Red Leopard (The Vistaria Affair Series)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Only slightly mollified, Calli allowed herself to be drawn forward, through the double doors and into the line of guests being received. Duardo, perhaps sensing her distress, did not chat with Minnie and leave Calli to her thoughts. Instead, he spoke to them both.

  “General Blanco is a great man. He has been leading the army under President Escobedo’s direction for twelve years. Every year he has a big birthday party. Officers who have been honored throughout the year come and celebrate with him. It is a very important evening. Soldiers work hard to be chosen, so they will get to come here.”

  “That’s you, right, Duardo?” Minnie asked. “You were honored?”

  “Yes. I am chosen.”

  “What did you do?” Calli asked.

  For the first time she saw his upbeat mood slip. His smile faded just a little. “It was small. Nothing.”

  She didn’t need a neon sign to know Duardo did not want to talk about it. “Okay,” she murmured.

  “What’s nothing?” Minnie persisted. “What did you do?”

  “I helped defend Vistaria. A little thing. You would be bored with the talk of it,” he assured her with his smile turned to full incandescence.

  The smile dazzled her as he had clearly intended it to do, for Minnie smiled back. “You’re a hero, then, “ she said, just as they reached the beginning of the formal greeting line.

  Duardo stood ramrod straight and held out his hand to shake it with the first officer in the line. “Captain Eduardo Peña y Santos, señor.”

  The officer shook his hand and spoke—formal Spanish, Calli realized, pleased her ear could already distinguish between the day-to-day mongrel they used and true Spanish.

  Duardo pulled her forward a little. “Major, may I present Miss Callida Munro, and Miss Minerva Benning. Miss Benning’s father, Miss Munro’s uncle, Joshua Benning, is the project manager of the Garrido Silver Mine on Las Piedras Grandes. Calli, Minnie, this is Major Alvarez, my commanding officer.”

  “Miss Munro, Miss Benning,” the major murmured, dipping his head forward in a short little bow. He did not smile and Calli guessed he was displeased to see his junior officer with two American women on his arms. Nor did he offer his hand, but men here did not usually shake hands with women.

  She smiled and murmured hello, then Duardo stepped up to the next person in line, a stout man in his fifties with a chest full of ribbons and gold braid everywhere. Undoubtedly, this must be the beloved General Blanco. Then she looked ahead to the next person in the line. Her thoughts scattered to the four winds and her heart seized in her chest.

  Dark red hair, indigo eyes. He spoke to the person whose hand he shook, a small polite smile on his face. Him.

  Her hearing seemed to fade, the noise around her blanketed to a dull far-off sound. Her heart beat, hard and heavy and her breathing was overly loud. Excitement gripped her, even as dismay settled into her bones. This was the man she had beggared herself in front of last night. Despite her shame, she studied him hungrily: The black tuxedo and a white shirt. Was it silk? her treacherous mind whispered and her hand itched to investigate for itself. One small step and she could lean forward a little and touch him. Barely five feet separated them.

  Had he seen her yet?

  “...Miss Callida Munro, General,” Duardo finished and Calli dragged, ripped, pummeled her attention back the man standing before her. The general favored her with a beaming smile and took her hand and bowed a little over it. “You are most welcome in my country, Miss Munro,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said, but her concern about being a hated American had fled, scattered under the onslaught of heady exhilaration. Almost breathlessly she anticipated the next few seconds when he would turn to greet her and see it was she. What would he do?

  Duardo moved along. They were done with the General. His turn next.

  She began to tremble.

  Remember this is not the man from your dreams. They’re not the same. But it was no good—he had been in her dreams. He had prompted the dreams and they had haunted her all day. She was helpless to prevent her response now.

  Even Duardo squared his shoulders, lifting his chest. They stood in front of him now, but his head remained turned, while he spoke to the officer in front of them in the line. In a second he would turn to them.

  He turned, smiled at Duardo. His glance did not even flicker towards her.

  “Captain Peña...you made it. All the way from Pascuallita and during fiesta, too. I am sure General Blanco appreciates your efforts.”

  Her heart leapt a little. He spoke English! He would only do that if he had noticed her. Had he seen her long before she had seen him?

  “Señor, I would not miss this night for Chinese tea,” Duardo answered. He indicated Minnie on his left. “May I present to you Miss Minerva Benning, a friend of mine.”

  Calli watched his hand encase Minnie’s tiny one, the long fingers curling right around it.

  “Minnie, this is Señor Nicolás Escobedo.”

  Escobedo. The name throbbed in Calli’s mind. She recalled Uncle Josh’s words; Escobedo’s country.

  “Hi there, señor,” Minnie offered in response as he shook her hand gently.

  He smiled a little, good humor lighting his face. “Hi there yourself, Miss Benning. You have made an effective assault upon Vistaria’s military, I see.” His gravelly voice was low, pleasant. “Are you enjoying your stay here?”

  Minnie glanced up at Duardo. “I am now,” she said.

  Duardo glowed with pride and excitement, his gaze never leaving the man standing before him. Calli caught her breath, remembering now what Minnie had said: “He wanted to see him again. That’s why he had hurried to the police station, but by the time he’d got there, el leopardo had gone.”

  The Red Leopard. Nicolás Escobedo.

  Calli’s mind, the analytical mind that had always driven Robert mad, but had delighted professors with its clarity and precision, that grappled with slippery economic equations on a daily basis, analyzed the facts now. His name, the fact that he stood here in the receiving line consisting of the top military personnel of the country could only mean he was a member of the presidential family. That would make him...untouchable.

  All her delight cooled and dispersed, as the chill of reality touched her. She remembered the miniscule shake of his head, his rejection. He had known then what she realized now.

  Duardo presented her. He was looking at her now and he gave not a single hint they had met before. He took her hand, gave the same bow over it as the general had. His warm fingers smoothed their way over the back of her hand, sliding across the flesh there. Despite the cold, lead weight in her stomach she felt a ripple of pleasure from that tiny, unconscious caress. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

  “Señor Escobedo,” she said.

  “Miss Munro. When I studied in your country, people called me Nick. It would please me if you would do so, for Vistarians do not say it the same way as Americans.”

  “What did you study?” Minnie asked.

  “Philosophy,” he supplied. He glanced at Calli. She thought she saw a flicker of humor in his eyes. “I minored in Economics,” he added and then they had to move along. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said in parting.

  * * * * *

  Duardo escorted them to a large round table where half a dozen fellow officers and three women already sat. He knew them and introduced Calli and Minnie around. Calli saw no sign of hesitation or discomfort in their welcomes. Everyone at the table ensured both she and Minnie had glasses of champagne within minutes of being seated.

  The women spoke no English, except for the one called Elvira and her English was disjointed, hesitant, and her accent thick. The other soldiers had varying degrees of broken English, but their smiles seemed friendly enough.

  Soon a band began to play. Not the sort of visceral, compelling music the small band had been playing last night, for this was a big ensemble. The noise level spiraled upwards. Couples began danc
ing as soon as the music began—no modest three or four sets before someone shyly broke the ice on the dance floor; they scrambled for the floor as soon as the first bars of music sounded. But it was a long time before Calli got the opportunity she waited for: Duardo on his own at the table, with only Minnie as witness. They sat looking at each other and Minnie smiled a little.

  “Duardo, you know Nicolás Escobedo?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone does.”

  “I don’t. He is related to the President?”

  “He is el Presidente’s half-brother.”

  “Half-brother?” Calli repeated sharply. She thought about that. “That would explain the red hair, those eyes.”

  Duardo watched her warily. He knew where she took the conversation then.

  “He has no formal role in the government?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “I see.” She glanced across the room where the general and his party sat at the long head table. Nicolás Escobedo sat there, too. He bent his head, listening to the general with deep concentration. As far as Calli could tell, he had not so much as glanced her way all evening.

  She looked at Duardo, who still watched her. “I know who he is,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Do not speak it,” he warned.

  “Speak what?” Minnie asked.

  It was a measure of Duardo’s preoccupation with the subject matter that he picked up Minnie’s hand absently in his and kissed it, like a man soothing a fretful child. “It is nothing,” he assured her.

  “You keep telling me that,” Minnie complained.

  He stirred and Calli saw him mentally shake off his mood and look down at Minnie. “We dance, yes?”

  “Mmm, yes,” she agreed with a smile.

  He glanced at her. “Excuse me, Miss Calli.” He stood to lead Minnie to the dance floor.

  Calli sighed as they left her alone at the table and stole one more glance at Nicolás Escobedo. He stood now, talking to an officer who stood behind the General’s chair, one hand in his pocket again.

  She reached for the champagne and sipped, trying to quell the stupid schoolgirl leap of joy because she knew his secret. He had warned her at the police station: this country was three steps away from violent revolution and Americans were not welcomed. Good reasons existed for secrecy, for quiet manipulations behind the scenes, for maintaining appearances, and none of them had anything to do with the rush of pleasure she had felt on the two occasions he had looked at her.

  To think he felt anything but passing irritation for her was a fantasy more foolhardy than Minnie’s infatuation with an honorable soldier in the Vistarian army. Had Uncle Josh really thought Calli capable of watching out for his daughter?

  Chapter Four

  Supper was a long, multi-course meal served on silver platters by dozens of waiters, and finished off with a standing toast for the general’s birthday. Then the hotel staff wheeled a massive six foot high cake out onto the middle of the dance floor.

  Big enough for a pretty girl to jump out of the middle, Calli thought.

  With a fanfare of trumpets, the top of the cake did pop off, but what emerged was not a pretty, scantily clad girl. Rather, a mature woman rose up with a Spanish hat in her hand and a rose between her teeth, dressed in a traditional Flamenco costume that encased her bountiful figure in red satin. She paused at the top, a hand in the air, for effect.

  The room full of soldiers went wild. She heard a low chant; “Conchita, Conchita!”

  Four men rushed to help her to the floor and the staff rolled the cake away while someone escorted General Blanco to a chair on the dance floor. Conchita shimmied her way across the floor to drop the hat on his head, a kiss on his cheek and the rose in his hand. He laughed, playing up to her. With a toss of her head, at the rumble of Spanish guitar chords, she went into a wild dance in front of him.

  The soldiers in the room remained on their feet, clapping to the music, stamping, their hips moving in time to the music. Their backs hid most of the dance floor from Calli, but the lead weight that had been in her stomach since she had learned Nicolás Escobedo’s identity gave her no enthusiasm for the floor show and therefore no reason to get to her feet and strain to see.

  Instead she found her attention wandering upwards, above the heads of the soldiers in front of her. She looked up at the gallery that ran around three sides of the room. A stone balustrade edged the balcony and tall columns supported arches that framed the top of the gallery. There was very little light up there and the balcony seemed virtually deserted. If she could find her way there, she would be alone for a while and she would be able to see the dance floor.

  Better than sitting here alone.

  She got to her feet and slipped between the ranks of soldiers to the side of the room. Their table had been on the edge of the room anyway and close to the door—as far from the head table and the dance floor as possible, but Duardo and his friends were junior officers, so it was appropriate.

  She found the stairs to the balcony easily enough and she climbed slowly, tiredness seeping through her. She had not slept on the plane here and last night her dreams had robbed her sleep of any restfulness. The last few hours had been thick with action, events that took her attention away from the growing weariness, but now she found herself in a pocket of stillness she could feel it as an ache in her bones, gnawing at her.

  She emerged at the top of the stairs and stepped through a doorway onto the balcony. The doorway was hidden by a wall that jutted along the front of the gallery for about six feet, before the stone balustrade began. She walked along the balcony for a few feet until she had passed the wall and could look down upon the ballroom. It was a sea of military uniforms. The round tables with their pristine white tablecloths stood in stark contrast to the uniforms’ darker hues. Shadows covered most of the room, while on the gallery on the far side of the room a single operator trained a spotlight on Conchita on the dance floor. To Calli’s right was the huge double-doored entrance to the ballroom. Their arched tops reached up almost as high as she stood, fifteen feet from the floor of the ballroom.

  The slender columns that held up the arches over the balcony were not so miniscule this close—they were at least five foot in diameter, solid granite and designed to last generations. The smooth stone of the closest column felt cool against her bare shoulder. She sighed and relaxed against the support. The noise dropped a little up this high. She hadn’t realized how loud it had become.

  “Your cousin has found herself some interesting friends.” The words, low and quiet, came from her right, close by.

  Calli jerked around, startled.

  Nicolás Escobedo leaned against the wall next to the stairwell door, hidden from below. He stood barely four feet from her. As she spun to face him he lifted a hand and made a small calming motion.

  “Jesus Christ!” she breathed. “Did you follow me up here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised you even know where I was sitting.”

  He did not smile. “You underestimate yourself.”

  “I think I have a pretty good grasp of my place in the grand scheme of things in Vistaria—and yours, too,” she said.

  He smiled a little. “You’ve been listening to Duardo.”

  “Along with a lot of other people.” She took a breath, trying to still her heart from its frantic pattering. “Why did you come up here?”

  He straightened from his lean. “There are things that...must be said.”

  “Now that I know who you are,” she added dryly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you...why did you let me....” She grimaced. “Never mind.”

  “You think your offer foolish because there is no chance that I, being who I am, would ever consider it seriously. So you feel shame for beggaring yourself that way.”

  She swallowed with a throat gone dry. “Yes,” she breathed.

  She couldn’t look away from his eyes. He held her gaze, not letting her go. “I saw the light go out of your
eyes when you heard my name, tonight,” he said. “I saw you recall what you said at the police station. That is why I stand here now. I did not like watching that spirit in you die as you put it all together. Calli, do you not know how refreshing it feels to be made such an offer from a woman who had no idea who I am?”

  Her mouth opened a little as her jaw sagged. “No,” she said honestly. “I could only think that you have women throw themselves at you every day and I was just one of dozens—of no passing concern. A moment’s amusement.”

  He nodded. “So you squirm with shame for responding to a natural impulse.”

  She gave a dry laugh. “It’s not natural for me. Not since Robert—” She clamped her jaw tight, suddenly realizing what she had been about to say, to no less than the president of Vistaria’s half-brother.

  “You just remembered who am I, didn’t you?” he said softly.

  She looked down at the stone balcony rail where her hands rested. “Yes.” She couldn’t look him in the eye while her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Did you come up here simply to watch me squirm while you reminded me of my foolishness, Señor Escobedo?”

  He did not answer at once, but when he did, his rasping voice was even lower. “I dreamed of you, Calli.”

  Her whole body seemed to leap at the quietly spoken confession. She looked at him, her pulse skittering.

  He nodded. “Yes. I dreamed of you, of running my hands all over that pale, soft skin of yours. Your long legs wrapped about my hips—I spent hours simply savoring the taste of your flesh, pleasuring you.”

  She shuddered as a wave of pure silver excitement rippled through her, brought to life by the low, sensual sound of his voice, his words. She licked her lips, remembering the knowing expression she had seen in his eyes. There had been regret there, and something else....

  “Then, in the cell, I didn’t imagine—”

  “No, you did not.” His voice seemed to reach directly into her mind and throb inside her bones.

  She turned to face him properly, but did not move towards him. She feared to hope, to make any movement that might indicate that foolish hope.