They reached his vehicle, parked on the street outside the aparthotel. He helped Tansy settle into the car then took his own seat behind the wheel. As he drove, Tansy peppered him with questions about things and places she noticed along the way. Things Sebastian saw every day and ignored or overlooked.
By the time they reached the massive park, he had all but forgotten his suspicions and instead had a new understanding for the Apostle Paul’s words in Acts, when “something like scales fell from his eyes,” restoring his sight. Seen through Tansy’s eyes Santiago was new, fresh, and exciting.
She fell in love with the pigeons at the park, and pleaded in sweeping hand gestures with an old man seated on a wrought-iron bench for the partial loaf of stale bread he was feeding the birds. When the old man looked as though he might call
la policia
about the crazy American, Sebastian stepped in to translate.
“I rarely see pigeons back home,” Tansy explained as she scattered crumbs to the voracious birds. She squealed when they flocked around her ankles to beg for more.
Sebastian suppressed a smile, his customary state of ennui dissipating like fog in the bright morning sun.
When the bread was gone, Sebastian grabbed Tansy’s hand and towed her along the tree-lined pathways, studiously avoiding the numerous benches where couples—young and old—clung to each other in amorous embraces. Words from his mother’s diary rose around him like living creatures. She and his father had once strolled these same paths, very much in love in spite of their families’ mutual misgivings.
“Look at that!”
Tansy squeezed his fingers, which sent a rush of heat up his arm, and dragged him toward the fountain where he had played on hot summer afternoons. Today,
Fuente Alema —
the “German Fountain” built to honor the nation’s German immigrants—was void of its usual complement of swimsuit-clad children splashing in the water.
She plopped herself onto the wide bench around the fountain and patted the space beside her. A mist rose around her like a cloud and sparkled in the sunlight.
He didn’t sit.
“This is wonderful,” she said, tilting her head to look up at him in a way he might have thought flirtatious in another woman. When Tansy did it, however, it was charming.
He cleared his throat. “I used to come here during the summer while my grandfather was at work.” He stared at the fountain. “I haven’t been here in a long time. It’s good to remember.” He looked back at Tansy. “You are helping me relax, whether you realize it or not.”
Her hair dropped across her face like a curtain, partially hiding a smile. “I’m glad.”
A splash took him by surprise. He wiped water from his face with one hand, simultaneously reaching out to grab her. She squealed and moved to push him backward into the fountain, but he caught her arms and pulled her onto his lap, pinning her arms at her sides.
“OK, you win,” she said.
“You need to increase your stamina, Miss Chastain. Giving in is no way to win the war.”
She stilled. “I didn’t realize we were at war.”
He released her abruptly, forced the mask to overtake his features. “Warfare is a way of life, Miss Chastain.”
She frowned. “I used to feel that way, but no more. Life isn’t supposed to be a constant struggle, always on the defensive. Jesus came to give us life, abundant life,” she said. “And abundant life and constant warfare are incompatible, in my opinion.”
Sebastian stared. Reminded again of the words in his mother’s diary, how she’d described his father as “jaded” and “hard,” and the impassioned prayers she’d poured out on paper to God, begging her Lord to soften his father’s heart.
The similarity chilled him.
“Where shall we go next?” he asked, seeking an interruption.
Tansy shrugged and smiled. “You’re the tour guide, Mr. MacKenna.”
Her use of his family name made him grimace, reminding him of his deception. He glanced at his watch to avoid meeting her eyes. “I have some business to attend to this afternoon,” he said. “I’ll drop you off at the aparthotel and pick you up for dinner.”
Her expressive mouth bent into a frown. “All right.” Then she smiled. “I should do some work, too.”
Sebastian’s jaw tensed, and he considered questioning her further about her “work.”
“We should go, then.” He reached for her, and kept one hand lightly on her elbow as they returned, in silence, to his car. Her nearness made his head swim, and that clouded his judgment.
He pulled out his keys and opened her door. He would deposit her at the aparthotel, pretend to leave, then slip in the back entrance and retreat to his own rooms. A few hours poring over spreadsheets would surely divest him of the potent attraction he seemed to be developing for the idealistic American with the hidden agenda.
“The park was lovely. Thank you for taking me,” she said as he pulled up outside the aparthotel.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ll pick you up for dinner at five. Pizza. Unless you want traditional Chilean food.”
“No, pizza sounds great,” she replied.
Why was she so accommodating, so easy to get along with?
“And then we’ll go to the worship service?”
The moment she asked, he forgot all about her being accommodating.
“Of course,” he replied. After she’d disappeared inside, he whipped out into traffic with a squeal of expensive tires, irritated by his confusion and his desire to trust her, though he knew he shouldn’t.
5
Tansy worked on the manuscript for most of the afternoon. She skipped lunch, well-satisfied by the delicious breakfast. She tried Eva’s attorney again, realizing too late she’d forgotten about the time difference once more. She’d have to let Sebastian treat her to dinner. She plunged back into Eva’s story and tried not to think about Sebastian.
But every mention of Chile, every word about Eva’s dashing husband, brought Sebastian back to Tansy’s mind. She dropped her chin into her hand and stared out the window at the Santiago skyline.
Sebastian MacKenna was a complex man, difficult to read. But was that just due to their cultural differences, or was it something more?
At five minutes to five, she took the elevator downstairs. Sebastian was waiting for her again. He held out his arm. Had she imagined tension between them earlier? She curled her fingers around his bicep and allowed him to lead her to the low-slung coupe.
She closed her eyes while he navigated the heavy traffic.
“Here we are,” he announced, and she opened her eyes. The sidewalk reflected the reddish glow of the red and orange neon sign overhead. People clustered around the doors, awaiting entrance.
“It looks like we might have a wait ahead of us,” Tansy commented.
Sebastian smiled as he tossed his keys to a valet. “Never fear,” he said, pulling her out of the car.
The neon lights outside yielded to warm wood and rusty metal décor inside. The rich smells of yeasty dough, melting cheese, and an array of savory toppings blended with the hum of conversations in multiple languages and the universal clink of plates and silverware and glasses.
Sebastian murmured something to the hostess, who produced two menus and motioned for them to follow her. She stopped beside a table situated far from the kitchen traffic and immune to the bumping and crowding taking place around the bar.
He pulled out Tansy’s chair then took the seat opposite hers. “The pizza here is a bit different than what you’re used to,” he said, flipping open his menu.
She surveyed the unfamiliar words on the laminated page. If she tried to order, who knew what might end up on her plate? She closed her menu. “Since you like this place, I’ll trust you to pick something delicious.”
“I take trust very seriously.” His gray gaze held hers for a moment, weighty as lead, and then he focused on the menu.
Her stomach executed a perfect Arabian cartwheel.
A waiter appeared at Sebastian’s side.
Tansy listened to the exchange, her untrained ear catching a random Spanish word here and a semi-familiar phrase there.
Then the waiter dipped his chin and left.
“So tell me,” Tansy tapped her fingers against the red and white checked tablecloth, “How did you get us in here so fast?”
“I have my ways,” he said. “Besides, what kind of private tour guide would I be if I made you wait in line for your dinner?”
“That’s just it. You aren’t a tour guide. You’re a businessman. But we walked right past a lot of other men in nice suits on the way through the restaurant, what’s your secret?”
“He has many secrets,” said a male voice behind Tansy’s right ear, “not the least of which is the identity of his lovely dinner partner.”
“I wasn’t aware you were in the habit of tracking my social life,” Sebastian growled.
Tansy twisted in her seat. The man standing behind her looked like Sebastian. A relative, she guessed, but something was wrong with the stranger, something she couldn’t identify. Had she seen him somewhere before? Or did she feel that way because he resembled Sebastian?
“Aren’t you going to introduce me
,
mi primo?” the man asked.
Tansy turned back to Sebastian.
A muscle in his jaw twitched and anger rolled off him in waves. “Tansy Chastain, Diego Vargas.”
And then she remembered. The faces of the two intruders outside Eva’s leaped to the forefront of her mind. Diego had been one of them, she was certain. Tansy gasped.
“Mucho gusto, Tansy Chastain.” Diego leered, the corners of his lips curled in a farcical smile.
She steadied herself. “Señor Vargas.” The Spanish word felt strange, as if she were playing a role on the stage.
Questions swirled around her brain. How did Sebastian know the man who had broken into Eva’s house a continent away? And, more importantly, did Diego Vargas know who
she
was? And where was the second man she’d seen with Diego in Colorado?
Diego reached for an empty chair at a nearby table, spun it into the open space between Tansy and Sebastian, and then dropped into the seat.
“This is a private dinner, Diego.” The muscles in Sebastian’s arms and shoulders bunched and released beneath his suit. It seemed he both disliked Diego, and distrusted him.
Diego focused on Tansy.
A tremor rippled up her spine. She’d been trusting Sebastian. But was her trust deserved?
“Señorita Chastain, where are you from?”
She almost choked, then muttered, “The United States.”
“Such a huge nation compared to the sliver of land that is Chile.” He leaned forward until his face was mere inches from her own. “From what region?”
Tansy rubbed her palms against her thighs. Did he know who she was? Did he know why she was in Chile? Eva’s warnings about the walking stick reverberated in her head. She wanted—no,
needed
—to escape. She reached for her bag and pushed away from the table. “If you will excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.” She rose and made her way toward the crowded bar, trying to ignore her pounding heart and the thud of panic at her temples.
For once, being short was a blessing. Losing herself in a mass of humanity was an easy task. She rounded her shoulders, dipped her chin to her chest, lifted her arms and hands to the front of her body like a boxer, and pushed into the crowd. After taking a circuitous route through the bar, she emerged on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Tansy inhaled and willed her heart to decelerate.
Perhaps you’re wrong, and he isn’t the man who broke into Eva’s house.
She took in the milling crowd.
The lights overhead cast a hellish glow over the face of a man smoking a cigarette near the corner of the building. Icy fingers of fear clamped around her neck. He was, without a doubt, the same man she’d seen with Diego Vargas in Eva’s driveway.
She jumped when a valet touched her shoulder. Whatever he said in Spanish might as well have been Gaelic. She shook her head, struggling with what to say and what language to say it in. Policia
?
No. She had no proof of criminal activity. Worse, she had no idea of Sebastian’s role in all of it. What if he was innocent of any knowledge of Diego’s actions? She didn’t want to cause trouble for Sebastian.
She settled on “taxi.” The valet stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The piercing sound sliced through the warm evening air and Tansy jerked her head toward Diego’s accomplice, fearful he might look her way, but he didn’t.
A taxi rolled to a smooth stop at the curb and the valet opened the door for her with a smile. Tansy scrambled into the cab, reaching into her bag for the address of her aparthotel to show the driver. Only when the vehicle pulled out into the street did she remember she had no money.
****
Sebastian fixed his gaze on his cousin. “What do you want?”
“It would seem that I know more about your
gringa
than you do. I find that interesting.”
Your gringa
. The words hovered in Sebastian’s mind.
His.
He found that he liked the idea, and that surprised him. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you not know who she is? Where she’s from?” Diego put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“I met her on the plane. She’s a tourist.”
“Ha! She’s got you fooled.” Diego pushed away from the table. “It will be very
entertaining to see how this plays out, mi primo.”
Sebastian frowned at his cousin’s back as the man strode away, then glanced at the empty seat across the table. She should have returned by now.
He drummed his fingertips against the table. Once, twice, three times.
The waiter reappeared, balancing a tray in one hand. He raised a brow at the sight of the empty seat. Sebastian motioned for him to set down the pizza.
He waited, scanning the restaurant every few seconds for her.
Their dinner cooled, and the ice melted in his glass. The waiter returned and asked if he wanted a box.
Sebastian said no, and rose. He made his way through the overcrowded bar to the restrooms and asked the next woman who came out of the ladies’ room if she’d seen Tansy within. When she shook her head, he handed her three
lu
c
as—
three-thousand
pesos
—and asked her to check the bathroom again. She exited a few moments later, and tried to give him the money back, but he brushed her aside.