Fierce Passion

by Phoebe Conn

  “It’s a shame my legs don’t work on their own,” Ana remarked softly. “You’ll have to pay for all of me, no matter how little is photographed.”

  The Frenchman responded with a low chuckle. “I love a sense of humor in a woman. When can we begin?”

  Ana wanted only the job, not to take a French lover, and her mind sped to Alejandro. She silently scolded herself for wondering about him, and hoped he missed her with an agonized pain worse than any lingering headache. Excruciating, torturous pain would be good. People saw her looks and imagined men fell in love with her with a single glance. The truth was, she had very little luck with romance, and the fiasco with Alejandro was another example of her sorry fate.

  Paul brought the meeting to a close with the promise he’d have a contract for them to sign in a few days. Ana stood when Paul did, but Lucien appeared reluctant to have the meeting end.

  “After we sign the contracts, we must all go to lunch to celebrate,” he insisted. “I’m embarrassed by how much money I’m making with my shoes, and I intend to spend it on the people whose company I enjoy.”

  Ana managed a faint smile. “Lunch would be lovely, Mr. Lamoreaux—Lucien. I’ll look forward to it.”

  He gave a mock bow. “What a thrill it is to meet you, Miss Santillan. Good day.”

  Ana and Paul remained silent until they heard the elevator doors slide closed. She dropped back into her chair. “He’s a very charming man, and I won’t have to sit through an hour of makeup if only my legs are posing.”

  “You do have lovely legs, Ana, and the money is just the same. He’ll probably give you a lifetime supply of his shoes as a bonus. I received one other call late yesterday from Orlando Ortiz. He said he met you while you were working on the Mediterranean Goddess yesterday, and he’d like to book you for ads for his cruise line.”

  Ana had to bite her lip to keep from shrieking. “You’re not serious.”

  Paul appeared puzzled. “Why, you didn’t like him?”

  “I’ve been dating his eldest son, and apparently he doesn’t approve. Please tell him I won’t go on board one of his ships until Alejandro and I are sailing on our honeymoon.”

  Paul’s eyes grew huge. “Has the man proposed?”

  “No, and he probably won’t, but I’m not working for Ortiz. He’s a mean-spirited bastard I’d rather forget.”

  “I assume his son is nothing like him?”

  “Nothing at all.” She picked up her bag and stood. “I’m sure you won’t whisper anything I’ve said to the tabloids, but please don’t tell anyone else I’m about to marry the heir to the Ortiz fortune, because I’m not.”

  The agent’s expression lit with glee. “That’s such a delicious secret, Ana. Couldn’t I mention you know him?”

  Fortunately, she knew he was teasing. “No, not a word. Please give Mr. Ortiz our standard refusal: my current schedule simply doesn’t allow time to promote his cruise line. You needn’t say I’m dreadfully sorry, though.”

  He walked her to the office door. “You lead such an exciting life, Ana. You should begin working on your memoirs.”

  Ana left without replying to his silly bit of unwanted advice.

  A job kept her busy on Thursday, but the weekend appeared bleak. Saturday afternoon she put on her floppy hat and sunglasses for a long walk to burn off her restless energy. She stopped at a flower shop on Las Ramblas and had just picked up an iris and daffodil bouquet for her bedroom when she glanced up to see Libby Gunderson and Maggie Mondragon coming her way. She peeked over her sunglasses so they’d recognize her and said, “Hello.”

  “Ana!” Libby exclaimed. “Come have a drink with us.”

  Ana paid for the flowers and, eager for some company, joined them. They sat at a table at the closest café, and Ana ordered tea and a thin slice of lemon cake. “You’re not carrying anything. How can you walk down Las Ramblas and not buy something fun?” she asked.

  “I’ll get some flowers before going home,” Maggie replied. “We were talking about school and not paying attention to the vendors along the way.”

  “I’m coaching the women’s sports at the same America high school where Maggie teaches Spanish,” Libby explained. “Most of the kids are great, but others, are, well, a challenge.”

  “They believe they know everything?” Ana asked.

  “Yes, exactly,” Libby responded, “and they are sophisticated kids. Most of their parents are executives with American companies, and they’ve traveled and seen a lot of the world. That can make school seem a total bore, but they need to keep their grades up for admission to the best colleges. To make matters worse, parents put pressure on us if their students aren’t applying themselves.”

  Ana sipped her tea. “I didn’t spend much time in high school and didn’t attend college, but aren’t most teenagers obnoxious?”

  “Maggie was never obnoxious,” Libby exclaimed.

  “I was the studious sort,” Maggie added, “unlike my sisters.”

  The pair were half sisters and shared the same mother, but Miguel Aragon had been Maggie’s father. Ana could see him in Maggie, but she’d known her for nearly a year and gotten used to the striking resemblance. Miguel had been an extraordinarily handsome man, and Maggie was a beautiful woman. It wasn’t a thought Ana cared to dwell on. “It must be nice to have sisters. I’m an only child.”

  Maggie sat forward slightly. “It doesn’t have to be a disadvantage.”

  Ana nodded. “True, but it would have been nice to have someone else around so my mother wouldn’t have been so totally focused on me.”

  “Siblings are definitely an advantage there,” Libby agreed. “I don’t want to pry, but did you call Javier Cazares?”

  “Yes. He’s an excellent detective. It turned out to be a shoe designer who was sending me flowers, not an obsessed or dangerous fan. I still have the kittens, by the way, but I’ve gotten used to them.”

  Their conversation turned to the fashions Ana had recently modeled, and she told them about the brief trip to Mallorca. “I love location shoots. I don’t have time to travel otherwise.”

  Libby finished her drink. “We’re going out to dinner tonight with Rafael and Santos. Would you like to come with us?”

  “Seeing you this afternoon was fun, and thank you for the invitation, but Santos would choke if he had to sit through a dinner with me. Perhaps we’ll see each other at another charity event.”

  Maggie and Libby watched Ana hurry away, swinging her flowers in time with her steps. “Does she seem sad to you?” Maggie asked.

  “Why would she be sad? She has everything, doesn’t she?”

  “Everything except Santos,” Maggie reminded her, “and maybe you shouldn’t tell him we saw her.”

  “Good advice,” Libby agreed.

  Ana went to a French movie at a small theatre Saturday night and stayed in on Sunday. She hoped Alejandro would go to El Gato and sit on the patio all afternoon waiting for her, but she had too much pride to sit there alone hoping to see him. Instead, she danced in her home studio and even went so far as to don a tutu. Dancing always made her feel better, and so, tired, she slept all night without waking.

  She’d just gotten dressed Monday morning, when Henry buzzed her condo. “Ms. Santillan, there are some detectives here to see you.”

  “Detectives? More than one?”

  “Yes, two.”

  “I’ll come right down.” She turned to Fatima. “If they’re looking for witnesses, I haven’t seen a damn thing.” She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and hurried on downstairs.

  The men were waiting at the security desk. The taller was dark and heavy set, the shorter red-haired and wiry. Their expressions were impossible to read, instantly making her uneasy. “May I see your credentials, please?”

  “Sergeant Robles,” the taller man said, and both showed their badges. “This is my partner, Guillermo Mesa. We have a few questions for you. It won’t take much of your time.”

  Ana would rather not i
nvite them into her home. “We have a conference room. Let’s use it. I’m curious as to why you’d want to see me, but we needn’t involve anyone else who lives here. Is the room free, Henry?”

  “Yes, it is. Do you want coffee?”

  The detectives shook their heads. “No, thank you, Henry.” She led them down the hallway, past the elevators to the conference room. It was furnished with the requisite long table and ten comfortably padded chairs. A wall of windows lit the room. She waited for the men to enter and then propped open the door. She took the chair at the end of the table, and they pulled up chairs on either side. Uneasy, she folded her hands in her lap. “Well?”

  Robles leaned toward her. “Do you have any idea why we’re here, Miss Santillan?”

  She looked between them, but there were no clues in their solemn expressions. “Absolutely none. I’ve not forgotten to pay any traffic fines, have I?”

  Mesa’s voice was high and sharp. “There’s no humor in this situation.”

  “What situation?” she asked again. “I’ve no idea why you’re here.”

  Mesa’s pale blue eyes narrowed in an accusing stare. “Jaime Campos has been murdered. It’s in today’s papers.”

  Shocked, Ana sat up straight. “I haven’t read the paper yet. Jaime Campos, the photographer?”

  Robles nodded. “I believe you worked with him often.”

  Sickened by their news, she leaned away from them and sank deeper into her chair. “Sometimes, not often. We worked together with Galen Salazar on Mallorca week before last. He was a terrific fashion photographer with some war experience.”

  Mesa tapped his nails on the table. “You knew he was working on an exhibit of his art photography?”

  With no reason to deny it, she answered truthfully. “He told me about it, but I wasn’t interested. Do you think it had something to do with his death?”

  “You’ve complimented his work. Why didn’t the project interest you?” Mesa continued.

  With a near constant frown, his sharp features gave him a ratlike appearance. She could almost see his nose twitch. She took a deep breath to dispel the image. “I model haute couture, gentlemen. I don’t do nudes.”

  Robles opened a folder and laid an 8x10 photo in front of her. “How do you explain this?”

  Ana picked it up and studied it closely. It was a frontal nude of a slender woman in a brazen pose with legs spread wide and hands on hips. “He’s Photoshopped my head onto someone else’s body. This isn’t me.”

  Mesa glanced at his partner. “So you wouldn’t have wanted to see it included in his exhibit?”

  She wondered if they were being deliberately dense. “He may have played around with his photos, but he wouldn’t have used something as obviously inauthentic as this.”

  “Why not? Would you have sued him?” Robles asked.

  She handed the photo back to them. “He wouldn’t have used it because it would have harmed his professional reputation immeasurably,” she stressed. “This is something a paparazzo would fabricate and sell to the tabloids. I’ve no idea who might want Jaime dead, and if you’ve no other questions, I’d like to go.”

  “We have a few more,” Mesa answered, his faint smile sliding into a smirk. “Where were you yesterday?”

  “Here. I usually don’t work on the weekends, and I enjoy relaxing at home.”

  “Did you have any guests?” Robles inquired.

  “No.” She certainly hadn’t expected to need an alibi, or she would have invited someone in the condo building for dinner.

  “Did you attend church?” Robles asked.

  “No. Did you?”

  Mesa shoved his chair back. “You’d be wise to watch your attitude, Miss Santillan. We may want to speak with you again, and you may want to have an attorney present.”

  Ana bolted to her feet. “Where was Jaime murdered? In his studio?”

  “Yes, and his blood splattered many of his prized photos.”

  She’d not asked for details and shuddered. “I’ve never been to his studio, so you won’t find my fingerprints. Don’t you rely on clues?”

  “The murderer would have wiped the place clean, Miss Santillan,” Robles stated. “Here’s my card. If you think of something we should know, call me.”

  Ana took the card and walked out the door ahead of them. She waited by the security desk while they passed through the front doors. “Did they sign in, Henry?”

  “Yes, right here, Robles and Mesa. I’m sorry if they upset you, but if I’d said you weren’t here, they would have kept coming back.”

  “You needn’t lie for me. A photographer I worked with was murdered, and they’re probably questioning everyone he knew. At least I hope they are.”

  Tuesday morning, the doctored photo of Ana appeared on the front page of the most popular tabloid in Barcelona. Her agent called to warn her before she left her building and walked straight into a swarm of paparazzi unprepared. “That’s only my head, Paul, but I won’t pose nude to prove it. Two police detectives showed it to me yesterday. One of them must have leaked it. I need an attorney to stop this before it gets any worse.”

  “How could it get worse?” Paul asked.

  She had an easy answer for that. “They could arrest me for murder.”

  “Don’t even think that, Ana. You don’t have any work today; stay home and screen your calls. The agency has an attorney, Elena Covarrubias, and I’ll ask her about suing the tabloid for harassment.”

  “How about defaming my image?”

  “Perfect. I’ll get her right on it.”

  Ana called Henry and asked him to find a copy of the tabloid. “It isn’t my body, and I’m going to sue over it, so I’d like to have a copy.”

  “Right away, Miss Santillan.”

  Orlando Ortiz called Alejandro as soon as he heard about the photo. “I’ve sent you an email. Open it and tell me what you think.”

  Alejandro found the front-page photo and wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of sounding alarmed. “That isn’t Ana’s body.”

  “You know her that well? I’m impressed.”

  “Anyone could tell the proportions are wrong. She’s all legs, and this photo shows a woman with an average height. Why would they publish something like this?”

  “Read the article. She’s a suspect in a murder.”

  He couldn’t stand his father’s gloating tone. “Nothing in the tabloids is true. You ought to know that.”

  “Perhaps not, but a man is dead. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Alejandro sat down and read the accompanying article and then went out to buy a copy of a reputable newspaper. The bogus photo of Ana wasn’t included, but her name was mentioned as one of the models who’d worked with Jaime Campos. There was no mention of her being a suspect, and relieved, he sat back and debated what to do. Doing nothing seemed completely wrong, however.

  Henry buzzed Ana’s condo. “There’s a deliveryman here from El Gato Café. Did you order something?”

  She looked at Fatima and rolled her eyes. “Please ask him his name.”

  There was a momentary pause. “He says he’s Alejandro Vasquez, and you know him.”

  She did, and had liked him enormously, until he’d turned on her. Maybe he’d come to his senses. She turned to the helpful housekeeper. “Looks as though you were right. Alejandro’s here.” She made him wait a minute. “We’re acquainted, Henry.” She opened her door when he knocked. In a navy-blue windbreaker and a blue cap, he did look like a deliveryman. He handed her the bag.

  “I know, I should have called, but I thought you’d probably tell me go to hell. I got past the half-dozen paparazzi out front without a second glance.” He removed the cap and swiped his fingers through his hair. “You must be Fatima. How do you do?”

  The housekeeper swept him with an appreciative glance. “You better be nice to Ana while you’re here, or I’ll toss you out myself.”

  He raised his hand. “I promise. I brought you some of the cakes you like
.”

  Ana peeked into the bag. “A bribe?”

  “It’s part of the disguise. I needed to deliver something.”

  Fatima took the bag and went into the kitchen. “I’ll make fresh coffee.”

  “Thank you,” he said. The kittens came running by, and Romeo went right up his leg but his jeans protected him from sharp little claws. He caught the kitten and held him up. “He’s grown.”

  “The real question is, have you?” Ana walked into the living room, and he put down the kitten and followed her.

  “I knew that wasn’t you in the paper, and you wouldn’t have killed a photographer over a doctored photo. That’s ridiculous. If you need a character reference, I’ll be glad to give one.”

  She sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. “Wait a minute. You didn’t think much of my character the last time we spoke.”

  He walked over to the window and looked out at the tree-lined street below. “I deserve that, but I thought you might need some help. There are corporate attorneys working for the Ortiz Lines, and they’d be able to recommend someone practicing criminal law, if you need one.”

  Fatima brought in two mugs of coffee, napkins and the sugary nut cakes on a fancy plate. “Would you like anything more?”

  “Thank you, no.” Ana reached for a cake. “The situation is simply bizarre, Alejandro. I had no reason to kill Jaime, and there’s no evidence to even suggest I did, but the detectives who questioned me yesterday were creepy. I’d rather not see them again. They showed me the bogus photo, and today it’s hit the tabloids. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  He took the wing chair and reached for a mug of coffee. “Do you think you’re being framed?”

  “There are some models who’d like to earn as much as I do, but I don’t think they’d resort to murder to boost their earnings. By the way, did your father tell you he called my agent to ask about my doing some promotion for your cruise ships?”