun for a change.”
Coming from him, fun sounded like an obscenity, but she smiled as though it had been a pleasant invitation. “I’ll look forward to it.” She stepped through the door and waited to watch him drive away. If he were in as black a mood on Sunday, she’d stay home and read.
Henry nodded as she passed the desk. “He’s going to regret leaving you before he gets home.”
“I hope you’re right.” Fatima was waiting for her, and Ana gave her a quick rundown. “Alejandro has had enough of me for the day, but I’ll see him on Sunday. Would you please make me a cup of tea?”
“In a minute, but first there’s something you need to explain. I never deliberately eavesdrop on your conversations, but didn’t I hear a mention of a baby?”
Her longtime housekeeper looked perplexed at best, and she deserved the truth. “Yes, you did. It’s taken me a while to get used to the idea. I haven’t even told my mother.”
“Why not? She lives in France. Nothing shocks anyone there.”
“I don’t know if that’s true, but she’ll be surprised. I’d rather rest a while than worry about telling anyone else about the baby today.”
“I understand, but it’ll be very difficult to raise a child on your own.”
Ann leaned her crutches against a dining room chair. “I grew up with a widowed mother, so I know that only too well. You needn’t worry, Alejandro intends to be a good father and provide for our child.”
The housekeeper rested her hands on her hips. “Then you’d be smart to marry him.”
“That’s what he says. Now may I have my tea?”
“Yes, and I baked some shortbread cookies.”
“Thank you.” It took a couple of cups of tea for her to realize Alejandro had been completely justified in his anger. She’d wanted a neat conclusion to the whole Lamoreaux affair, but their meeting could have easily ended tragically. She rubbed her arms to shake off a chill and ate another delicious cookie. More than one man had shot a woman who’d left him or threatened to leave, and she shouldn’t have taken such a foolish risk with Lamoreaux when she barely knew him.
She reached for her phone, and then set it aside. Alejandro was probably still too angry with her to listen to an apology. Spending a couple of lonely nights would also improve her chances he’d be so happy to see her he’d accept any apology she cared to give.
“Fatima, is there any of your wonderful leek and potato soup in the freezer? I’m staying in tonight.”
Saturday dawned bright with a cloudless sky. Alejandro followed Carlotta and her sons onto a fifty-foot cabin cruiser used for burials at sea. She’d invited a half-dozen of her late husband’s friends, and many others who’d known or admired him followed in their own boats as the captain took them beyond the port to open water. Sailboats crossed on the horizon. It was a far more peaceful scene than Alejandro had anticipated. When the captain cut the engine, the sea lapped gently against the cruiser’s hull. Squawking sea gulls flew overhead in a disrespectful chatter.
Carnation floral wreaths in the Ortiz Line’s blue and white colors were ready for the boys to throw. Eager to get the ordeal over, Alejandro nodded to Carlotta, but she remained in her seat, tightly clutching the silver urn with her late husband’s ashes.
Alejandro crossed to her. “Here, come with me.” He circled her shoulders and led her to the rail. “Come on, boys. Let’s do this together.”
Rodrigo and Francisco joined them, faces solemn, and Alejandro wished he’d prepared something, anything to say. He had no favorite memories of the man who’d been more of a mentor than a father. He looked over his shoulder to his father’s friends. “Would any of you care to say something?”
A bald, heavy-set man came forward, and Carlotta gave him a shaky smile. “I can’t bear to tell him good-bye, Gael.”
Gael Galvez took the urn from her hands and twisted off the lid. “A man who loved the sea with such great passion will be at home beneath the waves.” He lowered the urn, and the ashes spilled in a fine line.
Alejandro watched the boys, who appeared more fascinated by the drifting ashes than sad. Only Carlotta wept. The boys threw the wreaths, and the flowers floated upon the sea in silent tribute. He waited until Carlotta looked up at him to signal the captain. The cruiser made a wide arc and returned to the dock.
Carlotta wiped her eyes on her handkerchief. “I know you’ve never liked me, but thank you for handling today. There are so many others who’ll miss your father. I’ve invited them to a small reception at home. I really don’t care if Orlando would object or not.”
Alejandro took her arm to help her step onto the dock. “He won’t know, so how can he care?”
She found a shaky smile. “Please come.”
When she looked so vulnerable, he couldn’t refuse
. “I will.”
The penthouse’s stark furnishings and modern paintings gave it the appearance of an art gallery rather than a comfortable home, and Alejandro moved to a corner to stay out of the way. Gael had remained by Carlotta’s side; the boys seemed to know him. His firm built components for their cruise ships. Alejandro had seen him often when he’d worked with his father before returning to the university. Gael had been widowed several years prior, but Alejandro thought it far too soon for him to hit on his stepmother. Maybe he was simply showing the abundant sympathy the woman craved.
Grateful Carlotta would be surrounded by sympathetic friends for the remainder of the day, he turned his attention to his brothers. The boys were in their room playing a video game. When he came to the open door, his gaze was immediately drawn to the poster of Santos Aragon on the wall above their desks. Santos was posed on his toes and twirling his cape as a mammoth Miura bull tore by him. The handsome matador had signed the poster, which made it all the more valuable to the boys.
Rodrigo won the round and jumped up to cheer. He looked surprised to find Alejandro at their door and tapped Francisco’s shoulder so he’d notice. “Will you take us out on a boat again?”
“Yes, we’ll do it soon.” He left them each with his card. “Tape them to your desk. Call me if you need anything at all. Your mother and I will work out a schedule so I can see you more often, and we’ll plan something you two really want to do.”
The boys nodded and got back to their game. Alejandro wasn’t certain what the boys might like to do—maybe take karate lessons—but he’d see they got to do it. His father couldn’t have had much time for them, and they were too young to grow up without a father, or someone who’d willingly take his place.
Ana spent Saturday morning at her favorite spa. A massage, manicure, pedicure and a new hairstyle with abundant curls had melted the last of yesterday’s lingering tension. She’d been home only a few minutes when Alejandro called, and he didn’t give her a chance to apologize.
