entire damned life, he’d done this. Ordered, demanded or manipulated. She’d tried reason, she’d tried threats, she’d even run away from home. She’d tried to cut herself off from the family, even going so far as to use her late mother’s maiden name in her teens. It hadn’t made any difference.
Nothing got through to the man.
All she could do was focus on her life, and her business. Which meant figuring out what he’d done and undo it, Lila told herself. It still took a couple more paces of the room to calm down enough to listen to herself, though.
When she did, she figured she’d better call Joe Martin and ensure she still had a client. Otherwise she was going to have to rewrite her company’s tag line to guarantee 95 percent satisfaction instead of 100.
Lila opened her laptop to pull up his phone number and saw her email notification flashing.
Flight details.
Her jaw set, her finger shaking, Lila deleted the email without replying. And contacted her client, instead.
“Mr. Martin, hello. This is Lila Adrian.”
Thirty minutes later, she’d smoothed over the trouble her father had caused and promised complete satisfaction in the form of Chef Rodriguez. No substitutes, no replacements, just him.
When she hung up, she knew she was tiptoeing a shaky line, making that kind of promise. But years of watching her father had given her plenty of insights into how the rich and influential operated. She’d built her business on those insights. She might not like the man a whole lot, but she couldn’t deny that his business skills were legendary.
Legends weren’t built on empty promises.
But neither were they built on fear, she told herself as she headed back to the Casa de Rico. She couldn’t wait until morning to talk with Rodriguez. Not with a man like Wayne Adrian making travel plans, whether she liked it or not. She wouldn’t put it past her father to send someone to the hotel to ensure she made that flight. She wasn’t going to comply, but it wouldn’t hurt to nail down the details with the chef tonight.
Snatches of noise rolled out of the buildings, the beat of a steel drum and thrum of guitars playing backup to the sound of Lila’s heels tapping down the sidewalk as she wove her way through the partying crowds.
People poured out of bars, gathered around restaurants and a happy couple danced in front of the hardware store. She’d had no idea that Puerto Viejo was such a party town. But safe enough, she supposed as she returned friendly greetings, refused two cleverly worded propositions and sidestepped a would-be pickpocket with an apologetic grin.
She hadn’t quite worked out her pitch, but she knew it’d be smarter to talk with Rodriguez tonight.
Maybe.
Two steps inside the restaurant and she could barely move. It obviously did a better dinner service than lunch, because it had wall-to-wall bodies.
Still, she gave the bartender a friendly look when she finally wiggled her way to the counter.
“Hi, there. Bar or restaurant?” the woman asked, giggling as a passing customer patted her on the butt.
Lila angled her head to peer around the column and check out the crowds. The small bar was three people deep, with the bodies spilling into the restaurant.
“I’d love to chat to Chef Rodriguez instead.” Lila tried a wide-eyed, innocent smile when the woman arched one brow. “I’m working on an article and was in earlier. I had the ceviche. It was great. I was hoping to ask him about a few follow-up questions.”
The woman gave her a narrow-eyed look, but finally shrugged.
“Sure. Go on back.”
Fighting her way through the crowd, Lila took a deep, grateful breath once through the kitchen doors.
A dozen faces turned to stare at her in surprise. But none was the one she was looking for.
“Chef Rodriguez?”
She got a series of shrugs, a couple of scowls and one frown from the dishwasher, who jerked his chin toward a door leading to a narrow hallway.
“Try his office.”
“Thanks.”
Remembering the chef’s earlier reluctance to talk, Lila closed the door behind her. The grumble of voices hit her when she was halfway down the hall. Men. They were speaking Spanish, but it was a dialect she wasn’t familiar with. But the rage in their tone came through loud and clear.
Biting her lip, Lila paused. She took one step back toward the kitchen, then spotted a door leading outside. Probably better to go out the side, she supposed, ignoring the frustration tightening her jaw. She wanted to talk with Rodriguez tonight, to get her offer in first.
The voices rose. She recognized enough to know that one man was pleading, another cursing. She’d just talk with the chef in the morning, as planned, she decided, nervously sidling over to the door.
Before she could turn the knob, there was a whine and a pop. Lila jumped, barely choking back her scream at the loud crash, the sight of papers winging through the air.
Another pop, and the partially closed door burst open, slamming into the wall. Before it could ricochet back again, a body flew out, landing in the hallway with a sickening thud. Something splattered, spraying the walls, spewing across the floor.
Blood?
Was that blood?
Hers drained out of her head, leaving her dizzy and blinking against the tiny black dots dancing in front of her eyes.
Chef Rodriguez, she realized with a silent scream, recognizing the body that splattered blood over the floor. A very dead Chef Rodriguez.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
Lila’s whole body shook. She swiped at the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. She swiped again, trying to get a good hold on the metal with her sweat-slicked hand.
Get out, get out, get out, she mentally chanted, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Get out before they see you.
She heard footsteps.
The sound of something hitting the wall.
They were coming.
She let out a squeal of panicked relief when the door opened. She tried to run, but her knees were as useful as Jell-O, so she hung on to the doorjamb to keep from falling on her face.
“Hey!”
Lila heard the office door ricochet off the wall again, the horrible squelching sound of someone sliding in blood, a big body hitting the wall.
They’d seen her.
Lila considered herself to be a smart woman. A world traveler trained in self-defense. A woman who followed and respected the law.
