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Libby came back onto the patio, remained standing and folded her arms over her chest. “The SWAT men needed help, but you’re right, Nuñez might not see it that way.” Santos’s murderous frown didn’t lighten, and she gave up.
Cazares came around the side of the house and took a chair on the patio only after Libby took a chair. “The house is owned by Beatriz and Fermin Ramirez. Do you know them?”
“If we’ve ever met, I’ve forgotten them,” Santos replied.
“When the SWAT team arrived, Beatriz waited on the front porch, and when I approached, she mistook me for a neighbor. She was furiously angry not to have had a warning before the police appeared at her door, and she answered my questions without regarding me as too curious. Luis Rubio has worked for them more than ten years. The Ramirez family has two daughters, both married now, but Victoria played with them while they were all growing up. Beatriz considers Victoria’s son, Miguel Angel, another grandchild. Her husband is away for the day, and Luis Rubio is driving him, so the drama continues.”
“Damn,” Libby cried. “This could go on forever, couldn’t it?”
“I hope not beyond this afternoon,” Cazares replied. “Victoria was arrested, and Beatriz is looking after the little boy. The police have hidden their van down the street and are waiting inside the house for Luis and Fermin to return.
I’ll go back to my car and wait.” He rose, pushed his chair back into the table and left.
“I doubt we’ll hear anything from Nuñez until tomorrow,” Santos complained.
Tomas stepped out on the patio. “Lunch?”
“Yes,” Libby replied, but Santos and Maggie shook their heads. “Both of you could stand to gain a few pounds.” They didn’t seem to care, and she got up to continue pacing the edge of the patio.
“I ought to call Rafael,” Maggie murmured.
“And tell him what?” Santos asked. “That you’re staying here to watch a SWAT raid on a neighbor’s home?”
“That would do.” She got up and took several steps away to make a more private call.
Tomas had made Libby the best bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich she’d ever eaten. She took the second half apart to see how it was made. “He must have some special secret sauce. Do you think he’d share it?”
“How can you even taste your food?” Santos wondered aloud.
“I’m hungry. I’ll take my lunch inside and eat in the dining room and not annoy you any further.”
He reached out to stop her before she stood. “No, eat as many sandwiches as you please.” He picked up a potato chip from her plate and popped it in his mouth. “Grandfather Augustin advised living in the center of your life. Hell, I can’t even find the damn center.”
“I think we’re sitting in the middle of it,” Libby countered. “I hope we get to see little Miguel Angel. It will take a while for DNA testing, but if Victoria ends up in prison, you might have to raise him.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Santos replied. “Most of the women who lived with my father had kids, so I’ve raised more than my share. No sane person would give a baby to a matador to raise. That’s my only hope.”
“He’d be your half brother,” Libby pointed out between bites.
He glared at her. “I’m done with my father’s messes. Done. Finished.”
“I understand.” She did understand, but she hated to see a baby get caught up in his mother’s vendetta. “No decisions have to be made today.”
“What decisions?” Maggie asked as she came back to the table.
“What’s to become of little Miguel Angel,” Libby replied.
“Rafael and I are hoping for a family.”
“You don’t want that kid,” Santos remarked sharply. “His mother has to be nuts.”
Libby exchanged glances with Maggie, and she nodded. Santos’s mother certainly had not been a model of sanity, but they’d not remind him of it.
Chapter Seventeen
Santos’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. “Yes?” He listened and soon ended the call. “Cazares says Luis Rubio just drove into the driveway with Fermin Ramirez. I don’t care what you see, Libby; if it’s a runaway horse or an overturned boat, you’re staying right here.”
“I’d no idea you were so bossy.” She sat with her feet propped on an empty chair reading the same page of Great Expectations over and over. “No, wait a minute. We have discussed it, haven’t we?”
