Fierce Passion (45 page)

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.

“Montoya wants to see us. Apparently there’re some complications we didn’t anticipate. Do you have time to come with me?”

“Yes, I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

He looked preoccupied when he came to the condo door, but he swept her with an appreciate glance and broke into a cocky grin. “That’s just not fair.”

She’d put on a short yellow dress with lime-green trim and a matching green jacket and looked down to see if something were wrong. “What do you mean?”

He helped her into his SUV, got in and just stared at her. “You look even more beautiful than usual. Did you just come in from a job?”

“No, I was at a spa. Maybe I’ll go again on Monday if it dazzles you.”

“You always dazzle me. I don’t know what Montoya wants, but it didn’t sound good, and I don’t want to imagine what it might be.”

She’d known he couldn’t stay angry with her and apologized as soon as she’d buckled her seat belt. “You were right yesterday. My plan was foolish. While it may have succeeded in some respects, I shouldn’t have risked meeting Lamoreaux when there was no way to accurately predict how he’d react.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “You’re forgiven, but I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with you. I hadn’t told you how René Charles was caught, and that was a major part of the problem.”

She leaned against her window to search his expression. He’d grown so serious it frightened her. “Tell me now.”

He gave her as brief an explanation as he’d written in his statement. “I’d wanted to lure Charles out so Montoya could arrest him, not fight him hand to hand. I was certain your plan could prove equally dangerous, and it did. I was mad at myself for not stopping you when you first thought of it.”

“We really need to tell each other the truth, whether it’s scary or not.”

“I’ve nothing less to confess. Do you?”

She gave her lips a suggestive lick. “Give me a while to think, and maybe I can come up with something.”

He caressed her cheek gently. “If it’s forgotten, let it go.”

Montoya met them at the front desk and escorted them to his office. Once they were seated, he leaned back in his chair. “While you’re here, Miss Santillan, you can give us your statement. Unfortunately, René Charles wasn’t fazed when he learned Lamoreaux had been arrested. It had been my hope he’d negotiate with whatever information he had about the man, but he’s sticking to his original story, although now he blames steroids for causing the murderous rage that cost Campos his life.

“As for Lamoreaux, he claims he contacted Mr. Campos because he admired his fashion photography and hoped Jaime could convince you to pose in a collection of nudes. When Jaime told him you wouldn’t even discuss being photographed in the nude, he says he had to be satisfied with hiring you for ads for his shoes. He was very pleased with them, by the way. He spent some time praising your beauty before I could convince him to focus on yesterday afternoon.”

Ana sat forward. “Are you saying there’s no way to tie Lamoreaux to Jaime’s death if René Charles won’t give you one?”

Montoya responded with a helpless shrug. “René says he’d worked as Lamoreaux’s chauffeur when the designer was in Barcelona. He told us Lamoreaux owns a popular French BD/SM magazine; he models sometimes, and that’s how they met.”

“I’ll bet Lamoreaux doesn’t brag about that,” Alejandro interjected.

Ana touched his knee. “He wouldn’t dare, or it would ruin his reputation in high fashion.”

Montoya nodded. “I’m also wondering what he would have done with the photos had you posed in the nude. He would probably have made the most of them. He might even have thought he could force you into a relationship with the promise he’d not publish them in his magazine.”

“Now I feel sick,” Ana said, growing pale. “Jaime talked about tasteful art photography. Lamoreaux had the audacity to ask me if I’d take over the project, but I refused.”

“You were wise to avoid it,” the lieutenant replied. “He’s hired a well-known attorney and quickly posted bail. Even if he did use René for muscle, I doubt he’ll come after you on his own.”

“But you’re not sure,” Alejandro stated. He reached for Ana’s hand and gave her fingers a loving squeeze.

“No one can be sure of anything, Mr. Vasquez. Lamoreaux presents himself as a responsible businessman who occasionally employed René Charles, and René’s the one who confessed to murder. Lamoreaux does admit to being overly fond of you, Ana, and he believes you simply misunderstood what he describes as a gracious invitation to visit his Paris home.”

Ana gasped. “You don’t mean it?”

“I do,” Montoya insisted. “He says you accepted gifts from him. Flowers, candy and kittens would be seen as romantic. You willingly posed in ads for his shoes and left his apartment on your last visit wearing a new diamond bangle bracelet. You invited him to meet you, reacted badly to his so-called invitation to visit Paris, overturned the table and broke his foot. Surely you can imagine how a skilled defense attorney could twist your testimony into a flirtation you’d encouraged until it ended badly. He appreciates your passionate nature, and while a broken foot is a great inconvenience, he asked me to assure you he’ll not press charges.”

“How generous of him. Does he still have his gun?” Alejandro asked.

“No, and he should behave well to ensure his chances of avoiding prosecution.”

“Should?”

“I can’t read minds, but his attorney has a high success rate with his clients. If we consider how your testimony would be twisted, Miss Santillan, all we can charge him with is lacking a permit for a handgun. That won’t require a trial.”

Alejandro nearly snorted. “So he’ll continue designing women’s shoes?”

“Probably. Scandal is always good for business. Now if you’ll write your interpretation of your conversation with Lamoreaux yesterday, we’ll be finished.”

Ana took the clipboard, but she was so angry she could barely hold a pen. “I remember it word for word.” She printed to make certain it was legible, then signed and dated the form. She laid the clipboard on his desk. “I should have worn a wire.”

Montoya laughed. “He would never have admitted to having anything to do with Jaime’s murder.”

“I’m not so sure,” Ana argued. “Is that all for today?”

“Yes.” The lieutenant rose and escorted them through the station. “If we meet again, I hope it will be under better circumstances.”

A fake smile flitted across Ana’s lips. “So do I.” She moved as quickly as she could on crutches and didn’t draw a deep breath until they were seated in Alejandro’s SUV.

“The paparazzi in Paris are even more rabid than they are here,” she mused aloud. “If one were to learn Lamoreaux published porn, or however his magazines can be described, the clientele for his elegant heels might shrink dramatically.”

“That’s almost too good, Ana.” Alejandro kept his eyes on the road, but his smile grew wide. “You wouldn’t want anyone to tie you to the information, so a phone call is out. An unsigned letter to a tabloid editor couldn’t be traced.”

“True, and I can’t think of any reason not to do it.”

“We did pose for his ads,” he reminded her.

“So what? If he’s out of business, he’ll have no reason to use them.”

“Montoya is probably right and scandal would boost his business rather than destroy it, so let’s think about it. I need to stop by my loft. Come in with me.”

He hugged her close as the elevator rose. “I want to show you something new.”

“More little houses?”

He unlocked his door and escorted her in. The worktable was a messy pile of scraps, but a beautiful model of a two-story Mediterranean-style home sat on his display table. Painted white with a red-tile roof, arched windows, balconies and a courtyard, it was as pretty a house as she’d ever seen. Behind the house, he’d made a sturdy tree out of gathered sticks, and placed a tree house in the branches.

“I love the tree house!” she exclaimed. “I’m surprised, though. I thought you were concentrating on the Ortiz Lines. When did you have time to do this?”

“I made the time. I want to build a home for us where we’ll have plenty of room, and can even avoid each other if we need to. If you don’t like this one, I’ll design something else.”

Touched, she braced herself against the table. “It’s a lovely house, Alejandro. It’s poetry in three dimensions, don’t you think?”

He stepped close. “Are you giving me a star for the poetry element?”

“Yes, I am.” His kiss was tender and light, sweet, when she longed for passion.

“Good. I’ve found another American comedy that’s supposed to be even funnier than the last one we saw. Let’s go today rather than wait for tomorrow. I’ve found a new place for dinner.”

He appeared to be checking off a list and might propose under the moonlight, but her heart ached for so much more. “Could we stay here a little longer?”

“Of course. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She focused on the beautifully constructed model and searched for the right words while unshed tears formed a painful knot in her throat. “I appreciate everything you do, but you don’t love me, Alejandro, and some day you’ll meet a woman who’ll speak to your heart, and it won’t matter how many delicious dinners we’ve shared or where we live. You’ll choose her, and you’ll feel less guilty then if we don’t marry now.”