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“Help me,” Rafael called to the men who had carried Santos from the ring, and the three of them eased off Santos’s jacket and unfastened his suspenders. He’d lost his right shoe, and Rafael removed the left and tossed it aside. Libby scooped it up.
The doctor hovered beside them. “As soon as you have him out of his clothes, he’ll go to the hospital. He’s torn ligaments in his knee, and I can’t treat him here.”
Libby reached out to take Santos’s jacket, vest, ruffled shirt, and pants that were too expensive to cut. He had on white socks beneath the pink ones, and she was relieved to see he was wearing briefs. Apparently his knee was his only injury, but it looked like a torn ACL to her, and athletes who’d suffered similar injuries were usually out for the season.
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 y
ou 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?”
