He smirked and walked straight to the kitchen. She heard the fridge open and the rattle of a beer bottle as he pulled it out. Figures. The best thing for a hangover was more alcohol, right?
She went back to polishing, but after several minutes she got an eerie feeling and knew he was watching her.
“Is there something you needed?” she asked.
“Have you got eyes in the back of your head or some thing?”
She turned to him. “Are you here for your things?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She just assumed Emilio would have called him by now. Guess not.
His eyes narrowed. “What did you tell Emilio?”
She squared her shoulders. “Nothing he didn’t already know.”
“You told him about the car?”
“I didn’t have to. He looked up the history on the GPS. He knows it was you driving.”
He cursed under his breath and mumbled, “It’s okay. I can fix this.”
She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she couldn’t help herself. “He knows about the drinking, too, and the fact that you were listening outside my bedroom door the other night.”
He cut his eyes to her, and with a look that was pure venom, tipped his half-finished beer and dumped it onto her newly polished floor.
Nice. Very mature.
He walked up the stairs to his room. Hopefully to pack.
Isabelle cleaned up the beer with paper towels then repolished the floor. She cleaned all the main floor bathrooms next, buffing the chrome fixtures and polishing the marble countertops.
When she was finished she found Estefan in the living room, booted feet up on the glass top coffee table, drinking Don Julio Real Tequila straight from the bottle.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked. “That I have to go, and you get to stay. That once again you mean more to him than his own brother.”
Once again? What was that supposed to mean?
“You’re leaving him no choice, Estefan.”
“What the hell do you know? Emilio and I, we’re family,” he said, pounding his fist to his chest. “He’s supposed to stand behind me. This is all your fault.”
She knew his type. Everything was always someone else’s fault. He never took responsibility for his own actions.
He took another swig from the bottle. “I loved you, you know. I would have done anything to have you. Then Emilio stole you from me.”
Stole her?
So in his mind they had been embroiled in some creepy love triangle? Well, that wasn’t reality. Even if there had been no Emilio, she never would have been attracted to Estefan.
He shoved himself up from the couch, wavering a second before he caught his balance. “I’m tired of coming in second place. Maybe I should take what’s rightfully mine.”
Meaning what?
He started to walk toward her with a certain look, and every instinct she had said run.
First thing when he got to work, Emilio called the firm Western Oil had hired to investigate the explosion and explained what he needed.
“Medical records are privileged,” the investigator told him.
“So you’re saying you can’t get them?”
“I can, but you can’t use the information in court.”
“I don’t plan to.”
“Give me the name.”
“Isabelle Winthrop.”
There was a pause. “The one indicted for fraud?”
“That’s the one.” There was another pause, and he heard the sound of typing. “How long will this take?”
“Hold on.” There was more typing, then he said, “Let me make a call. I’ll get back to you in a couple of hours.”
The time passed with no word and Emilio began to get impatient. He ate lunch at his desk, then forced himself to get some work done. By three o’clock, he was past impatient and bordering on pissed. He was reaching for the phone to call the firm back when his secretary buzzed him.
“Mr. Blair would like to see you in his office.”
“Tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“He said right now.”
He blew out a breath. “Fine.”
When he got there Adam’s secretary was on the phone, but she waved him in.
Adam stood at the window behind his desk, his back to the door.
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
He didn’t turn. “Close the door and sit down.”
He shut the door and took a seat, even though he preferred to stand, wondering what he could have done to earn such a cool reception. “Something wrong, Adam?”
“You may not know this, but due to the sensitive nature of the information we receive from the investigators in regard to the refinery accident, the mail room has implicit instruction to send any correspondence directly to my office.”
Oh hell.
“So,” he said, turning and grabbing a thick manila envelope from his desk, “When this arrived with your name on it, it came to me.”
Emilio could clearly see that the seal on top had been broken. “You opened it?”
“Yeah, I opened it. Because for all I know you were responsible for the explosion, and you were trying to reroute key information away from the investigation.”
The accusation stung, but put in Adam’s place, he might have thought the same thing. He never should have used the same agency. He had just assumed they would call him, at which point he would have told them to send the files to his house.
“You want to explain to me why you need medical records for Isabelle Winthrop?”
“Not really.”
Adam sighed.
“It’s personal.”
“How personal?”
“I just…needed to know something.”
He handed Emilio the file. “You needed to know if someone was using her as their own personal punching bag?”
Emilio’s stomach bottomed out. He hoped that was an exaggeration.
He pulled the file out of the envelope. It was thorough. Everything was there, from the time she was born until her annual physical the previous year. He flipped slowly through the pages, realizing immediately that Adam was not exaggerating, and what he read made him physically ill.
It seemed to start when she was three years old with a dislocated shoulder. Not a common injury for a docile young girl. From there it escalated to several incidences of concussions and cracked ribs, and a head injury so severe it fractured her skull and put her in the hospital for a week. He would venture to guess that there were probably many other injuries that had gone untreated, or tended by a personal physician who was paid handsomely to keep his mouth shut.
He scraped a hand through his hair. Why hadn’t anyone connected the dots? Why hadn’t someone helped her?
What disturbed him the most, what had him on the verge of losing his breakfast, was the hospital record from fifteen years ago. That weekend had been engraved in his memory since he opened the morning paper and saw the feature announcing Isabelle and Betts’s wedding. Four days earlier Isabelle had been treated for a concussion and bruised ribs from a “fall” on campus. Emilio had seen her just two days later and he hadn’t had a damned clue.
In the year they had been together what else hadn’t he seen?
Then he had a thought that had bile rising in his throat. He was pretty sure that last concussion and the bruised ribs were his fault.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Emilio,” Adam said. “What’s going on?”
Emilio had forgotten Adam was standing there.
“My brother thinks she might be innocent.” In fact, he was ninety-nine point nine percent sure she was. “She’s…she’s been staying with me the last couple of weeks.”
Adam swore and shook his head. “You said you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”
“If she’s innocent, she needs my help. That’s more clear now than ever.”
“Just because someone knocked her around,
it doesn’t mean she’s not a criminal.”
“If you knew her like I do, you would know she isn’t capable of stealing anything.”
“Sounds like your mind is already made up.”
It was. And he was going to help her. He had to.
“Emilio, if it gets out to the press what you’re doing—”
“It’s not going to.”
“And if it does? Is she worth decimating your career? Your reputation?”
He was stunned to realize that the answer to that question was yes. Because it would only be temporary, then everyone would know she didn’t do it. He would spend his last penny to get to the truth if that’s what it took.
“If the press gets hold of this, I’ll take full responsibility. As far as I’m concerned, Western Oil is free to hang me out to dry.”
“Wow. You must really care about this woman.”
“I do.” But what really mattered was that fifteen years ago he’d failed her. In the worst possible way. He refused to make that mistake again.
Thirteen
Emilio left work early, and when he opened the front door he heard shouting and banging.
What the hell?
He dropped his briefcase by the door, followed the sound and found Estefan outside his office. The door was closed and Estefan was pounding with his fist shouting, “Let me in, you bitch!”
“What the hell is going on?”
Estefan swung around to face him. He was breathing hard, his eyes wild with fury. “Look what she did to me!”
Deep gouges branded his right cheek. Nail marks.
“Isabelle did that? What happened?”
“Nothing. She just attacked me.”
That didn’t sound like her at all. She’d never had a violent bone in her body. “Move out of the way,” he said. “I’ll talk to her.”
He reluctantly stepped back.
“Wait in the living room.”
“But—”
“In the living room.”
“Fine,” he grumbled.
Emilio waited until his brother was gone, then knocked softly. “Isabelle, it’s Emilio. Let me in.”
There was a pause, then he heard the lock turn. He opened the door and stepped into the room, and Isabelle launched herself into his arms. She clung to him, trembling from the inside out.
“Let me look at you. Are you okay?” He held her at arm’s length. Her uniform was ripped open at the collar and she had what looked liked finger impressions on her upper arms.
He didn’t have to ask her what happened. It was obvious. “Son of a bitch.”
“He said he was going to take what was rightfully his,” she said, her voice trembling. “He was drinking again.”
Son of a bitch.
“I kind of accidentally told him that you were going to make him leave. He was really mad.”
“I’m going to go talk to him. I want you to go upstairs, in my bedroom, shut the door and wait for me there. Understand?” She nodded.
If this got out of hand he wanted her somewhere safe. He watched as she dashed up the stairs, waited until he heard the bedroom door close, then walked to the living room, where his brother was pacing by the couch. “What the hell did you do, Estefan?”
Outraged, his brother said, “What did I do? Look at my face!”
“You forced yourself on her.”
“Is that what she told you? She’s a liar. Man, she wanted it. She’s been coming on to me for days. She’s a whore.”
Teeth gritted, Emilio crossed the room and gave his brother a shove. Estefan staggered backward, grabbing the couch to stop his fall. He righted himself, then listed to one side, before he caught his balance.
He was drunk.
“What’s the matter with you, Emilio?”
“What’s the matter with me? You tried to rape her!”
Estefan actually laughed. “If you wanted to keep her all to yourself you should have said so.”
Emilio swung, connecting solidly with Estefan’s jaw. Estefan jerked back and landed on the floor.
“Emilio, what the hell!”
It took every ounce of control Emilio possessed not to beat the hell out of his brother. “You’ve crossed the line. Get your stuff and get out.”
“You would choose that lying bitch over your own flesh and blood?”
“Isabelle has more integrity in the tip of her finger than you’ve ever had in your entire miserable excuse for a life.”
His expression went from one of outrage to pure venom. This was the Estefan that Emilio knew. The one he had hoped he’d seen the last of. “I’ll make you regret this.”
Regret? He was already full of it. He thought about what might have happened if he hadn’t come home early and he felt ill. What if Estefan had gotten into his office? “The only thing I regret is thinking that this time you might have changed.”
“She’s using you. Just like she did before.”
“You know nothing, Estefan.”
“I know her daddy wasn’t very happy when I told him about your so-called engagement.”
“You told him?”
“You should be thanking me. You were too good for her.”
“You stupid son of a bitch. You have no clue what you did.”
“I saved your ass, that’s what I did.”
He’d never wanted to hurt someone as much as he wanted to hurt Estefan right now. Instead he took a deep, calming breath and said, “Pack your things, and get out. As far as I’m concerned, we are no longer brothers.”
While his brother packed, Emilio stood watch by the door and called him a cab. Estefan was too drunk to drive himself anywhere. Emilio didn’t care what happened to him, but he didn’t want him hurting someone else.
Estefan protested when Emilio snatched his keys away.
“Call me and tell me where you are, and I’ll have your bike delivered to you.”
He slurred out a few more threats, then staggered to the cab. Emilio watched it drive away, then he grabbed his case and headed up to his bedroom. Isabelle was sitting on the edge of his bed. She shot to her feet when he stepped in the room.
“He’s gone,” Emilio said. “And he isn’t coming back.”
She breathed a sigh of relief.
Emilio dropped his case on the floor by the bed, pulled her into his arms and held her. “I am so sorry. If I even suspected he would pull something like this I never would have let him stay here. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have left you alone with him.”
“I guess it was a case of unrequited love,” she said, her voice still a little wobbly. “Who knew?”
He had, but he never imagined Estefan was capable of rape. He had been raised to respect women. They all had. There was obviously something wrong in Estefan’s head.
“When I think what might have happened if I hadn’t come home early…” He squeezed her tighter.
“He’s going to tell people that I’m staying here, isn’t he?”
“You can count on it.” Definitely the family. With any luck he wasn’t smart enough to go to the press, or they wouldn’t listen.
She looked crestfallen. “If I leave today, right now, maybe it won’t be so bad. You can deny I was here at all. And I will, too. No one has to know.”
She was nearly raped, and she was worried about him. It was sickening how he had misjudged her, how he thought she could have anything to do with her husband’s crimes. “You’re not going anywhere, Izzie.”
“But—”
“I don’t care if anyone knows you’re here.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re innocent.”
“How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “Because I do.”
She didn’t seem to know what to say.
“There’s something we need to talk about, something I need to know.”
She frowned, as though she knew she wasn’t going to like what was coming next.
“What did your father do when he found out we were e
loping?”
“What makes you think he knew?”
“Because Estefan told him.”
She sucked in a quiet breath.
“He did it to get back at me. He said he did it to help me, but I know he was just jealous.”
“I always wondered how my father found out.”
“Is that why he did it?”
“Did what?”
He opened his briefcase, pulled out the file and handed it to her. She started to read the top page and the color leeched from her face. She sank to the edge of the bed.
He sat beside her. “The concussion, the bruised ribs. He did that because of me, didn’t he?”
She flipped through the pages, then looked up at him, eyes wide. “Where did you get this?”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Izzie? Why didn’t you tell me what he did to you?”
She shrugged, setting the file on the bed beside her. “Because that’s not the way it works.”
“I could have helped you.”
She shook her head. “No one could help us.”
Us? “Your mother, too?”
“My father was a very angry man. But if there’s any justice in this world, I can rest easy knowing he’s rotting in hell for what he did to us.”
He could barely wrap his head around it. How could he have been so blind? Why didn’t he see?
“I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I have to know. Why did you do it? Why did you leave me for Betts?”
“It was the only way to keep her safe.”
“Your mother?”
She nodded.
“Tell me what happened.”
She bit her lip, wringing her hands in her lap.
He took her hand in his and held it. “Please, Isabelle.”
“My father found out about us and punished me. When he was finished, he told me that if I ever saw you again he was going to disown me. I would be completely cut off. I was so sick of it, I told him I didn’t care. I said I didn’t want his money, and I didn’t care if I ever saw him again. I said I was going to marry you, and my mother was going to come live with us and nothing he could do would stop me.” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “And he said…he said that if I married you, something terrible would happen to my mother. He said she would have an ‘accident.’” She looked up at him. “My father did not make idle threats, and the look in his eyes…I knew he would kill her just to spite me. And to prove his point he punished her, too, and it was even worse than what he did to me. She couldn’t get out of bed for a week.”
One Month with the Magnate Page 12
