tray of dirty dishes onto the kitchen counter, Esther stepped outside, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It wasn’t often that she envied Carmita the hustle and bustle of her job, but tonight she did. From the second she’d laid eyes on Perez she’d been a bundle of nerves. Her stomach felt tight, she had barely been able to eat, even her skin felt tense. She’d taken every excuse to leave the table and distance herself from him, but the few minutes she’d managed weren’t enough.
Stepping farther into the garden, she breathed in the rich scent of gardenias and willed herself to relax, her gaze automatically drawn to the limpid surface of the lit pool.
Lifting her hair off the back of her neck so the air could cool her skin, she strolled closer to the pool, gaze drifting over jardinieres of trailing ivy and the glossy leaves of palms. On impulse, she slipped off her shoes, dragged the clinging silk jersey of her dress around her thighs and lowered herself to the tiled edge of the pool. As her feet slid into the water, a small shudder went through her. The water was tepid, barely cooler than the surface of her skin, but it was enough to provide relief from the heat and give her a few moments to assess exactly what was going on between Cesar and Lopez.
Cesar had said the dinner was simply a social “warm-up” while he and Lopez assessed their compatibility as business partners, but nothing about the evening felt warm. Lopez wasn’t going out of his way to charm anyone, and Cesar wasn’t himself. If she didn’t know better she would think—
A shadow flickered, jerking her head around. Esther frowned, more at her own jumpiness than the fact that some small animal or a bird might have taken up residence in the thick grove of palms. The movement had been at the periphery of her vision. It was possible it had been a shadow generated by someone in the house moving in front of a lamp, but with everyone seated in the dining room, that left the sitting room—the only lighted room that faced the patio—empty. Unpalatable as it was, the movement had more than likely been made by a rat. They loved the thick subtropical undergrowth. Carmita’s husband, Tomas, was forever setting traps.
The clash of a dropped pan and the sharp edge of Carmita’s voice broke the balmy quiet. Shaking off her tension and the growing anger that, desperate or not, Cesar had allowed a man like Perez into their family home, Esther swung her feet out of the water and straightened, her shoes dangling from her fingers.
The branch of a magnolia quivered. She frowned. The quivering branch was some distance from the first disturbance. The obvious answer to the small movement was the breeze. But there was no breeze.
Eyes unblinking, she probed the shadows, but the glow from the pool destroyed her night vision. She couldn’t make out much more than the outlines of shrubs and trees.
A further flickering movement sent her heart slamming hard against the wall of her chest.
The breath drained from her lungs when she realized the movement was a leaf dropping into the pool. For long moments she stared at the leaf where it floated, and the fine shimmer of concentric circles forming around it.
Nothing could have demonstrated more clearly that she was becoming paranoid. The estate was security-fenced and monitored twenty-four hours a day. If any of the alarms had been breached, either Tomas or Jorge, Tomas and Carmita’s son, who lived with his parents in a cottage on the estate, would have rung through to the house.
With disgust she strode back into the kitchen just as the main course trolley was finally wheeled through to the dining room.
Within an hour dessert was cleared and Carmita was circulating with the coffeepot and a dish of her homemade chocolates.
Cesar refused coffee, instead refilling his wineglass. Esther noticed he was drinking heavily and talking too much, which wasn’t usual. Normally he kept a clear head when they entertained because he was well aware that his strength lay in playing stocks and his ability to make a failing business soar, not in dealing with people. That was where Esther’s expertise was invaluable. Cesar weeded out the bad risks; she weeded out the bad people.
Rina, who must have sneaked her Walkman to the table while Esther was out of the room, despite the fact that she was expressly forbidden to do so, abandoned listening to music, attracted by the silver dish of chocolates. Carmita pushed the dish into Rina’s hands and urged her to take them around the table. Normally, Esther would have been more than happy for Rina to lend a hand, but on this occasion she wished Carmita had stuck to etiquette.
As Rina drifted past with the dish, Cesar’s arm curled around her waist, halting her. Rina stiffened, clearly not in the mood for a public display of affection. Cesar, usually more sensitive to his daughter’s moods, refused to take the hint, and for the first time Esther realized what was behind Cesar’s uncharacteristic behavior: he was afraid.
She’d been so preoccupied with her own perceptions, her own knowledge, she hadn’t stopped to think about Cesar’s state of mind. Usually, the bigger the monetary challenge, the more he relished it. He was like a general in battle, every deal a campaign to build his empire ever larger. She had always admired his courage and his audacity. Normally his instincts were good and, more important, he was lucky. Or, he had been.
Cesar’s smile widened, a sharp edge to the grin. “C’mon, honey, show our guests what you can really do.”
Esther’s smile slipped as the focus turned on Rina.
Suppressing the urge to hustle her daughter from the room, she pushed her chair back, rose to her feet and began gathering dishes. “Mr. Lopez and his friends aren’t interested in school tricks.”
Cesar frowned at the clatter of plates. “A photographic memory isn’t a school trick.”
Esther ignored him as she moved around the table, deliberately adding a swing to her hips. The impulse to preserve her child was knee-jerk and primitive. Perez made her skin crawl, Lopez didn’t make her feel much better and Dennison had about as much charm as a piranha. She didn’t want any of these men looking at Rina or focusing on her. She didn’t want any of them remembering one thing about her daughter.
Cesar produced a sheet of paper and a pen and began writing figures in bold print. “Here, honey, you get five seconds to look.”
Rina stiffened. Her gaze automatically connected with Esther’s, the communication clear. She had stopped enjoying performing in public at age five and she was in no mood to start again now.
Grimly, Esther jerked her head in assent, indicating Rina should go along with her father. As much as she wanted to get her daughter out of the room and away from Perez, she would have to wait another few minutes. Things were tense enough. If Rina dug her heels in there would be a scene, and after the reversals of the past few weeks, a dinner table brawl with his daughter was the last thing Cesar needed.
Her expression set, Rina deposited the dish of chocolates on the table and glanced at the sheet her father handed her. Esther’s stomach tightened as she watched her daughter do what had always come naturally to them both. From as early as she could remember, Esther had had a photographic memory. As long as the material was visual the process was simple; she told her mind to remember, then she let it. If she interfered with the process and concentrated on one part of an image or one number, that was all she remembered, but if she distanced herself and let her gaze slide down the page she had total recall. It was a weird process that didn’t make “normal” sense, but it worked.
When Rina was finished, Cesar handed the sheet to Lopez. Something about Alex Lopez made her skin crawl, but he was fascinating in an odd way. All through dinner she’d tried to figure out exactly what it was that was wrong about him. Dennison was dull, more interested
