Fierce Pride (30 page)

Libby sat back. When Santos turned to grin at her, she continued their earlier conversation. “Carlotta is very attractive, but when she spoke to us in her sons’ bedroom, she was an entirely different person.”

“She let us see her true self. Forget her, and don’t tell Rafael we’ve met her. If she were plotting anything, her husband would know. He’d not allow her to jeopardize his business interests to satisfy her petty concerns.”

“Killing you isn’t in the category of petty concerns.”

“To Ortiz, it might be.”

Golondrinas, named for swallows, were double-decked boats designed for sightseeing around the harbor. Santos was immediately recognized and welcomed on the next boat boarding. They had to take seats on the lower deck, but it was as comfortable as the upper deck and provided more shade. Surrounded by tourists who had no idea who they were other than a handsome couple, Libby allowed herself to relax.

“Thank you, I needed to get away from the house too,” Libby told him.

“What do you mean? I can’t get you to stay in it.” He slid his arm around her shoulders. “If you like, we’ll just stay on board when they return to the docks to let off these passengers and pick up more.”

“That would be so nice.” She liked being a tourist and having no cares as they explored the harbor. “Do you often bring girlfriends here?”

“I prefer to take them sky diving, but…”

Shocked, she sat up. “Sky diving? Are you serious?”

“I’m teasing you. You’re the only girl I’ve brought here since the twins were little, and I took them on outings. Fox wouldn’t appreciate this now.”

She relaxed against him. “It’s all about the company. He’d enjoy a boat ride with Patricia.”

He pulled her closer. “I agree.”

They stopped by Juan Martinez’s office on the way home, and Libby was relieved to find his secretary, Sylvia, was a buxom woman of indeterminate age, no competition at all. Sylvia greeted Santos with an ecstatic squeal, then frowned apologetically as she handed him a folder with the latest fan mail.

They entered Juan’s outer office to read it. Libby saw the drawing before Santos could hide it. This time, the hostile artist had torn a jagged hole in the chest where Santos’s heart would be. The angular handwriting slid off the page. “What does he say this time?”

“Your time to die,” Santos translated for her. He checked the envelope. “This was mailed on Saturday, so he must have thought he’d succeed last night.”

“You’ll have to send it to Nuñez tomorrow.”

“I will, I told him I would last night.” He scanned the e-mails Sylvia had printed out and translated a few of the more humorous ones for Libby.”

“What happened to the woman who wants tighter pants?’

“She’s given up, apparently, or switched her affections to someone new. That’s the problem with being forced to take time off. Fans are a fickle lot and will forget me.”

“Not your true fans,” Sylvia swore. “They’ll love you forever.”

“Wait a minute, why were the police at your home last night?” Juan asked. “Did you have more trouble?”

Santos gave him a brief summary, and adoring him, Sylvia burst into tears and collapsed in the chair at her desk. “What if they can’t catch who’s doing these awful things?”

“They’ll catch them,” Juan insisted.

“Soon,” Santos added. “Is there anything more?”

Sylvia handed him another envelope. “This was in this morning’s mail. It’s a torn-up photo from one of tabloids. I didn’t know if you’d want me to put it together like a puzzle, or if you’d want to do it.”

“Do you have some glue?” Libby asked.

Sylvia handed her a clean sheet of paper and took a bottle of glue from her desk’s bottom drawer. “I’ve always loved puzzles, but not this one.”

Libby sorted the pieces quickly. “The scissor-cut edges face the outside.” She and Santos played with the pieces. He recognized it before she did, and, with a quick shuffle, the photo became clear.

“It’s from lunch yesterday,” he said. “Whoever sent this left the caption. Apparently I’m now dating a popular Swedish model.”

“The people from the ad agency knew my name, and you introduced the reporter at the restaurant, but while my last name is Swedish, no one would mistake me for a model, let alone a popular one.”

“That’s how you looked yesterday,” he reminded her. “This must have been in one of the evening editions and put in the mail last night. There’s no threat enclosed. So maybe it’s from someone who’d like to date me.”

Libby wondered if Ana had followed them and hidden in the restaurant’s decorative foliage to photograph them. The reporter might have taken it when he returned to his table. Anyone in the restaurant could have taken the picture, but the mention of Sweden bothered her. “Someone who heard my name sold this to a tabloid. That shortens the list of suspects.”

“I’ll send it to the detective with the drawing.”

Santos thanked Sylvia for saving the mail, and they were back on the way home in less than thirty minutes.

They came through the front door together. “Do you mind if I rest before dinner?” Libby asked.

“No, I’ll be in the den.” Santos leaned down to kiss her check.

Libby walked up the stairs slowly. She hadn’t liked seeing herself in a tabloid photo and felt sorry for Santos, who had to tolerate their tacky view of his life. She loved having a room with a balcony but was now afraid to step out on it. She moved to her bed and checked her phone. It would be midmorning in Minneapolis, and her father would be at work, so it was too early to call home.

She could call Maggie, though. The impulse struck before she’d thought of what to say, and Maggie answered before anything more than a warm hello came to mind. “How’s the honeymoon going? I’m sorry. That’s a silly question, isn’t it? Where are you, is it still a secret?”

“We’re fine, and we’re dancing with Gypsies in Granada. I love Spain more every day.”

Libby rubbed her hand over her forehead. “I need to get a map. Where is Granada?”

“It’s in southern Spain but not too far from the sea. It has a fabulous history, but you didn’t call me for a geography lesson. What’s happening there?”

Libby bit her lip. If she told her sister the truth, Maggie and Rafael would rush home immediately, and she didn’t want to ruin their honeymoon. “Santos took me along for the photo shoot for the cologne ads, and I ended up in some of the pictures. I’m hoping they’ll use the ones of him alone.”

“Why? You photograph beautifully, and you’d have an international credit as a model.”

“Please. One shoot was enough. I just called to stay in touch.”

“What aren’t you telling me? Has anything else happened to Santos?”

“God forbid,” Libby replied, revealing absolutely nothing. “Tell Rafael hello. We’ll have to have a party when you come home.”

“Libby, please be careful with Santos. Don’t hope for anything more than a good time this summer.”

“I’m extraordinarily careful,” Libby promised and said good-bye. It had been comforting to hear her sister’s voice, but when it came to Santos, she’d thrown caution to the wind. She reminded him often of how soon she’d be leaving so she wouldn’t forget it herself. She wouldn’t want to leave him, but it would save her the horrible embarrassment of forcing him to tell her to go.

She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, and hours later, Santos knocked on her door. “Are you too tired to come downstairs for dinner?”

She shoved her hair out of her eyes. “What time is it?” She grabbed her travel clock and couldn’t believe her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just meant to rest only a minute.”

“Long naps are fine,” he said from her doorway. “We don’t have a time clock here.”

She loved his quirky smile and everything else about him she wouldn’t admit even to herself. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he’d changed his clothes. “I’m afraid I smell like the port. Give me a minute to take a shower.”

“Take as long as you need.”

He was so thoughtful, but she’d seen how implacable he could be with Ana Santillan. As he turned away, she called to him. “I should have asked you to tell me if I’m behaving like a squirrel-headed twit, if I ever do.”

“I doubt it’s possible, but it’s only fair.”

“We need to be fair, don’t we?”

“Libby, what’s wrong? I wish you hadn’t seen the latest drawing. Try and forget it.”

“That you have one or more murderous fans isn’t easy to forget.”

“Just because you can’t see flames shooting out of the top of my head doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

She rolled off the side of the bed and went to him. “We’ve got the makings for a complex thriller, but I wish we knew the ending.”

“Don’t thrillers always end the same way? The bad guys die a violent death, which is what they deserve.” He slid a fingertip along her cheek. “This sounds like my argument. Have you decided you want to go home?”

She reached up to kiss him. “Not before I have to, but there has to be something we’re not seeing.”

“We don’t have to know why someone wants to kill me to stop him. Maybe the police have already arrested Victoria and her boyfriend.”

“Wouldn’t they have called you if they had?”

“I don’t know. I’ll call them in the morning.” He kissed her forehead. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

“I will.” She closed her door and leaned against it, but her scattered thoughts swirled around her mind like tipsy butterflies.

She wore the lime-green outfit to dinner. Although the expansive dining room made everything feel so proper, she couldn’t forget the use they’d made of the long table. “I need to buy some new clothes. I can walk down the beach to the shop I like. Maybe the clerk has heard from Victoria. Should I have Manuel go with me? He could stay outside. I wouldn’t expect him to sit in the fitting room and comment on my choices.”

Santos took a sip of wine. “I’ll go with you tomorrow when I get back from the doctor. Manuel can drive us to the front entrance, and I’ll come in. If Victoria comes by the shop now and then, one of her friends will be sure to tell her I was there.”

“What a clever idea. We can laugh and talk about clothes and make it look as though a fire and gunshots don’t bother us at all.”

“I promise to pay you only compliments. Whatever you wish to wear will be fine with me. If you’d like, I’ll give you money before we leave, so it will look as though you’re paying for your purchases.”

“Absolutely not. You’re already paying me an exaggerated sum, and I won’t take another penny more. I’m not your mistress.” He raised a brow, and she shook her head. “A personal trainer is not a sex worker.”

He reached for her hand. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

She leaned toward him. “I’m not insulted. Can you get me one of the posters the Ortiz boys had?”

“I have some in my closet. I’ll give you your choice, or you can have one of each, and I’ll sign them all so they’ll be worth more fifty years from now.”

“You’re expecting me to keep them?” She licked her lips. “I might.”

“You will. Do you want to watch a video tonight? I have Almodovar’s
Live Flesh
. It’s in Spanish with English subtitles, but you can easily follow the action. It has everything—love, jealousy and revenge.”

“How about murder?”

“Yes, there’s murder too.”

“I can’t wait.” She finished her dinner slowly, which she constantly had to remind herself to do, and then played with the peach tart served for dessert. Santos moaned when she licked the whipped cream from her lips. “I really want to see the movie. It will be a real treat to see someone who’s in more trouble than we are.”

“That’s exactly why I chose it.”

Libby became so involved in the film, she didn’t take her eyes off the wide screen when Santos turned down the sound to answer his phone. As usual, all the good conversations were in Spanish she couldn’t follow, but he didn’t interrupt the film to explain the call.

“You were right,” she said when the credits began to roll. “That was a great story with all sorts of unexpected twists and turns. We should be keeping notes for a screenplay ourselves.”

“Begin tomorrow while I’m at the doctor’s. That was Juan. One of the most prestigious of the Spanish publishers is offering me an impressive advance for a book about my father. He got the call after we’d left his office and wanted to work out the initial details before he talked to me.”

She was amazed at the way lucrative opportunities fell into his lap. She knew him as an appealing man, and he didn’t seem particularly impressed with his fame, but it was still a large part of his life. “You must know a side of your father his fans didn’t see. Are you going to do it?”

He frowned as he considered it. “I don’t know. I told you there was a darkness to the Aragon family, and there are things I’d rather not remember. Unless I’m honest, though, there would be no point in doing it. I can already hear Cirilda screaming. She’ll be deeply insulted she wasn’t asked to be part of it and insist upon a share in the royalties anyway.”