A hundred questions are creating a riot in my head and, for once, I think about breaking this dammed “vow of silence.” My brain is still swimming in the remnants of sangria floating around in my body, so I don’t completely trust myself. Besides, I know I’ll get few if any answers from him. We still don’t fully trust each other, despite our mutual leverage.
When he takes off, I draw in closer to him now, sensing the danger surrounding us, even if I still don’t know what it is. He’s literally my only line of defense now. He seems to be familiar with dangerous waters—how else would he have sensed trouble near his apartment when I saw absolutely nothing to be concerned about?—so he probably has some talent for self-preservation. At the very least, sticking by his side will keep me in that bubble of protection.
I press into his back and turn to lean my head on his neck, my arms circling his waist. Surprisingly, I feel the taut muscles go slightly relaxed underneath me.
After ten minutes of driving, he suddenly pulls to the side of the road in town. I’m drawn out of the lull of complacency I threatened to fall into as I pressed into him.
He curses something under his breath. As if sensing the question in my head, he does me the favor of explaining.
“They’ll be watching the ferries. It’s almost nine hours back to Barcelona, and I’d rather not be stuck on a floating bus with nothing but half-asleep tourists for that long. If these people are out for blood and have anything in the way of skills, it would be easy for them to make it look like an accident.”
A cold blade of fear slices through me. I think of my family. Dad always implied that there was a cloud of suspicion over the accident that took my mother and oldest sister. The bullet Layla took was definitely an act of violence. Who knows what Lucinda’s death will be like?
Ricardo sighs and pinches his forehead between his thumb and fingers. “Necesito descansar.”
I understand enough to agree with that assessment. After today’s adventure, I too need a rest. But where? Obviously the boat and the apartment are off-limits.
“We’ll take the risk,” he says as he starts the bike up again.
I know what he’s talking about and I’m not surprised when, almost forty-five minutes later, he leads us down the circular front of a hotel.
A very nice hotel.
It’s large and spectacular. The two of us on his small scooter definitely don’t fit in with the luxury cars that the clientele step out of. Him in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, and me in nothing but one of his shirts and these ridiculous shoes, both of us still covered with the sand and salt and sweat of the day only make us even more of a sore thumb that stands out.
Instead of heading up that circular driveway, he heads past the hotel to find a side street to park the scooter. After we both get off, he reaches for my hand and leads me back to the grand hotel.
At first, I’m extremely self-conscious about the way we’re scrutinized by everyone from the bellhops to the concierge to the security guarding the front entrance. But the way Ricardo confidently storms past them toward the front desk, his hand firmly holding mine, dissuades any attempt to stop us.
Now, I understand why he chose the place. It would be difficult for some random person to simply walk in and start searching for people. While we wait for service at the front desk, I subtly twist my head around to find security’s eyes still firmly on us. Now, I’m more relieved than self-conscious.
I’m only half-listening as Ricardo gets us a room, or rather a suite since single rooms are fully booked. He takes it without hesitation, even after the woman behind the desk informs him of the absurd nightly rate.
It has me focused on him again. Just how much money does he have? Everything about this man is a puzzle. He spends money freely as though there’s more than enough to sustain even this, but he dresses and lives like some college student renting the cheapest amenities while on spring break.
Now I’m back to wondering what he hid away in that cave back on the island.
All of that fades away as he leads me to the elevators and up to our suite. The closer we get to that room, more importantly, the bed housed in it, the less I care about anything other than sleep. I’m practically a zombie by the time he taps the card to the pad next to the door and enters.
I’m momentarily stimulated out of my grogginess by how spectacular the room is. It reminds me of home back in California, which explains the nightly price tag.
Being used to this sort of opulence, I get over it quickly in favor of that bed I get a peek at in the bedroom. I try to detour in that direction, but the man still holding my hand has other ideas. I’m surprised when he stops me short, holding on tighter to keep me in place.
“Not so fast, Sister,” he threatens. “This is the point at which we start talking.”
Chapter Nineteen Enrique
She is as exhausted as I am, but any hint of sleepiness disappears from her eyes at the demand I’ve just made.
I chose this hotel because I knew there was security, mostly to keep the average drunk or high (or both) partier from accidentally wandering in, but every line of defense counts. If the men found my apartment and boat, there is a strong possibility that, one, they are probably keeping tabs on my credit card spending and will know I’ve booked a hotel, and two, it’s most likely me they are after, not her.
However, I won’t completely discount their presence being the fault of this woman. I never operate without knowing at
