Santiago Sol (3 page)

“No,” she whispered, remembering the young man at the baggage carousel.

“Miss?” The clerk leaned over the counter and peered at her. She resisted the urge to panic, and battled back tears. “Would you like me to reserve the taxi?”

“That won’t be necessary.” The familiar voice rolled over Tansy like warm honey. She jerked her head around.

Sebastian, somehow looking fresh and... expensive...despite his unshaven jaw and tousled hair, stood there. He dropped to his haunches and helped her shove her remaining belongings back into the tote.

“I thought you left,” Tansy said, flipping the flap on her bag shut.

“I did. And then I told my driver to bring me back.” He shrugged, smiled in a way that warmed her to the core. “I gather you need a ride?”

She grimaced. “I need more than a ride. I need a brain, too. Someone snatched my wallet and my traveler’s checks.”

Sebastian clucked his tongue. “
Lo siento.
I’m sorry.” He stood, and held out his hand to her. “Please, let me help you.”

She didn’t have much choice, she realized, letting him pull her to her feet. The clerk stared at Sebastian, then glanced from one to the other, frowning.

“I’ll see to it that the
señorita
reaches her destination,” Sebastian said. There was an authority in his voice she hadn’t heard before, and the clerk nodded.

“
Sí, Señor
. Of course.”

She offered the clerk a faint smile, but his gaze remained on Sebastian, who hefted her suitcase as if it weighed less than the jacket he’d slung over one arm, and then walked away. She trotted after him feeling very unsure of herself.

He led the way outside, and she got her first lungful of warm, moist Chilean air, tainted by diesel fumes from the line of taxis at the curb, but wonderfully tropical after the arid frigidity of Colorado.

A man in a classic, black chauffeur’s uniform stepped around a limo wedged between two yellow cabs.

“This is Ben, my driver,” Sebastian said. Ben took her suitcase and put it in the trunk, then returned to open the passenger door for them.

“I’ve never ridden in a limousine.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Tansy settled into a leather seat that hugged her tired frame like a lover.

Sebastian seated himself beside her.

With a honk of the horn, the limo pulled out of its space.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Tansy said. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Pickpockets and thieves abound in Chile. I have to ask you again, will you please let me play host for a day or two? Just until you get your bearings?” He smiled, generating a thousand watts of charm. If she could harness that energy, she’d be a rich woman.

“What’s in it for you? I’m inclined to be a bit less trusting than usual at this point.”

He chuckled. “A pleasant diversion from months of work on a very difficult project that has since succumbed to failure.”

“Was it a very great loss?”

His dark head fell back against the butter-smooth leather. “The worst.”

She was tempted to reach across the console that divided them and touch him. Instead, she balled her hands together in her lap. “What is it that you do, exactly, Mr. MacKenna?”

The quicksilver eyes snapped open. He waved his hand. “It’s difficult to explain. My business...” He inhaled, then exhaled. “...is very diverse. Everything from international finance to copper mines to vineyards.”

“It sounds very interesting.”

He stared out the opposite window, giving Tansy an opportunity to examine him. She could see tiny furrows marring his otherwise smooth brow, and tension tightening those generous lips.

“Not so much. I suppose it could be, but my employer is very conservative,
muy
traditional. He rules his empire with...
cómo se dice...
” He looked at her, holding up one hand and closing it in a tight fist.

“An iron hand?” Tansy offered.

“Sí.
You have no idea.”

“And you are looking for a way to delay telling your boss the deal you were working on fell through.”

“Exactly,” Sebastian replied. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Just for a few days.” The entreaty in his expression was irresistible.

Tansy searched her spirit for a warning, a red flag, an alarm of some kind. Nothing. If the man was the head of a sex trafficking ring, or the son of a Colombian drug lord, or a run-of-the-mill serial killer, God didn’t see fit to warn her. “All right.”

He perked up. “All right?”

“After what just happened at the airport, I admit I’m in need of some assistance,” she said. And some money, but she had to trust that Eva’s attorney would understand her predicament and wire more.

“Wonderful!”

He grinned, and for a minute she thought she’d been hit with a heart defibrillator.

“What would you like to see first?”

“My aparthotel,” Tansy replied, then smothered a yawn. The limo seats were too comfortable.

“Very good. The address?”

She pulled out the paper and handed it to him. He peered at it.

“Las Condes—a good district.” He rattled off the address in Spanish to Ben, who nodded. “We’ll get you settled in your aparthotel, you can rest today, and I’ll pick you up for breakfast tomorrow to start our tour. How does that sound?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

They were approaching the city proper. Tansy recalled some of the early research she’d done for Eva’s story. Six-and-a-half million Chilenos lived and worked in Santiago, separated by class into various districts, like many North American cities. From her viewpoint in the limousine, it looked very little like the third-world nation she’d anticipated and very much like any other modern urban area. She let her head fall back against the headrest

She didn’t know when or how long she’d dozed until Sebastian patted her hand.

“Your aparthotel,” he said. “This is it.”

She peered through the tinted window at a towering modern structure. A uniformed doorman stood outside a wall of sparkling glass doors. Manicured ornamental bushes in huge urns flanked either side of the entrance.

The chauffeur helped Tansy out of the vehicle.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded, and went to get her crippled suitcase from the trunk.

Sebastian leaned across the seat and looked up at her through the open window. “Will you be all right checking in by yourself?”

“I still have all the reservation information, thank goodness.” She patted her bag.

“Excellent. We’ll eat at Melba’s and come up with a plan—all the things you’d like to see in Santiago during your stay.” He seemed pleased by the idea of playing the part of her tour guide.

“If you’re sure...”

“We’ve been over this. You’re doing me a favor by taking my mind off my recent troubles.”

“All right, then. I’ll see you in the morning.” The window slid closed, and she turned to see the doorman scooping up her suitcase and heading for the front door. She followed him into the marble-floored lobby of the aparthotel, where she was relieved to discover the front desk clerk spoke beautiful English. The woman explained the housekeeping, laundry, and grocery services, handed Tansy a room key, and directed her toward a bank of gleaming steel elevators.

****

Sebastian sank back into the leather seat. The Las Condes aparthotel was safe, well-managed, and expensively-appointed. He knew. He owned the building, and lived in the penthouse. The corners of his lips turned up at the irony. The car circled the building once, and then dropped into the underground parking garage.

He was surprised to find himself anticipating Tansy Chastain’s company. He’d had more than his share of arranged “dates” and demanding business associates, and found he liked the idea of introducing her to his city without the pressure of closing a deal or fulfilling any romantic expectations. He closed his eyes and swiped a hand through his hair. For a couple of days he would just be Sebastian. It would be good practice for the simpler life he’d be leading once his abuelo knew he’d failed.

The limousine swooped into an open parking space.
Would he be able to keep the penthouse once he was no longer in line for the inheritance?
His driver got out, went around to the back, and extracted Sebastian’s bag, then opened the door for Sebastian.

“Gracias, Ben.”

Sebastian picked up his carry-on bag and turned toward the elevator, but Ben’s voice arrested him. “Señor? The woman at the airport...you don’t want her to know who you are?”

Sebastian flinched, knowing Ben had overheard her call him Mr. MacKenna. He wasn’t used to being deceptive. “It’s complicated. I’ll be showing her around the city for the next few days. Kind of a vacation.”

“Will you be needing my services, then?”

Sebastian glanced down the row of vehicles that belonged to the Sandoval fleet. “Why don’t you take a couple days off? Go visit your grandkids in Osorno.”

Ben nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Sebastian’s conscience prickled. “I’m not planning to take advantage of her. I’m just...”

Ben had been in the family’s employ since before Sebastian needed to shave. He admired Ben’s loyalty. Even more, he admired Ben’s faith.

“Deception, no matter how innocent the intention, never turns out well.”

Sebastian scuffed his foot against the pavement. “I know.”

“Thank you for the days off. I’ve missed my grandchildren.”

“Say hello to Anna for me,” Sebastian said, thinking of Ben’s wife.

Sebastian watched the gleaming black car pull away and considered the man’s warning.

Using his maternal grandmother’s maiden name had been an impulse. He just wanted a few days to be...someone else. There would be plenty of time to bear the weight of being a Sandoval once he told his grandfather his quest had failed.

He stepped into the elevator, pushed the button for his private floor, and leaned against the wall, laying out the remainder of his day in his head. He’d work out in his gym, maybe go for a swim, then check e-mail and other correspondence, and go to bed early before his breakfast date with the girl from the airplane. The thought of seeing her again washed the unpleasant residue of failure from his mind, and a smile flickered around his mouth as the elevator door slithered open. The smile disappeared at the sight of his cousin, sprawled across Sebastian’s antique Chesterfield sofa like a lazy cat.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see the goods,
mi primo.
” Diego brushed at a speck of lint on his forearm. “When I heard you’d run off to
los
Estados Unidos
I assumed you were fetching grandfather’s precious walking stick, just in time for your birthday.” The last words came out in a feral hiss.

Sebastian pushed past his cousin, dropped his bag on the floor, and headed for the kitchen. Diego’s footsteps echoed Sebastian’s, ringing off the wood floor and smooth concrete walls as his cousin followed.

“Which of the housemaids did you bribe to get into my apartment this time?” Sebastian reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of mineral water, popped the top, and took a drink.

“Unlike you, cousin
,
I don’t have to bribe. I merely have to ask, and the young ladies do my bidding.”

Sebastian leveled a cool stare at his cousin. “If you’re looking for information, ask Abuelo
.
Better yet, get your father to do his own digging. In the meantime, Diego, get out of my house.” Sebastian lifted the stack of mail his housekeeper had left in a wire basket on the counter.

“You didn’t find it, did you?”

Sebastian glanced up, half expecting to see his younger cousin rubbing his hands together like a villainous cartoon character.

“You’ll be the last person to know.” He smiled, showing his teeth.

Diego twitched.

“Even if you had the walking stick, you have no wife, no children of your own. You aren’t qualified to inherit.”

Sebastian took a menacing step forward. “Neither is your father. Now get out.”

Diego backed toward the door and flicked a manicured hand toward the expansive apartment. “Enjoy this while you can, cousin
.
”

Sebastian heard the door swing shut with a quiet click, and clenched his jaw until he thought his teeth would crack. His cousin was the symptom of a larger problem: Sebastian’s uncle by marriage, Arturo Vargas. Like an insidious fungus, Arturo had infiltrated the Sandoval family on almost every level. Sebastian slammed the handful of envelopes back into the basket and stormed toward his exercise room. He needed to punch something.

4

Tansy halted just inside the door to the aparthotel, her eyes wide. She'd been expecting a simple hotel room. She marveled at the aparthotel’s gleaming wood floors, high-end furnishings, and balcony, which overlooked a city that was surprisingly beautiful. The mountains she had admired from the plane encircled the city like a fortress so that no matter where she looked, she saw snow-capped granite peaks.

Her cell phone blipped from within her bag, signifying a low battery. She rummaged through her suitcase for the international adapter to the phone charger, plugged it in beside the bed, then kicked off her shoes, stretched out across the covers, and tumbled into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a rosy hue around the room. She’d slept almost the entire day. She yawned and crawled out of bed. Her travel clothes felt grimy, so she showered and put on her pajamas. She had nowhere to go and no money.

She called Eva’s attorney, got voicemail—no surprise considering the time difference—and explained about the airport pickpocket. Hopefully, the attorney would contact her soon. Being in a foreign country without cash or credit cards was disconcerting. She made the requisite calls to her bank and credit card companies informing them of the theft, and hoped that would suffice until she returned to the States.

When her stomach reminded her she’d only nibbled at breakfast on the plane and then slept through lunch, she checked the kitchenette. The refrigerator was well-stocked, and she engineered a sandwich with a soft roll, cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles. She put the sandwich on a plate, poured a glass of grape juice, and carried both into the combined dining and living space.