“If you weren’t so damn self-centered, you’d realize we’re all in danger when we’re with you.”
Shocked she’d insult him with a valid point he’d completely overlooked, he offered only a reluctant nod. She walked away with a long, confident stride, and he hated not being able to keep up with her. Manuel got out of the car to lean back against it and keep watch. Santos called Javier, got his voice mail and left a message. Now sorry he’d come along, he rested his head against his seat and fell asleep before the Gunderson clan returned to the car.
Linda carried a thick book on Antonio Gaudí she’d purchased in the gift shop.
“I don’t understand how a man could have imagined such a surreal place more than a hundred years ago, or that so many others could have devoted their lives to building it.”
“I wonder if any of us will live long enough to see it finished,” Patricia asked.
Peter shifted to make more room in the backseat. “I’ll make a point of it. Is there someplace else we ought to visit this afternoon, or should we call it a day?”
“Let’s go on to the Casa Mila,” Maggie suggested. “It’s a finished structure, and the mosaic chimneys alone are worth a visit.”
Linda checked the index of her new book and found it. “We definitely have to see this. Who else would have thought of turning chimneys into huge tile sculptures?”
Libby kept her eyes on the side mirror as they made their way through traffic, but they weren’t being followed. Santos was being awfully quiet. Spanish women probably never dared speak a cross word to him, but she had better things to do with her life than pamper a man who was already so badly spoiled.
Rafael returned to the house in late afternoon and took Maggie down to the shore. “I talked to your father this morning. Did he tell y
ou?”
She pulled him to a halt, her eyes wide. “You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did, and he didn’t fly into a rage. He wasn’t pleased, and he doesn’t want your mother to know you’re marrying an ex-convict. Is that all right with you?”
She leaned against him. “Of course, as long as we don’t get caught in our own tangled web of secrets.”
He smoothed her hair. “We don’t keep secrets from each other. I want you to trust me.”
“I do.”
Libby called to them as she approached. “Santos has some news from his detective he wants you to hear.” She waited until they reached her to report that Cazares hadn’t found any good leads from the women Santos had dated or the protesters.
Santos was out on the patio, pressing a cool beer bottle to his cheek as though he had nothing more important to do than watch the sunset. “An SUV followed us for part of the afternoon. It’s registered to Orlando Ortiz. Have you met him?”
Maggie turned pale, and Rafael swore a particularly inventive string of expletives, all in Catalan only Santos understood. “No, I don’t know him, or want to,” he finished in English.
“Who is he?” Libby asked, certain his negative reaction meant there was far more to the story, as there seemed to be with everything there.
“He’s one of the richest men in Spain,” Santos explained. “I don’t know why he’d follow me. Maybe he wants to make an offer on the Hispano-Suiza. I’ve never heard he was a fan of bullfighting. My father never mentioned him, but he could have easily paid everyone in the arena to hold a mirror with his pocket change.”
Maggie swallowed hard. She turned to Rafael, but he shook his head. “It’s your story, not mine, but I can see a motive, can’t you?” she asked.
Rafael faced the sea and thrust his hands into his pockets. Anger rolled off him in nearly visible waves. “I thought my mother was dead, but she’s married to Ortiz. She abandoned my sister and me when were little kids. The bitch had no interest in me until I walked into Barcelona’s bullring wearing a suit of lights. She wouldn’t know I’ve retired, and might want Santos dead to further my career. Then she’d brag that she’d done it for me.”
“I’m going to be sick.” Maggie left the table at a run, but, equally stunned, Libby couldn’t move.
Julian appeared to take drink orders, but Santos waved him off. “Does Ortiz know you’re her son?”
Rafael shrugged. “I doubt she’d admit to being a Gypsy, or being old enough to be my mother, so it’s unlikely.”
“But he could know,” Libby offered. “What are we going to do?”
“We?” Santos scoffed. “After the wedding, Rafael and Maggie are leaving on their honeymoon. You’re going home with your family on Sunday. I’ll decide what to do on Monday.”
“If you’re alive to do so,” she shot back at him.
Rafael turned toward them. “This is the only wedding Maggie and I will have, and I don’t want anything to spoil the day for her.”