Avenging Angel. Alice Sharpe

“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 stared at her without responding.

      “So what does being Víctor Alazandro’s bodyguard entail? Are you with him night and day? Do you taste his food before he does?”

      The corners of his mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

      “Do you have a name or do you just go by the designation bodyguard?”

      “And yet more questions.”

      “Is your name a secret?”

      The smiled toyed with his lips again. “You can call me Pete.”

      As talking with him was about as gratifying as talking to a brick wall, she changed tactics. Lowering her voice, moving a step closer to the rail, fluttering her eyelashes, she added, “I need to talk to Alazandro about a job before he leaves here today, Pete. Will you help me?”

      “You don’t need my help,” he said, backing away from her as though just remembering his duties lay elsewhere.

      “Yes, I do,” she said, climbing up on the fence. “Please, wait—”

      “You don’t need me to put in a good word for you,” he insisted. His gaze traveled down her chest and back again, a smile lingering on his lips. “You had him with the wet T-shirt,” he said. “You didn’t need the Japanese, though it was a nice touch.”

      The fact that she’d apparently broken into Alazandro’s inner sanctum coupled with Pete’s quick but thorough perusal shattered what little there was left of Elle’s aplomb. She almost fell off the top of the fence. Finally finding a perch, she blurted out, “Then I have a job?”

      “You still want a job?”

      “Of course.”

      “I thought you were afraid of getting shot.”

      “No,” she said. “Yes. I mean, I don’t want to get shot, of course, but I do want to travel to Mexico, I do want to see Puerta Del Sol.”

      “And there’s no other way for you to afford such an experience, right?”

      Why was he toying with her? Was he flirting? Was he suspicious? Of what? She hadn’t