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Santos hadn’t realized how cynical he’d sounded. “Maybe you should ask someone else for advice.”
“I would, but you’re the resident expert.” He looked around the room, but there was no artwork or photos on display to catch his eye. He straightened up. “Thanks, good night.” He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him.
“Good night.” Santos punched his pillows. Every matador had more women than he could handle, so he’d never had to pursue anyone, unless he counted Libby. She was in a class all by herself. Her fiery spirit as much as her beauty attracted him. She easily countered his every move, and he reluctantly conceded he might have met his match. She’d refuse to be just another girl on his lengthy list, but he was a long way from wanting to settle down. The whole idea gave him chills, and he went to Stephen King for less scary company.
While Libby got ready for bed, Patricia remained dressed, sat in their room’s overstuffed chair and shuffled through one of the magazines she’d brought with her. “Where are you meeting Fox?” Libby asked.
Patricia looked up, her eyes wide. “Whatever made you think I’d want to meet him?”
“Please. You’ve been hanging on each other all day. He’s awfully cute and one of the Aragon heirs.”
“Is that why you like Santos?”
“No.” She searched for a way to describe their attraction. He looked so damn good he’d overwhelmed her in the airport; there was no point in looking for an antidote. She’d follow her instincts, and it had been a conscious decision. She knew it couldn’t last but no longer cared. “There isn’t a checklist. Men either appeal to you or they don’t. It’s great when they do, and I’ll give you ten minutes before I come looking for you. Go and tell Fox good night.”
“You’re the best!” Patricia shot out the door and then had to slow down to close it quietly.
Libby looked at her travel alarm clock. She’d just given herself ten uninterrupted minutes to tell Santos good night, but she wasn’t going to take them when they would have tomorrow afternoon all to themselves, if he made it home from the airport alive.
Fox stood near the bookcase by the couch when Patricia came tiptoeing into the den. He’d wanted to be alone with her, and he didn’t want her to think he didn’t know what to do. He reached up to grab a book from the top shelf to give himself a few seconds to practice looking like he didn’t care, but he misjudged its weight, and the heavy tome slipped from his grasp scattering a handful of letters across the floor. The sketch with gouged-out eyes landed on top.
“Oh my God,” Patricia shrieked. “What is that?”
Fox gathered it up with the other letters. He flipped through them quickly. “They’re addressed to Santos, but there’s no name on the drawing. I didn’t know he got such weird fan mail.”
Patricia surveyed the bookcase with a quick glance. “Why would he put it way up there?”
“So we wouldn’t find it?” Fox offered.
“Yeah, but we did. Let’s go show Libby.” She pulled the letters from his grasp and ran from the room with him trailing right behind.
When Patricia came barreling through the door with Fox, Libby was amazed, she’d only been gone a couple of minutes. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Look at this!” Patricia handed her the gruesome sketch. “Fox found it hidden in a book in the den, just like a secret clue in a mystery.”
Shocked, Libby stared at the revolting drawing. Santos thought there was no longer a threat to his life, but this hideous portrait was far too frightening to ignore. She quickly sorted through the letters. They were written in Catalan and Spanish she couldn’t read, but the dates on most showed they’d come from the previous week. “Let’s go see if Santos is awake.”
“He is,” Fox assured them.
Libby slid off the bed and pulled her jacket over her sleep shirt. She led the way down the hall and, taking care not to bother their parents, rapped lightly on Santos’s door.
When he invited her in, she carried the mail to his bed and handed it to him. “What’s the story on this?”
Disgusted the wretched drawing and letters hadn’t stayed where Rafael had hidden them, he shrugged them off as unimportant. “Where did you get these?”
“Where you left them,” Fox replied.
He hadn’t told Fox, the Gundersons or the twins the details on his injured knee, and he didn’t intend to. As far as they knew, he’d just slipped and fallen. “Where are the twins? Don’t they want in on the after-hours party?”
“Shall I go get them?” Fox asked.
“No, don’t,” Santos insisted. He brushed off the threats as though they weren’t worth noticing. “I’ve not paid any attention to my fan mail, and as it turns out, some of it’s scary. I didn’t want to handle it while we had guests, but I’ll take care of it next week. Now I’m tired, and I’d like to get some sleep.”
Libby ushered Fox and Patricia out of the room, but she turned to send him a furious glance as she closed the door behind them.
He’d thought she’d understand why he didn’t want to worry her or her family. Of course not, she was the most unpredictable girl he’d ever met. He’d have to find a way to work it out tomorrow. He turned out his light, and rather than fall asleep, he wondered how to do it.
Sunday morning, Peter met Santos when he returned from the first run to the airport with Fox and the twins. “You’ve been such a gracious host. Last night’s dinner was the best we’ve ever eaten, but the bride’s family pays for the reception dinner, and I’d like to cover the expense.”
