sympathy for Peg’s plight all but chased her own agenda out of her mind. For a moment, she wished she could stay here and help Peg find a way to make her part of this bargain more palatable. But if this ploy to capture Alazandro’s attention failed, she’d have to devise another. And if that failed, another. One way or the other, she was going to get at the truth. She’d promised her grandfather. She’d promised herself.
“You have another appointment in two hours,” the blond man said, addressing Alazandro. It was the first time he’d spoken and Elle glanced at him.
He’d put his hat back on his head. She caught him staring at Peg, eyes narrowed.
Alazandro said, “Then let’s get to it.”
Elle, momentarily caught up in the undercurrents whizzing by, finally realized Alazandro had begun walking away.
“Mr. Alazandro,” she called. “Wait—”
Without looking back, Alazandro nodded very slightly toward the blond man who turned to Elle.
She put a foot on the bottom rung of the fence to heave herself over. “But—”
A very tanned hand clamped down on the rail next to hers. She lowered her foot as she looked up. Eyes the color and depth of Lake Tahoe regarded her from beneath the brim of the battered Stetson.
“I need to talk to Mr. Alazandro,” she mumbled.
“Isn’t that what you were just doing?”
His examination made her uncomfortable and she averted her eyes. “Damn. I blew it.”
“Blew what?”
“My chance to get a job at Alazandro’s new resort. Of all the days to fall off a horse.”
The stranger seemed to reach a conclusion of sorts, as though finding a missing piece of a troubling puzzle. “So you really are after a job,” he said. “Hence the language demonstration. But why Japanese?”
“I’ve heard he gets a lot of Japanese tourists at his resorts. I thought someone working in the stable who could communicate with the visitors as well as with the local staff might come in—handy.”
“Puerta Del Sol doesn’t open for several weeks,” the stranger said. “After hurricane season.”
Door of the Sun. Such a peaceful name for a resort beside the sea. So misleading. Never mind, all Elle knew for sure was what she’d overheard Peg telling her lawyer. Alazandro was headed down to Mexico after his visit to Peg’s stables. One way or another, Elle was going, too.
“I know when it opens,” she said. “But there must be a lot of work going on beforehand, right? Trails to map and clear? Horses to feed and exercise?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “And you want to do that kind of grunt work?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” she said.
Staring right into her eyes, he said, “Why? What’s so important to you about getting hired for the Puerta Del Sol resort?”
She hadn’t expected this question, especially coming from him. After a ten second delay, she said, “I like learning about…things.”
“So your interest lies in resort management?”
“Maybe.” Hoping to win back control of the conversation, she added, “I don’t know how to apply a mud pack, my tennis game sucks and I know zip about deep-sea fishing. My options are limited. But I do know horses.”
“I see,” he said, his upper lip lifting a hair as he looked at her. She knew what he saw. The mud, the dripping hair. The anxiety. She started to explain about Tabitha and the jump and the disgruntled horse and thought better of it. She’d already said enough.
Chancing another glance at his face, she said, “Who are you, anyway?”
“Who do you think I am?”
“I don’t know. A secretary, maybe?”
“Do I look like a secretary?”
“Do you ever just answer a question?” she snapped.
“Sometimes. Do you?”
She glared at him until she remembered that he had accompanied Alazandro and so might exert a certain amount of influence. It wouldn’t pay to push him too far.
As she tried to think of a graceful way to back down, he said, “I’m Alazandro’s bodyguard.”
“Why does Alazandro need a bodyguard?”
“He’s a wealthy man.”
“In other words, someone is trying to, what? Kidnap him? Rob him?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
The bodyguard studied her face. Damn, that way he had of looking past the surface was getting on her nerves. He finally said, “He recently received a death threat.”
The blood drained from her face. If Alazandro died before she had a chance to discover the truth—
“What’s the matter?” he said, reaching out a hand to steady her.
“This death threat. Did it come from someone here in the States?” Why did she suddenly feel there was a gun pointed at her back? She had to will herself not to swivel around and look.
“Does it matter?”
Biting her lip she said, “Maybe someone is after him right now. Maybe someone has a gun trained on you. I’m standing awfully close.”
“And you don’t want to get shot by mistake?”
“No.”
“Can’t say as I blame you.”
“So, who made this death threat?”
His eyes narrowed fractionally as he rested both hands on the top rail. “There you go with the questions again.”
She blinked a couple of times. “I’m just curious. I’ve never met a real bodyguard before.”
He didn’t reply and she felt herself squirming under his watchful gaze. “I thought bodyguards wore dark suits and sunglasses and those little ear pieces,” she mumbled.
“You’re thinking of the guys on television.”
“So you’ve been hired to protect him.”
“That’s what a bodyguard does.”
“With your life?”
He half smiled. “He’s not the president of the United States.”
“So, not with your life.”
He
