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“A dead brother would surely do it,” Libby complained.
“Why don’t you go in and check on Maggie?” Santos suggested. “Rafael and I will handle this.”
She regarded the two men with a darkly skeptical glance and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t trust either of you to handle things calmly. All we know for certain is that someone was on the bull’s side last Sunday, and today someone followed us in a SUV belonging to Orlando Ortiz. Just because we can imagine a connection doesn’t mean there actually is one. Do you plan to call Ortiz and make an appointment to inquire who was driving the SUV?”
Rafael laughed. “Yes, we can do that. He’ll recognize Santos’s name if not mine.”
Santos stared at her a long moment, his mood deadly serious. “Did your father raise you to think like an attorney?”
“Logically rather than emotionally? Yes. It’s like playing chess. You have to see your opponent’s moves before she makes them. You two might be used to staring down a bull, but people are a whole lot more complex and unpredictable.”
Rafael took a step toward the door. “I’m going to find Maggie. Let’s plan strategy later.”
Santos let him go. “Cazares didn’t find any trace of Rafael’s mother, and now she turns up as Ortiz’s wife? I told you we didn’t know enough about Rafael, and he’s just proven it.”
Libby rested her arms on the table. “That’s beside the point, Santos. Maybe whoever followed us really did only want a look at the Hispano-Suiza and nothing more. It’s not a car you’d see on the road every day. Maybe the driver’s intentions were far more sinister. We’re, excuse me, you’re going to have to be more careful wherever you go.”
“You’ve convinced me. Do you want to be my bodyguard? I pay well and offer excellent benefits.”
Unwilling to answer his ridiculous question, Libby got up and left. As she passed through the kitchen, she picked up a glass of iced tea and carried it up the back stairs. Mrs. Lopez met her at the top.
“Guests are expected to use the main staircase, never the servant’s stairs,” she cautioned sternly.
“Thanks for the tip,” Libby replied on the way to her room. She went out to the balcony and focused on the comforting sea view. She couldn’t understand how Santos could be so damn flippant about protecting his own life. Maybe he didn’t care if he made it to Saturday’s wedding, but she certainly did. He could be an annoying SOB, but he was too appealing to dismiss outright.
“Get over it,” she scolded herself and meant it.
Rafael and Maggie danced before dinner that night, and while their small audience applauded enthusiastically, Libby understood Rafael had again taken the aggressive lead while Maggie played the graceful counterpoint. She caught Santos’s eye, and he nodded, but her parents and Patricia weren’t such knowledgeable fans of flamenco they understood how muted Maggie’s performance truly was. It was very late before they all went up to their rooms, and, exhausted, Libby climbed into bed and fell asleep before Patricia finished brushing her teeth.
Santos hoped Libby would come to his room, and when he got tired of waiting, he gathered the energy to walk down the hall and knocked lightly at her door. Patricia swung it open and covered a wide yawn. “Visiting hours are over,” she whispered.
“Sleep in my room,” he answered. “I’ll stay here.”
She looked over her shoulder at the bed where Libby hadn’t stirred. “No, I don’t think so. If Libby wanted to see you, she’d still be awake.”
“Libby?” he called.
She didn’t move.
“You see,” Patricia replied with a teasing shake of her curls. “She has very high standards.”
“You don’t think I meet them?”
She gestured toward the bed. “Apparently not.” She eased the door closed. “Try again tomorrow.”
Peter looked out in the hall and saw Santos standing outside the girls’ room. “What’s going on out here?”
Santos shifted his stance on his crutches. He had on a T-shirt and shorts and didn’t apologize for it. “We were making plans for tomorrow. I’m sorry we bothered you.”
Peter was still dressed and came out into the hall and closed his door. He crossed the distance between them with an easy stride and spoke in the low, insistent tone that worked so well to impress juries. “I thought we’d be better off in a hotel. Don’t give me a reason to move.”
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 d
