Fierce Passion (17 page)

“What’s the matter with you?” Ana cried. “Buy a blow-up doll if you need female company, but don’t accost women on the Metro.”

Alejandro moved to confront the man. “Are you bothering her? If you so much as touched her, I’m going to pull you off this car at the next stop and make you very sorry.”

“No, no, I did nothing,” the man swore, his lower lip trembling. “The train is crowded, that’s all.” He burrowed through the passengers behind him to put a safe distance between them.

“What was he doing?” Alejandro asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Ana assured him. “Elena’s standing. We must get off here.”

Elena’s office was a couple of blocks from the station, and she talked as they walked along. “I meant what I said about suing the police. They’ve no reason to question you once, let alone twice, and if they dare to come near you again, I’ll double the sum we’ll ask.”

Her office was on the second floor of a building packed with law firms. She had several partners and led them past the receptionist into her cluttered office. “The place is a mess, but I know where everything is. Sit. Do you want coffee?”

Ana had stowed her empty travel mug in her bag. “No, thank you.”

Alejandro shook his head and pulled his chair closer to Elena’s desk. “If you work with Ana’s agent, do you have many criminal cases?”

“I do contracts mainly, but I know how to scare off the police. Now that nobody is listening, who do you think really killed Jaime Campos?”

Ana pulled her notebook from her bag and first noted the time they’d arrived. “I’ve no real clue. Maybe it was something personal, or he could have photographed something he shouldn’t have, or have been blackmailing someone. We also wondered if he might have had a dark side, done porn photos and got involved with the wrong crowd.”

Elena raised her hand. “Don’t blame anything on the porn industry. It’s a headless beast with a thousand waving arms. It’s a good thought, however. The police must have searched his studio and computers for leads.”

“What if he had a second studio?” Alejandro asked.

Ana’s expression brightened. “Of course, he’d have had another studio to keep the porn crowd out of his regular business address. Where would that be likely to be? Down at the docks?”

Elena stood up and opened her door. “Begin writing a screenplay, but don’t go knocking on doors looking for a porn studio. You’d never get out if you actually found one.”

Alejandro stood and offered Ana his hand to rise. “Is there anything else we can do to discourage the police?”

“More than a lawsuit? No, not now. As for the tabloid that published the offensive photo, you don’t want to waste your money suing them. It would just give them a reason to republish the photo.”

“I’ve lost one job since it was published, and if I lose more, that’s a good cause for a lawsuit, isn’t it?”

“Let’s concentrate on the police for now,” Elena insisted. She walked them out to the office entrance. “Let’s keep in touch.”

Ana wasn’t sure what that meant, and she took a firm grip on Alejandro’s hand as they walked away. He sounded so sure of himself, while she feared being a suspect would end her career long before Jaime Campos’s murder was solved.

Chapter Eight

Alejandro drove them to the docks where the
Mediterranean Goddess
was moored. “She sails at the end of the week, and her sister ship, the
Mediterranean Siren
, will come into port. Going on board ought to take your mind off the rest of the morning. There are several pools, so we could swim. My father reserves a cabin in case he decides to go on the cruise. There are swimsuits, whatever you need there.”

The ship was painted a near-blinding white and sparkled in the morning sun. Ana raised her hand to shade her eyes and craned her neck to look up. “How many of these magnificent vessels does your family own?”

“There are a half-dozen of the cruise ships, more tanker ships, but I’ve lost count.” He held her hand as they walked up the gangplank. The man guarding the gate at the top recognized him.

“Mr. Vasquez, welcome aboard.”

Alejandro greeted him by name and pulled Ana close. “We won’t be on board long.”

“Stay and sail with us.”

“Another time,” Alejandro replied. He led Ana along beside him. “People board and take the elevators to their deck. Want to see the bridge?”

“I’d love to,” she answered. “How do your passengers keep from getting lost?”

“Stewards offer directions, but I used to get lost all the time when I worked as a steward. Eventually I caught on. The bridge has the best view, and I’d come up here whenever I could at night.”

While he wouldn’t admit it, she saw the pride in his gaze. “Were the other stewards allowed such easy access to the bridge?”

He pulled her close for a hasty kiss. “No, but I was supposed to become familiar with everything, so I had special privileges. I wasn’t cocky about it.”

When they reached the bridge, a navigator smartly dressed in a white officer’s uniform welcomed them. Alejandro introduced him to Ana, and the officer’s smile grew wide.

“I saw you when you were here last week. I bought my wife a red bikini on the way home.”

“I’m pleased our ad was so effective,” Ana replied. She saw Alejandro wince, as though he’d rather forget the day. She hoped he regretted his own behavior rather than her posing in a bikini with Gian Carlo.

“Let me give you a quick tour,” the navigator offered. “We have the same electronic navigational equipment as the largest naval vessels. We track our route, other ships nearby, follow weather forecasts and monitor all the technical systems on board.”

The bridge was lined with computer screens and banks of controls. Ana wondered how anyone kept track of it all. When Alejandro hugged her shoulders, she rubbed her cheek along his hand. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Alejandro found his father’s suite without taking a single wrong turn. The glass doors to the balcony flooded the plush cabin with light. It was as beautifully decorated as a suite in a five-star hotel, and the bed was wide and inviting.

He followed her glance. “We don’t have to swim if you’d rather not.”

His thoughts were easily read in his relaxed smile, but her second experience with the detectives hadn’t left her in a loving mood. “I love to swim. Where are the suits?”

He opened a narrow closet. “Here you are. There’s no red bikini, but there are other choices.” He grabbed a pair of baggy board shorts for himself.

Ana found a black one-piece suit and went into the bathroom to pull it on. “Are all the cabins this beautiful?” she asked through the partially open door.

“This is one of the deluxe cabins. Many Barcelona apartments aren’t this large.” When she came out carrying her folded clothes, he gave her a slow, appreciative glance. “That’s almost better than the red bikini, but I don’t know why.”

She gave a saucy turn. “It leaves more to your imagination.” She found a cap on the closet shelf and pushed her hair up into it.

It was a mild day, the pool heated and Ana swam laps with an easy stroke. She rolled over on her back, and Alejandro swam up beside her. The water felt like liquid silk against her skin, and she fluttered her hands to move closer to him. “I got up too early this morning to challenge you to a race. I’ll add it to our list of things to do.”

He whipped his wet hair out of his eyes, and water beaded on his eyelashes. He treaded water beside her. “Do you really think you could win?”

“I do. When I travel for jobs, I swim at the hotel if there’s time. It’s easier than bringing along my ballet slippers and searching for a parquet floor.”

“I’ve never brought anyone else on board one of our cruise ships, but we’ll come back and swim again. I think the
Mediterranean Siren
docks next week. Right now, I’m too hungry to race. We didn’t have time for breakfast. Aren’t you hungry?”

She dropped her legs to tread water. “When do you have a class? You shouldn’t be late.”

He gave her a watery kiss. “We have to eat, and I have an hour.” He swam to the end of the pool, pulled himself out and used the pool phone to call the kitchen to request whatever they were serving the crew.

Ana regarded him with a slow smile. He didn’t have an ounce of fat, and every muscle was firm and taut. He’d make a great menswear model. “Have you ever thought of modeling?” She swam to the steps and climbed out. She pulled off her cap and shook out her hair.

“I told you I can’t stand still.” He picked up a thick white towel and dried her off with gentle pats. “Although, if I could work with you, I might be able to manage it.”

She’d brought her purse out on the deck and heard her phone. “Do you mind if I check this?”

He dried his hair with a couple of rough swipes of a fresh towel. “Go ahead.”

“It’s Gian Carlo. Whatever could he want?”

He pulled a deck chair close for her. “Answer and ask.”

She slid into the chair and cocked her head to listen and then covered her cell phone. “He says he has something he has to tell me in person. Do you mind if he comes here, or should I have him meet me at home later?”

That was an easy choice. “Have him come here.”

“He’s only ten minutes away. We can shower and be dressed before he arrives. I’ll go first.”

She quickly ended the call, and he caught her fingers as she moved by. “Fine, because if we shower together, ten minutes won’t be nearly enough time. Put showering together on the list.” He wrapped the towel low on his hips and moved to the rail to wait for Gian Carlo. When he saw the red MG drive up, he recognized the blond man. He waved to the guard and went down to meet him.

“Have the police been after you too?” he asked the model.

“No, but that’s not the problem.” Gian Carlo wore khaki slacks, a black polo shirt and Italian sandals. As they entered the elevator, he eyed Alejandro’s hairy chest. “Going with the natural look?”

Alejandro hadn’t given it a thought. “I’ve got better things to do than shave my chest.”

“Have it waxed. It lasts a lot longer.” He strolled out on the poolside deck. Ana was waiting for them in her prim skirt and blouse. A steward placed a tray of sandwiches on the table beside her, along with beer and lemonade. “I didn’t expect lunch. This is great.” He reached for a sandwich and took a bite before he sat down beside Ana.

Alejandro thanked the steward and dismissed him. “We don’t have much time. Tell us why you called.” He took the chair on Ana’s right.

Gian Carlo looked highly amused. “Us? You two didn’t look like a couple last week.” He reached for one of the excellent German beers.

Ana raised a brow, forcing Alejandro to answer. He didn’t lie. “That was my mistake.”

Gian Carlo leaned back, crossed his ankles and looked out over the pool. “We ought to let women rule the world. Men just screw up everything. I wish my dad owned a cruise ship. This is a great place for a party.”

“Gian Carlo,” Ana urged, “couldn’t you have sent me a text?”

Chastened, he straightened up. “This is too important to trust to flying thumbs, and I wanted to talk to you before Jaime’s memorial service.”

Ana shot Alejandro a wary glance. “What memorial service?” she asked.

“Galen Salazar is having it at his home on Saturday afternoon. Didn’t he invite you?”

Ana rested her cool glass of lemonade against her cheek. “Galen and I aren’t on the best of terms.”

Gian Carlo finished the last bite of his sandwich and wiped his hands on a napkin. “I thought he really liked you.What happened?”

“I’d like to hear it too,” Alejandro added, curiosity lighting his gaze.

She told them. “He didn’t seem terribly disappointed when I wasn’t interested in working with him exclusively, or lengthening my stay on Mallorca, but maybe he thought it would be awkward to have me there with his wife.”

Alejandro moved forward in his chair. “Does this happen often?”

“With designers, no. With ad execs, and photographers, sometimes. I always say no, and it hasn’t hurt my career. Let’s not digress. What was it you wanted to talk to me about before the memorial?”

Gian Carlo took a swig of beer. “You know Robert Mapplethorpe?”

“Of course,” Ana answered, but she doubted Alejandro would have heard of him. “Mapplethorpe was an American photographer who did striking black-and-white photos, mainly of flowers and nudes. He died of AIDS in the late 1980s.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Alejandro replied. “Spain isn’t at the end of the world.”

Gian Carlo continued. “Jaime pointed out Mapplethorpe hasn’t been around in more than twenty years, and he thought there would still be a big market for black-and-white photos of male nudes. He offered a percentage of the profits if I’d be one of the models. I’ve got the body for it, but it didn’t feel right.”

“Could you be more specific?” Alejandro requested.

“I asked if a gallery had an interest in a show of male nudes, or if he had a publisher ready to print the book. He told me not to worry because there was plenty of money behind the project, and he’d take care of everything. Anytime someone tells you not to worry, you know you’re being screwed. I told him I’d think it over, but I wasn’t going to do it. Sometimes even good money isn’t worth earning.”