Santiago Sol (6 page)

At the door he handed the hostess a wad of money to cover his bill, then stalked out of the restaurant like a big cat setting out on a hunt. It was obvious Tansy had recognized Diego, and Sebastian was determined to find out when and where the two had met, and what Diego had done to frighten her.

6

Tansy struggled to explain to the taxi driver that she had to go inside if he was going to get paid. Frustrated by the language barrier, she grabbed the sleeve of his cheap poplin windbreaker and tugged on it until he shut off the engine and followed her into the lobby.

The woman she’d seen behind the front desk earlier was gone, replaced by a young man riveted to a computer screen. She prayed he spoke English.

“¿Señor?”

He looked up. “
Buenos noches
, Señorita.”

“I have a problem,” she started, then waited to see if he understood. He nodded. “My traveler’s checks were stolen, and I haven’t had time to replace them. Can my cab fare be added to my room’s tab?”

The clerk blinked and asked for her room number. He tapped at his keyboard, looked up, then nodded. “Of course, miss.”

Tansy sighed and motioned to the taxi driver beside her. “Please, tell the clerk how much,” she prompted.

The cabbie and the clerk exchanged a few brief words in Spanish. The clerk withdrew a number of bills from his cash drawer and handed them to the driver, who stuffed them in his pocket, muttered something unintelligible and stomped away.

“Gracias,
Señor
,”
she said to the clerk.

“Don’t thank him. Thank me.”

Tansy turned too fast, almost lost her balance, and clutched at the counter to steady herself.

Sebastian.

Before she could speak, he pinched her left elbow between his fingers, the way one might carry a mouse by its tail, and steered her toward the elevators. His grip wasn’t painful, just firm. She wriggled her arm, attempting to throw him off, and hoped the elevators were all at the top floor so she’d have time to escape. Three doors slid open at once.

All right. She was going have to brazen it out.

He spun her into the first open elevator as smoothly as if they were dancing a waltz, releasing her elbow, but blocking the exit with his body. For a second fear jittered through her. She looked at him, gauging his intent from his expression. He looked annoyed, but not angry. She didn’t think he would hurt her, not after he’d come to her rescue twice now.

“Listen…” She held her hands up, palms forward. “I’m sorry I ditched you at the restaurant. I—”

“Who are you?” He cut off her explanation.

“Who are
you
?” she demanded in return.

The elevator door shut. He jabbed a finger at the number for her floor. How did he know which floor she was on? Her heart pounded behind her ribs. What if God had tried to warn her away from him at the airport and she’d missed His cue?

Sebastian’s silver-gray gaze, darkened to the color of mercury, rested on her as the elevator lurched upward.

Tansy flinched. Mercury was toxic in large quantities and she suspected if he kept staring at her that way she might begin to suffer alarming side effects.

****

Tell her the truth.

The inner voice was insistent. Sebastian shoved his hands into his hair. The elevator lurched to a halt, and the door slid open. Tansy darted past him and down the hall. She fumbled through the ugly sack she carried, and he added a note to his running to-do list: buy the woman a new purse.

She was shoving the key card into the lock for the third time when he touched her arm.

She jolted.

“I have no intention of harming you.” He kept his voice gentle. “Please, hear me out.”

Her kaleidoscopic eyes glittered green and blue and gold. “Why should I trust you?”

“Why should I trust you?” he countered.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stood her ground.

“If we just keep asking each other the same questions, this conversation won’t get very far.”

“Then let’s go inside. I’d rather not have this discussion in the hall.” He pulled out his wallet and took out his master key, slid it into the lock, and opened her door.

She gasped. “Why do you have a key to my room?”

“Because I own the building.”

That made her gasp again. “You what?”

He motioned toward the open door. She moved forward on stiff legs, and he followed her inside.

Tansy perched on the edge of a living room chair like a bird ready to take flight.

Sebastian flicked on a lamp and took a seat on the sofa. He could see her pulse at the base of her throat. He resisted the urge to demand answers, to insist that she tell him why Diego had frightened her, and why and how Diego knew anything about her.

Tell her the truth.

He sucked in a breath. No. Not yet. “I don’t appreciate being lied to,” he said.

“Well, we have that in common." She shot him a glare. "Nice building, by the way." Tansy rose and stalked to the balcony doors. "Now that we have all that out in the open, you can stop wasting time with me and go back to your real life, where you probably have a wife, or at least a girlfriend, waiting for you.” She pressed her forehead against the glass.

Sebastian stared at her. Wasting time? Spending his days with her was definitely not a waste of time. “I wanted to spend a few days as someone who just lives here. Someone...normal, like me.”
And I liked playing tour guide to a beautiful woman.

“Normal?” Only a fool would have missed her sarcastic tone. “Normal? You think you’d ever pass for normal?”

“What do you mean?”

She stilled, flushed. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“You haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

She turned away from the balcony and returned to the chair. “I’ve told you. I’m Tansy Chastain. I’m a writer. End of story.” Her eyes seared him, wary and testing.

Sebastian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How do you know Diego?”

“I don’t know
him. I’ve just seen him before.” She slumped into the chair and averted her gaze.

“Where?”

“Nowhere.”

“Tell me.”

She shuddered. “In Colorado.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.” Her jaw firmed. “He broke into a house.”

“Yours?”

“No. I was in the house at the time, that’s all.”

Sebastian surged to his feet. “That’s all?” He stalked the space in front of the balcony doors. Up. Down. Up. Stopped. “Whose house?”

Tansy let out a breath. “The woman whose memoir I’m writing.”

His brows rose. “The missionary?”

She nodded.

Awareness hit him like a mule kick to the midsection. “What’s the woman’s name?” he hissed, though he already knew the answer.

“What difference does it make to you?” She demanded.

Sebastian took a deep breath and weighed his words before answering. “If Diego is involved with the woman in some way, there’s every possibility she’s in danger. I might be able to help. I know how he operates.”

He watched awareness creep into Tansy’s face, followed by reluctant acceptance. For whatever reason, he presented less of a threat than Diego, in Tansy’s eyes.

“Eva St. John. Her name is Eva St. John.”

****

The color leeched out of Sebastian’s face shade by shade at her words. When his complexion approached the hue of plain yogurt, she lurched to her feet and dragged him toward the couch.

He resisted, catching her wrist in one hand. “What do you know about her daughter, Darcy?” he demanded.

Tansy jerked her arm free. Eva’s stories about the horrors of Pinochet’s reign of terror—the years of secrecy and subterfuge—sprang to life like monsters creeping out from under the bed. Her warnings about the walking stick gave the monsters a voice. “I’ve never met the woman,” she answered. It wasn’t a lie. “Do you know her?”

Sebastian straightened and a mask fell over his features. “I know Darcy St. John lived in Chile for a time, and she had a son.” He resumed pacing. “A son she abandoned.” Palpable resentment tainted his words.

“Did you know him?” Tansy asked, her words soft as a cloud in the air.

Sebastian blinked at her. “Know who?”

“Darcy’s son. He would be Eva’s grandson. She would...” Tansy’s voice caught. “Eva would want to meet him.”

“Really? She never made much of an attempt, from what I understand. And now it’s too late.”

Horror and sorrow flooded Tansy’s heart. He was dead, then, just like Darcy. “He was your friend, then?”

Sebastian paused. “You could say that.”

Tansy weighed her words with care. Sebastian might have been friends with Darcy’s son, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted. Violence, bloodshed, and murder stained the Sandoval family history, and Sebastian could easily be part of it all. He could have been the one to send Diego to Eva’s house. “What do you know about Darcy’s family?”

“I’ve read her diary. I know her story right up until the time she left Chile.”

Tansy inhaled. “You’ve read Darcy St. John Sandoval’s diary?”

He glanced at her. “Yes. Why?”

“Because it would be of great help to me in my research,” she said, attempting to keep her tone neutral.

“Can it explain why she left her only child behind and took off to the U.S.?”

“According to the letters she sent her mother, Darcy couldn’t take him out of the country with her. She knew that while
she
might not be safe in Chile, her son would be loved and cared for.”

“The last few entries...” Sebastian turned to the glass doors to stare at the glittering city lights. “She sounded terrified, but she never explained why.”

“I believe she thought it was the only way to keep her son safe.” Tansy recalled the tear-stained words of Darcy’s correspondence. She’d been so afraid for her son that she never revealed the boy’s name.

Sebastian didn’t respond, and she reached out a tentative hand to touch him. “You must have been very close to him.”

“You could say that,” he repeated, the words barely a growl.

She brushed her fingers across his hand with caution, the way one might approach a wounded animal.

“She loved her son...” she started.

Sebastian resumed pacing. “She left him.”

“She didn’t think she had a choice,” Tansy retorted.

He faced her, the force of his fury making him both handsome and fearsome all at once. “There. Is. Always. A choice.”

Tansy wanted to argue, but knew it would be pointless. Besides, she hadn’t read the diary.

“And she stole something from the Sandovals.”

Tansy suppressed a shudder. He knew about the walking stick. A topic she did not want to broach. No matter his connection to the Sandovals, he wasn’t the person to whom she could safely return the heirloom. She rubbed her face with both hands, suddenly bone-weary and desperate to change the subject.

“I’m exhausted. And hungry.” She turned, walked into the kitchenette, and opened the refrigerator. She stared at the contents with blind eyes. Nothing tempted her, despite her growling stomach. She closed the door and sucked in air.

Sebastian had followed her, and he was close enough she could smell his cologne, the sandalwood and leather scent tickling her nose.

She steeled herself. He was tempting, but in a way she knew she should avoid.

“Why was Diego in Colorado?”

Tansy pinched her brows together. “How would I know?”

“Did you speak to him? Did he contact you?”

She shook her head, realizing when she backed into the counter that Sebastian was advancing, cornering her like a prey animal. That ticked her off. She stepped toward him and fisted her hands on her hips. “All I know is that he’s capable of breaking into a house.” That, at least, was completely true.

Sebastian made a noise. A rumbling sound that reminded her of a Siberian tiger she’d seen once at the zoo. “Why were you there?”

Tansy turned toward the cupboards above the sink. She opened them on pretense of finding something to eat. She had to keep the walking stick out of the conversation.

“There’s nothing in that cabinet.”

Tansy blinked. He was right. The cupboard was empty. Not even a box of stale crackers or canned goods graced its shelves. She closed it, turning to face him again.

“Why were you at Eva St. John’s house?”

“I was picking up things for the trip.”

“What things?”

A muscle between her shoulder blades twitched.

“My airplane tickets, and the traveler’s checks that were later stolen, if you must know.” She flinched, feeling the weight of the walking stick and the frothy feel of the party dress in her arms. She sidestepped him, turned, and jerked open a different cabinet. This one held food. Or at least it held boxes with semi-familiar graphics. She reached for one with pictures that resembled cookies.

Sebastian plucked it out of her hand.

“I’ll have the restaurant send over our pizza.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I promised you a meal. We didn’t have it. We’ll have it now.” His mouth curved into that disarming smile and for a second she forgot the bizarre situation between them. He pulled out his phone and sent a message.

“I don’t expect you to continue with our agreement,” she said.

His brows rose until they nearly touched his hairline. He looked so affronted she almost smiled.

“I vowed to introduce you to Chile. Now that I know what you’re writing about...” He shrugged and raised both hands, palms up. “Now I am compelled to show you all the wonders my nation has to offer.” He accented his words until he sounded almost comical.

With difficulty, Tansy tamped down her visceral response to his charm. “Thank you, but I think...”

“I don’t want to think, Tansy.” He leaned in, dipping his head toward her mouth.

Tansy’s eyes flickered and her lips parted involuntarily, and then she remembered her assignment, and Diego, and that this man was, by virtue of those two facts, anathema to her, no matter how appealing she found him. She put up her hands to push him away, but met air. He’d already stepped back, out of reach. Humiliation washed over her.