Fierce Pride (7 page)

Juan Martinez, Santos’s agent, rushed into the infirmary. He was of medium height with a hefty build and wiped perspiration from his brow with a monogrammed silk handkerchief. “How badly is he hurt?”

“I’m not unconscious,” Santos answered. “Bad enough, but you needn’t begin a prayer vigil.”

“Thank God,” Juan replied. “Here, let me take his suit.”

Libby willingly handed over the heavy garments. She would have introduced herself, but Juan clearly saw only the beautiful suit of lights and ignored her. She looked up at Rafael, whose furrowed brow made his opinion of the agent easy to grasp.

Juan folded the suit into a compact bundle and stuffed Santos’s socks into his pockets. “El Gitano!” he exclaimed. “Forgive me, I didn’t recognize you when I came in. Let me give you my card. If Santos’s injuries prevent him from fulfilling his contracts, I will be happy to arrange for you to substitute for him.”

Rafael fixed the man with a steely-eyed glare. “I’ve retired.”

“You can’t mean that. With a smart agent managing your career, you could fight for years. Why would you give up such a lucrative opportunity?”

“Someone tried to kill me,” Santos shouted. Propped on his elbows, his expression fierce, he looked eager for a fight. “Has everyone forgotten that? Did you see who held the mirror, Juan?”

“No, I saw you freeze for a moment but didn’t understand why.”

Libby moved closer to the exam table. She’d admired Santos’s lean, muscular build in clothes and was relieved when the doctor covered him with a blanket before she could be caught eyeing him at such an inappropriate moment. “Security was already on it when we left the stands. Lots of people must have seen the reflection.”

Santos opened his mouth to swear again and caught himself. “I’m sorry. This isn’t what I wanted you to see.”

“I saw more than enough to see how fine you are.” Before she could step away, Santos curved his hand around her neck to pull her close for a hot, fast kiss. Unlike his tender kisses Friday night, the jolt weakened her knees. She grabbed hold of the exam table to remain standing.

“For luck,” he whispered.

The paramedics entered and slid him onto their stretcher before she found her voice, but when she turned, Rafael and Juan Martinez were regarding her with decidedly skeptical expressions.

“For luck,” she repeated, “which clearly he needs. Now do we try and catch whoever held the mirror or follow Santos to the hospital?”

“We’ll go to the hospital,” Rafael replied. “Mr. Martinez, find out what security knows. This can’t happen again.”

“Of course not,” Juan vowed. He juggled Santos’s clothing as he left the infirmary. The helpful banderilleros trotted along beside him.

Rafael pushed open the door of the emergency room. “I’ve been here too many times lately. I’ll call Maggie after we know what’s happening. I won’t frighten her needlessly.”

Libby took a seat while Rafael went up to the desk. He introduced himself as Santos’s brother-in-law and followed a nurse into a treatment room. There were only a few people waiting to be seen, and all turned to stare at Libby. She smiled, and they quickly looked away. The magazines were in Spanish, but she picked up one splattered with photos and found Rafael and Maggie on page three. They were dancing in a dimly lit cafe and were such a handsome couple she was tempted to tear out the page.

Nearly an hour passed before Rafael reappeared. He turned his back to those seated nearby so they couldn’t overhear. “Santos twisted his leg when he fell and tore his ACL. The surgeon wanted an MRI to access the damage and has scheduled surgery for tonight. There’s no reason for us to stay. I called Maggie, and she’s waiting for us at home.”

“Could I see Santos before we go?”

“No, let him rest. We’ll come back in the morning.”

They were halfway home before Libby realized she was still clutching the magazine with the photo. “I didn’t mean to take this, but there’s a good picture of you and Maggie in it.”

“Return it in the morning.”

“I will,” she replied, after she’d removed the page. She was doing a pitiful job of breaking them up, and the stunning photo was a vivid reminder of why she ought not to try.

Maggie greeted them at the front door. “Rafael told me Santos wasn’t badly hurt, is it true?”

Her face was pale against her dark hair, and Libby took her arm to guide her into the den. “Yes. It’s amazing we can walk upright when our knees are so easily injured. I’m sorry you were worried. Well, of course, you’d be worried, but the surgery is a routine one and not dangerous.”

Rafael leaned against the arched doorway. “I would have had Manuel bring you to the hospital if Santos had been gravely injured. Do you think I’d lie to you?”

“No, never, but you might soften things a bit.”

He shrugged. “I might. Someone flashed a mirror to blind Santos. That’s the truth that’s difficult to accept. The arena was full of fans shouting his name, but someone wanted him dead and tried to use a bull as a weapon.”

Maggie sank onto the sofa. “Where was Ana Santillan?”

“She was a few rows above us,” Libby explained. “So she didn’t do it, unless she had an accomplice. How many women could be mad enough at Santos to hope he’d be gored?”

“I only know his reputation,” Rafael offered. “Ana was his last girlfriend, but there could have been a dozen others before her, maybe more.”

Libby schooled her features rather than look shocked. So, all she’d ever be was the American girl he’d dated one summer. She could see it all so clearly, and yet the possibility teased her senses in the most shameful way.

“We could search the tabloid archives,” Maggie suggested. “Maybe they’re online.”

Mrs. Lopez came to the doorway, and Rafael stepped aside. She was a petite woman, dressed in black, and wore her usual severe expression. “Should I assume there will be three for dinner?”

“Yes,” Libby answered. The housekeeper waited, clearly expecting someone with more authority to respond.

“Three, thank you,” Maggie said. She waited until the housekeeper had crossed the entryway headed for the kitchen before she whispered, “If we were going to live here, I’d provide her with a generous retirement bonus and send her on her way.”

“She belongs in a Gothic novel,” Libby added, thinking the whole house did. “Santos must have a very soft heart to keep her here.”

Maggie nodded. “He does, except when it comes to the women he dates. Now let’s see if we can find one who feels badly enough to want him dead.” She got up to open the laptop on the desk and pulled up the chair.

“There were a couple dozen people protesting at the arena,” Rafael interjected. “It’s more likely one of them wanted to cause a bloody tragedy to further their cause.”

“Their group should be online too,” Libby said. “We need some paper to list all the suspects.”

Maggie caught Rafael’s eye. “Have you received any threats?”

“No, but Santos might have. Let’s ask him tomorrow.”

“First we’ll have to ask how he’s feeling,” Maggie replied. “I don’t want him to believe we’re more concerned with solving the mirror mystery than we are with him.”

Libby pulled open a desk drawer to search for paper. “Remind me of that in the morning.”

“I will,” Rafael promised. “I’m going to get a beer from the kitchen. May I bring anything for you two?”

“Iced tea,” Maggie asked.

“Bring me a beer too,” Libby replied.

The early morning routine of the hospital woke Santos from a fitful sleep before dawn. His knee was wrapped to the size of a frozen turkey. His hip ached where the bull had brushed by him, but he wasn’t curious enough to turn on the light over the bed to check for bruises. Thoroughly miserable to be trapped on his back like an overturned turtle, his only distraction was the clatter out in the hall. Nurses walked with a quick step, while doctors strode by at a slower pace.

He’d been in and out of emergency rooms more times than he could count, but this was the first time he’d been stuck in a hospital bed. A nurse came in to check his vital signs, and he murmured an unenthusiastic greeting.

“Good morning,” she replied. “I’m sorry I woke you so often during the night. How are you feeling? Do you need something more for pain?”

She was cute, with short curly hair, and his mood improved, but only slightly. “No, it isn’t bad, but this ruins my plans to take up flamenco.”

She giggled. “Do you have a partner?”

“I hadn’t thought that far.”

“If I bring you paper, will you sign an autograph for my nephew? He has a poster of you in his bedroom.”

“I’ll be glad to. I hope he wasn’t at the arena yesterday.”

“No, I don’t believe he was, but any matador can trip and fall.”

Santos gritted his teeth. “Is that the report, that I tripped?”

She made a note of his blood pressure and took his wrist to check his pulse. “That’s what I heard. Isn’t it true?”

“No, it isn’t.” He supposed that was how it might have looked to anyone who hadn’t seen the blinding mirror flash, but he’d straighten out the story as soon as he could.

A search for Santos’s name in tabloid archives had yielded a list of women’s names, but Libby didn’t want him to believe she’d snooped through his love life merely to satisfy her own curiosity. She left the paper in her purse when she followed Maggie into his room. With the blinds open, it was a bright sunny room, but against a day’s growth of beard, he looked pale. He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual high-voltage grin.

His right knee was heavily bandaged, and Maggie walked around the other side of the bed to kiss his cheek. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“It hurts, but I can take it. I want to get out of here, but the doctor says I’ll have to stay until tomorrow. Would you please go down to the gift shop and buy a paper? I want to read the comments on yesterday.”

Libby stepped toward the door. “I’ll go.” She’d already dropped off the magazine she’d not meant to take and had seen the gift shop on their way in. The first paper she picked up had Santos’s photo on the front page. To her absolute astonishment, the second had Santos’s photo plus the one Ana Santillan had taken of her as she turned back toward Rafael. They were shown in profile facing each other and it looked as though they were exchanging some delicious secret. She quickly paid for the papers and rushed back upstairs.

“Here you are. Both papers have you on the front page. What does it say about Rafael and me in this one?”

Maggie quickly read the description of the photo. “It seems Rafael has left me for an ‘unidentified woman’.”

“Where is Rafael? Don’t tell him I asked for him, though,” Santos cautioned.

“Of course not,” Maggie promised. “He went to the police station to see how they’re following up on what the arena security might have found. He believes one of the protestors was behind this. Apparently when any matador is injured, more people are drawn to the anti-bullfighting cause.”

“He’s right,” Santos agreed, “But I’d rather not die to feed their propaganda.” He noted Libby’s preoccupied frown. “What do you think?”

She moved the visitor’s chair closer to his bed. “Two matadors had already fought without any threats from the crowd. It makes me wonder if you weren’t targeted for another reason.”

He wrinkled the bed’s top sheet in his fist. “I’m better known than they are. Killing me would make a more forceful statement.”

Libby’s breath caught in her throat. “Yes, I suppose. But has anyone threatened you in an e-mail or letter? Or in phone calls?”

“No. Most of my mail is requests for autographed photos and charities requesting my help with fundraising campaigns.”

“If you have a secretary to answer e-mails, does he or she handle written fan letters too?” Libby asked.

He tried to sit up straighter, winced and sank back down into his pillows. “Yes, Sylvia works out of my agent’s office. You met Juan.”

The agent had barely noticed her in the confusion yesterday, but she nodded. “Would your secretary toss threatening letters rather than trouble you with them?” Santos reached for the glass of water at his bedside, and she handed it to him.

“Thank you. Juan would probably tell her not to keep uncomplimentary letters, and someone has to have a favorite other than me. I’ll have to ask him about it when he comes to visit me today. Now give me the papers.”

Libby looked to Maggie, who’d already read them. “What do they say?”

Maggie handed Santos the newspapers, came around the bed, took Libby’s arm and led her out into the corridor. “One writer mentions unconfirmed reports of a mirror. The other paper discounts any such report and states Santos is too impressed with his own importance to maintain his previous style.”

“But that’s not true!”

“Rafael hasn’t left me for you either, has he?”

“Well, no, but that was just silly. Inaccurate accounts might damage Santos’s career.”

Juan Martinez left the elevator and wobbled toward them with a rolling gait. They stepped aside, and he nodded to them as he entered Santos’s room.