Fierce Pride (29 page)

“Did you go?”

“No, of course not. There were rumors he’d been too friendly with girls in his classes, and I didn’t want my name added to the list. He made the whole semester uncomfortable for me, and as I said, I was trapped in the class.”

“You couldn’t report him to the department head?”

“He
was
the department head. All I’d wanted from the guy I was dating was a few comforting words, some support.”

“Poor guy.”

“You’re on his side?”

“No, not at all. I feel sorry for him because he ruined his chances with you and wouldn’t have understood why.”

“What should I have done, said something like, ‘Look you squirrel-headed twit, when you’re out on a date, listen to what the girl has to say.’ How’s that?”

“Squirrel-headed twit?” He laughed and hugged her tight. “Promise me if you ever consider me a squirrel-headed twit, you’ll tell me why.”

“Yes, sir, I will.” They were so comfortable together, but his breathing slowed long before she fell asleep, and she was so badly frightened sleep promised only nightmares.

Santos hadn’t asked Libby to wear one of her short dresses to see Orlando Ortiz, but she knew looking like harmless arm candy would work to their advantage. When they were shown into the man’s corner office, they had as fine a view of the harbor as they would have had from the bridge of one of his huge cargo ships. She took the chair to Santos’s left, crossed her legs and made no effort to tug her dress down an inch or two. Rafael refused to call Carlotta Ortiz his mother, and they weren’t going to mention her. If Ortiz knew about Rafael, fine. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t hear it from them.

Orland Ortiz’s silvery gray hair enhanced his deep tan, and his dark brows and lashes made his deep brown eyes his most prominent feature. He’d been a handsome young man, and in his fifties, he’d kept his looks and his slim athletic build added to his powerful image. His well-tailored whiskey-brown suit fit him perfectly. His pale blue shirt was custom made and the cuffs monogrammed with his initials. His dark paisley tie and matching handkerchief added a subdued hint of color.

“I was amazed when my secretary said you’d called to make an appointment, Mr. Aragon. My wife is a great fan of yours. She takes our sons to see you whenever possible, and she was horrified when you were injured. How may I help you? Are you interested in investing in one of my firms?”

Sunlight shooting through the expanse of glass at his back gave him a glowing halo. The bright light also made it difficult to meet his gaze, which Libby assumed was his intention. He projected an air of confident strength, and, while his words were welcoming, he sat back in his chair and remained aloof.

Santos had worn a white linen shirt with navy blue shorts and looked as professional as he could at present. He smiled easily, as though this meeting were no more than a casual conversation. “I’m glad you mentioned your wife. I’ve had problems with overzealous fans recently, and someone followed me in an SUV belonging to her.”

Ortiz glanced down at his desk calendar. “When was this?”

“Last Wednesday. I was taking my sister Magdalena’s family to see the Sagrada Familia
cathedral. We were in my Hispano-Suiza, so she may have only wanted to see the car. But I thought I should ask.”

“Of course. We’ve all had to take a greater interest in our own security.” He reached for the phone on his desk, and after a brief conversation, he hung up and smiled. “We live in the penthouse, and Carlotta will join us shortly. May I serve you something? Coffee, tea?”

“I’d love an iced tea,” Libby responded, while Santos shook his head. “What a magnificent view you have here. Your penthouse must be spectacular.”

“Thank you, it is.” He touched the office intercom to make her request. “What brings you to Spain, Miss Gunderson?”

“My sister married Rafael Mondragon, and my family came for the wedding. I’ve extended my stay.”

Ortiz steepled his fingers over his chest. “My wife is also fond of Mondragon. I don’t follow the popular matadors the way she does, but everyone knows your name, Santos.”

“Because they knew my father’s.”

“True, and I want to offer my condolences on your loss. I’d heard Miguel was ill, but he was still young, and his death came as a dreadful shock.”

“Yes, to all our family as well.”

A man in a white jacket brought Libby’s tea on a silver tray. “Thank you.” She’d become used to Julian waiting on her, but there wasn’t a hint of friendliness or humor in this man’s expression. He left as quietly as he had entered. Carlotta passed by him, and her stiletto heels clicked as she crossed the marble floor. She was dressed in a white sheath accented with heavy gold jewelry. She was an exotic beauty with lovely golden skin, and her upswept henna-tinted hair accented her large dark eyes.

“Santos,” she exclaimed. “Orlando told me you were coming today, but I didn’t expect to meet you. You’re even more handsome up close than you are in the ring. Please remain seated. Are you recovering as rapidly as everyone hopes?”

Ortiz left his chair to draw one near for his wife. She smiled as he slid his hand across her shoulders in a gentle caress before returning to his place behind his desk. Libby noted his affectionate gesture, but her new brother-in-law had nothing good to say about his mother.

“I’m making the effort,” Santos said. “May I introduce Libby Gunderson. She’s my sister Maggie’s sister. Perhaps you read Maggie has wed Rafael Mondragon?”

Carlotta’s color flushed lightly at the mention of her son’s name. “Yes, I follow all the matadors in the papers. You men lead such exciting lives.”

“Your life must have its own excitement,” Libby added.

“My husband and sons provide a great deal,” Carlotta replied, her glowing smile aimed at her husband.

Santos leaned forward. “I own a remarkable car, a Hispano-Suiza. Someone followed me last week in a black SUV that belongs to you. Do you remember following me?”

Carlotta’s eyes lit with joy. “Was that you? I just saw your beautiful car. I’d never seen anything like it, and I followed you a couple of blocks. I hope I didn’t cause you any worry.”

“That’s why he’s here, my darling,” Ortiz remarked.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She sat posed on the edge of her chair the way a woman married to Orlando Ortiz would, with the posture of a fine lady who devoted herself to fine arts and culture.

“There have been other incidents,” Santos said, “and it pays to be cautious.”

“Oh yes, we always are,” Carlotta responded. “Orlando, did you invite them to stay and have lunch with us?”

“I’ll do it now,” Ortiz said. “Will you be able to stay for a while? My sons are in school, so it will be just the four of us. Our chef is one of the finest in the city.”

“I’d love to,” Libby said. “Do we have the time, Santos?”

“We’ll make it.”

“My sons have a poster of you in their room. Would you sign it for them?” Carlotta asked.

“It will be my pleasure.” He pushed out of his chair but took care walking with crutches on the slippery marble floor. Libby walked beside him.

Carlotta was a petite woman, and even in platform heels she barely came up to Libby’s shoulder. “American girls are so beautiful and tall. The Olympics were in Barcelona in 1992, and I remember the women on your teams were exceptionally pretty.”

“I love the Olympics too, but regardless of looks, it takes years of hard work to make a team.”

Libby had to bite her lip not to laugh when they entered the private elevator to the penthouse. She didn’t dare look at Santos, but he reached for her hand, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

The elevator opened to a foyer where a glass-and-chrome table held a tall vase with a magnificent white floral bouquet. “What beautiful flowers,” Libby exclaimed. She moved close to smell a white rose, but it had no fragrance.

“Commercial roses have lost most of their perfume,” Ortiz remarked. “They’re bred for long stems and beauty, but lack a wild rose’s scent, its very soul. Carlotta loves them anyway.”

“Just as I love you, Orlando, without needing a reason.” She moved close to take his arm.

The penthouse was lit by skylights and furnished with modern pieces covered in pale gray upholstery and brilliant abstract paintings hung on the walls. Libby felt as though she were touring an art gallery rather than visiting a private home. She wondered if the boys were allowed to play there, or if a stray block or toy car would upset the sterile ambience.

Just as in Orlando’s office, the front room’s glass wall faced the sea. A cruise ship was entering the harbor, one of the new gigantic vessels that offered so many diversions Libby doubted many of the passengers remembered they were at sea.

Carlotta came up beside her. “Have you been on a cruise?”

“No, but I’d like to sail through the Caribbean where I could be part of the crew and climb the rigging.”

“You long for adventure,” Carlotta observed.

Libby turned to smile at Santos. “I think I’ve already found it.”

“I’ve done my best to keep you entertained,” Santos replied with a gentlemanly reserve and affectionate gaze.

The dining room also bordered the port and with a seafood salad for lunch, Libby felt surrounded by the sea. She was also annoyed they’d learned nothing to help them discover who wanted Santos dead. The conversation was lighthearted, but she caught Carlotta staring at her more than once. She smiled as though she was charmed by her attentions, but she was anxious to leave after taking only a couple of bites.

“I do have investment opportunities that would interest you, Santos. We should meet again.”

“I don’t make the investments for the Aragon trust, but I’ll be happy to listen,” Santos replied, “Thank you for this splendid lunch. Now where is the poster you’d like me to sign?”

Carlotta left the table with him. “Right down the hall.”

Libby followed along. The boys’ room was carpeted in navy blue. There were neatly made twin beds, desks, and bookcases filled with a colorful assortment of fiction for boys. The striking poster showed Santos lowering his cape and calling to the bull. He was dressed in a red suit of lights and so handsome she wanted a poster of her own.

Santos picked up a pen from atop one of the desks, wrote a greeting and signed his name. “I’m sorry I missed seeing your sons,” he remarked.

Carlotta closed the bedroom door. Her expression hardened, and her voice rose to a strident hiss. “Did Rafael send you here to embarrass me?”

Santos straightened to his full height. “My brother-in-law is proud of his Gypsy heritage, but you’re dead to him. We won’t dispute whatever lies you’ve told your husband. We came to ask who followed us, that’s all.”

Her gaze narrowed, but after a painfully long pause, she opened the door and smiled as they stepped out into the hall. She raised a hand to her upswept hair and instantly became a doting wife and mother. “Thank you so much. Our boys will be thrilled to have your autograph.”

She walked them to the elevator, and her husband rode it down with them. “My wife is the joy of my life. I know more about her than she suspects, and that’s something she need never know. Do you understand me?”

“I’ve no interest in blackmail,” Santos responded. “Neither does Rafael Mondragon.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. You must come visit us again, but Mondragon will never be welcome here.”

Libby caught the threat in his voice, but Santos led her from the elevator and out of the building before he gave her a chance to speak. “Carlotta is terrified Orlando will learn she’s Rafael’s mother, and he already knows? So she’s desperate to please her husband, and he soaks it all up,” she said. “I don’t know which of them is worse.”

“He is,” Santos insisted. “He’s made a puppet of her and enjoys pulling the strings.”

“Secrets are toxic,” she mused thoughtfully.

“Tell your parents everything when you get home.”

Libby nodded, but she wasn’t certain where to begin the strange tale of the Aragon family. She couldn’t disclose Maggie and Rafael’s secrets, and her mother and father wouldn’t be pleased to learn she’d stayed with Santos when the danger surrounding him could have easily harmed her. Santos wouldn’t have to know what she’d told her parents, which would be another secret piled on the top.

Manuel waited for them at the curb. “The beach house, or would you prefer somewhere new?”

“Somewhere new,” Libby posed, “if you’re not too tired, Santos.”

“I’m tired of being trapped at home. We’re here at the harbor; let’s take a cruise with the tourists.”

“Will they let you on board with your leg brace?”

“Let’s ask and see. Manuel, please take us to the
Golondrinas’s
dock. It’s right at the end of Las Ramblas
,
Libby. You walked down it with your family.”

“That was a wonderful day. There was so much to see, but by the time we’d reached the last plaza, I was too tired to gaze beyond it to the sea.”

She turned to look out the back window, but no one appeared to be following. “I’m sorry, you’re watching for a tail, aren’t you, Manuel?”

“Yes, I am. Always.”