Fierce Pride (13 page)

Hunched over his crutches, Santos felt at a disadvantage, but he thought better of telling Maggie’s father he did what he pleased in the family home. The Gundersons would be gone on Sunday, and he’d probably never see any of them again, so he let it go. “I understand, sir. Good night.”

Peter waited in the hall until Santos closed his bedroom door. Still suspicious he’d interrupted more than sightseeing plans, he returned to their room and questioned his wife. “How old is Santos, do you know?”

She was already in bed and fluffed her pillow. “He has to be younger than Maggie. Why?”

“I don’t want him hanging out in the girls’ room.”

“Don’t we have a big enough problem with Maggie’s taste in men? Let’s not look for others. Libby’s responsible, and she’ll take care of Patricia. Now come to bed.”

Peter unbuttoned his shirt. Santos had a spooky resemblance to Miguel, and the instincts he’d learned to trust in a courtroom made him wary. He’d keep a closer watch on his daughters tomorrow, all three of them.

Chapter Six

Santos was already seated on the patio when Libby left the house Thursday morning to run. She would have walked right on by him, but he called her name. “I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have asked you to be my bodyguard.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“That’s what I just said. I have a better idea.”

She rested her hands on her hips and remained on the opposite side of the table. “Is it something you truly believe I’ll want to hear?”

“I hope so. You said you work as a personal trainer. I don’t expect you to handle physical therapy for my knee, but I do need to stay in shape, or I won’t fit into my suits when I return to the bullring. You could work for me the rest of the summer, have free room and board and save money for college. I’ll write a reference. My name might mean something even in the United States.”

If he hadn’t looked so damn sincere, she would have laughed and walked away. Maybe it was simply too early in the morning for his smirk to form. “I’ll think about it.”

“Decide today. You’ll have to change your plane ticket and—”

Libby circled the table, put her hands on his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him hard. When she broke away, he looked so startled, she kissed him again. “There’s more than one way to stay in shape,” she advised and sprinted away.

Santos sucked in a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if she’d just said yes or told him to spend the summer in bed with someone else to keep fit. He’d thought he was fluent in English, but they really weren’t communicating. He didn’t want to sit there looking like a fool until she returned, so he got up and went back to bed. When he got up the second time, Maggie had taken her family and gone to tour
Las Ramblas
, where they could sightsee, shop and have lunch.

He didn’t have time to feel lonely before Rafael arrived, and they went into the den. Santos made himself comfortable on the sofa, while Rafael paced up and down in front of him. “I don’t have time to deal with Orlando Ortiz this week,” Santos said. “After you’ve gone on your honeymoon, I’ll make an appointment, ask if he’s interested in my car and see what he says. My father insisted no one believes a matador has any brains, which works to our advantage.”

“I’m sure it does, but I don’t want to wait that long. Let’s pay him a visit this afternoon.”

“No. I won’t go. Let’s make whoever was in the black SUV wait. I’m the potential victim, and I’ll handle them. All you need do is dance and make love to Maggie.”

Rafael went to the bar. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re pouring.”

Rafael brought him bourbon, neat. “I hope you know enough not to drink before a corrida
.
Booze and drugs will kill you faster than the bulls.”

“That’s another of my father’s sayings. I miss him.”

Rafael raised his glass in a silent salute. “Everyone does. Now let’s go see Ortiz.”

Santos swallowed his drink in a single gulp and rolled the glass between his palms. He spoke in so serious a tone, Rafael couldn’t misunderstand. “Let me put it another way. If anything goes wrong, which of course it will, you’re the one with the prison record. It won’t impress Maggie, or her parents, if you miss the wedding because Ortiz takes offense to our visit and has you arrested.”

“While you’d walk out of his office?”

“I’ll limp out on my crutches. Clearly I’m no threat, but you’re a different sort of man.”

Rafael’s dark glance grew black. “For which I’m deeply grateful.”

“So am I. Do this for Maggie. I won’t leave the house until after the wedding, and I’m safe here.”

“Someone may be watching the house.”

“Let them watch. It’s as secure as a fortress.”

“There’s a very real danger in being overconfident,” Rafael warned. “Miguel must have warned you against it.”

Santos smiled at the memory. “Yes, he once referred to a man as having such a high opinion of himself his cock must drag in the dirt.”

Rafael couldn’t help but laugh. “Could that fit Ortiz?”

“It must,” Santos murmured. He handed him his glass. “Are you going to tell me where you’re taking Maggie on your honeymoon?”

“No, but there isn’t time to go to the Aragon place in the Seychelles. Have you ever been there?”

“Once, when I was seven or eight. Miguel was between wives and took me along. It’s a spectacular place, all blue sky and sea. Wherever you take Maggie, I want you to call in every day. If there’s an unexpected catastrophe here, you might be needed. I doubt it, though. By the time you come home, I’ll have the whole matter settled.”

Mrs. Lopez came to the door. “Juan Martinez is here to see you.”

“Send him in. Wait, Rafael. I want you to hear what he says.”

The agent entered, carrying a briefcase. He greeted the men, got comfortable on the sofa and removed a large envelope from the leather case. “You asked me to look at your fan mail. Unfortunately, Sylvia has been erasing insulting e-mails and shredding tasteless letters. These were the only ones she hadn’t destroyed. I regret having to bring them to you.”

Santos reached for the envelope, read through the letters and passed them to Rafael. Some were on lined notebook paper and others fine stationery. “The woman who believes my pants ought to be tighter is no threat, but a couple of those worry me.”

“Is this one written in blood?” Rafael held it by the corner.

Juan shrugged. “I imagine it’s supposed to be a heroic bull’s blood. Sylvia says a couple come every week from groups intent on putting an end to bullfighting.”

Rafael stopped on a carefully drawn portrait of Santos. It was a fine likeness, but long, deep scratches had ripped out the eyes.
You have your father’s eyes
was scrawled at the bottom. Rafael shook his head. “There’s no signature. Does this look like a man’s work or a woman’s?”

Juan shrugged while Santos took the drawing back to study it more intently. “There’s nothing feminine about this, but I don’t understand the message. Are they angry at me or my father?”

“It could be taken either way,” Rafael answered. “If they want to erase memories of Miguel, it would create a whole new category of suspects.”

Santos was silent a long moment before he slid the letters back into the large envelope. “Sylvia didn’t save the envelopes for these?”

“No, I’m sorry. That was a mistake. I told her to save them for you from now on.”

“See that she does. These won’t leave this room, and if there are any more, bring them straight to me and have Sylvia print questionable e-mails. Rafael, pick a book off the shelves. Something up high no one has read in years. Yes, that’s a good one.”

Rafael had chosen the thick book for its size. Not only was the title unfamiliar, it was written in Catalan, which wouldn’t interest any of the guests in the house. He hid the envelope inside and returned it to its place before facing Juan. “Has this type of mail been coming to Santos all along or just recently?”

Juan closed his briefcase and stood. “Apparently it’s nothing new, but Sylvia says there’s more repulsive mail now than she’s ever seen. She didn’t want you to know, Santos, but no warning would have prepared us for last Sunday.”

“I understand her motives. Thank her, please,” Santos asked. “I’ve still no idea how much time I’ll need for my knee. I’ll let you know when I do.”

“I will try to be patient, although it will be very difficult.” Juan nodded to Rafael and hesitated only a second. “You took Santos’s place once and did very well. We should talk.”

“No, I’m through. Someone who’s eager to do so should take Santos’s place.”

Juan shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other. “I know you’re not fond of Quiñonez.”

Santos swore under his breath. “With one leg, I’m better than he’ll ever be. Find someone else.”

“I will do what I can.” He showed himself out, and Rafael closed the den door behind the portly agent.

“Don’t tell Maggie about this,” Santos cautioned.

“I won’t. There’s no need to worry her. What about Libby?”

“She already knows too much.” He adjusted the pillow at his back. “What do you think of her?” His averted glance revealed his true question.

“She’s so pretty it’s easy to miss how bright she is. She doesn’t hide it, though. It may be a good thing she’s leaving Sunday.”

Santos couldn’t bring himself to agree, or ask Rafael for advice, although he feared he needed it. “Will you look in the closet? I left a guitar there a couple of years ago.”

“I didn’t know you played.” He found the guitar and handed it to him.

Santos strummed it lightly and turned the pegs to bring it in tune. “I learned to play at the ranch when I was a kid and have probably forgotten every song I knew. I need something to do besides read and look at the sea, so I might as well practice.”

“You might want to serenade a woman someday. Do you need anything else?”

“Yes, there’s a pair of binoculars in the bottom drawer of the desk. Take them upstairs and go out on Maggie’s balcony. See if you can catch someone watching the house. Maybe we should ask every matador in Spain if he’s also gotten threats.”

“I have a website but haven’t kept up with the comments. I should shut it down now that I’ve retired. What about the tabloids? They’d print the eyeless portrait on the front page, and it would warn the artist to stay away.”

“I don’t want to go public with it, not yet.” He ran through a few basic chords and looked pleased he could remember them.

Rafael took the binoculars upstairs. Maggie had been staying with him until her parents arrived, and she was only at the beach house for the week. This was the room she’d used when she’d arrived in Barcelona in June. He stepped out on the balcony and waited a moment to raise the binoculars. There were people on the beach, some with children, sailboats gliding by, a man jogging along the shore. It was a peaceful scene, so if they were being watched, it was being done without causing a ripple of alarm.

He went across the hall to the room Santos’s stepbrother Fox used when he visited. The balcony had a view of the neatly landscaped front yard and the road. Many of the neighboring homes had circular driveways, so few residents parked on the street. There were cars parked nearby, guests, perhaps, and a plumber’s van, but the real life of the houses took place on the shore side. He returned to Maggie’s room for a last look but had nothing to report.

He put the binoculars away and leaned back against the desk. “There’s nothing suspicious, but I could have missed it.”

“That’s reassuring. How does this sound?” He played a few notes and looked up.

Rafael recognized the popular tune. “Very good. Women love music. Keep practicing. I’ll see you tonight.”

Santos let him go and struggled to play more of the song. While he couldn’t dance flamenco, maybe he could impress Libby with music. Playing the guitar would keep his mind off the hideous portrait, but he had the eerie feeling the artist was hard at work on something worse.

The Gundersons arrived home tired after sightseeing all day. The avenue of
Las
Ramblas
stretched longer than a dozen football fields and held tarot card readers, flower vendors and stalls filled with caged birds. All manner of items the sellers hoped tourists could not live without, as well as a huge outdoor market,
La Boqueria
. The wide street was lined with hotels, historic mansions, including an opera house, shops and cafes. It was a fascinating place to visit, and the day had passed so quickly they’d not realized the time until the sky began to grow dark.

Libby let the rest of her family go on upstairs while she checked the patio for Santos. He’d been in her thoughts all day, and she was disappointed not to find him. She’d seen Mrs. Lopez downstairs and risked going up the back stairs to reach her room. As she passed Santos’s door, she heard guitar music and knocked lightly. He invited her in.

He was sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard. “I’m working on a song I’m calling The Matador Blues.” He played a few notes and made a notation on a sheet of paper on the nightstand.

“That’s pretty. Play it again,” she called from the doorway.

“Only if you’ll come in.”