sleep before dawn. His knee was wrapped to the size of a frozen turkey. His hip ached where the bull had brushed by him, but he wasn’t curious enough to turn on the light over the bed to check for bruises. Thoroughly miserable to be trapped on his back like an overturned turtle, his only distraction was the clatter out in the hall. Nurses walked with a quick step, while doctors strode by at a slower pace.
He’d been in and out of emergency rooms more times than he could count, but this was the first time he’d been stuck in a hospital bed. A nurse came in to check his vital signs, and he murmured an unenthusiastic greeting.
“Good morning,” she replied. “I’m sorry I woke you so often during the night. How are you feeling? Do you need something more for pain?”
She was cute, with short curly hair, and his mood improved, but only slightly. “No, it isn’t bad, but this ruins my plans to take up flamenco.”
She giggled. “Do you have a partner?”
“I hadn’t thought that far.”
“If I bring you paper, will you sign an autograph for my nephew? He has a poster of you in his bedroom.”
“I’ll be glad to. I hope he wasn’t at the arena yesterday.”
“No, I don’t believe he was, but any matador can trip and fall.”
Santos gritted his teeth. “Is that the report, that I tripped?”
She made a note of his blood pressure and took his wrist to check his pulse. “That’s what I heard. Isn’t it true?”
“No, it isn’t.” He supposed that was how it might have looked to anyone who hadn’t seen the blinding mirror flash, but he’d straighten out the story as soon as he could.
A search for Santos’s name in tabloid archives had yielded a list of women’s names, but Libby didn’t want him to believe she’d snooped through his love life merely to satisfy her own curiosity. She left the paper in her purse when she followed Maggie into his room. With the blinds open, it was a bright sunny room, but against a day’s growth of beard, he looked pale. He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual high-voltage grin.
His right knee was heavily bandaged, and Maggie walked around the other side of the bed to kiss his cheek. “How do you feel?” she asked.
“It hurts, but I can take it. I want to get out of here, but the doctor says I’ll have to stay until tomorrow. Would you please go down to the gift shop and buy a paper? I want to read the comments on yesterday.”
Libby stepped toward the door. “I’ll go.” She’d already dropped off the magazine she’d not meant to take and had seen the gift shop on their way in. The first paper she picked up had Santos’s photo on the front page. To her absolute astonishment, the second had Santos’s photo plus the one Ana Santillan had taken of her as she turned back toward Rafael. They were shown in profile facing each other and it looked as though they were exchanging some delicious secret. She quickly paid for the papers and rushed back upstairs.
“Here you are. Both papers have you on the front page. What does it say about Rafael and me in this one?”
Maggie quickly read the description of the photo. “It seems Rafael has left me for an ‘unidentified woman’.”
“Where is Rafael? Don’t tell him I asked for him, though,” Santos cautioned.
“Of course not,” Maggie promised. “He went to the police station to see how they’re following up on what the arena security might have found. He believes one of the protestors was behind this. Apparently when any matador is injured, more people are drawn to the anti-bullfighting cause.”
“He’s right,” Santos agreed, “But I’d rather not die to feed their propaganda.” He noted Libby’s preoccupied frown. “What do you think?”
She moved the visitor’s chair closer to his bed. “Two matadors had already fought without any threats from the crowd. It makes me wonder if you weren’t targeted for another reason.”
He wrinkled the bed’s top sheet in his fist.
He’d been in and out of emergency rooms more times than he could count, but this was the first time he’d been stuck in a hospital bed. A nurse came in to check his vital signs, and he murmured an unenthusiastic greeting.
“Good morning,” she replied. “I’m sorry I woke you so often during the night. How are you feeling? Do you need something more for pain?”
She was cute, with short curly hair, and his mood improved, but only slightly. “No, it isn’t bad, but this ruins my plans to take up flamenco.”
She giggled. “Do you have a partner?”
“I hadn’t thought that far.”
“If I bring you paper, will you sign an autograph for my nephew? He has a poster of you in his bedroom.”
“I’ll be glad to. I hope he wasn’t at the arena yesterday.”
“No, I don’t believe he was, but any matador can trip and fall.”
Santos gritted his teeth. “Is that the report, that I tripped?”
She made a note of his blood pressure and took his wrist to check his pulse. “That’s what I heard. Isn’t it true?”
“No, it isn’t.” He supposed that was how it might have looked to anyone who hadn’t seen the blinding mirror flash, but he’d straighten out the story as soon as he could.
A search for Santos’s name in tabloid archives had yielded a list of women’s names, but Libby didn’t want him to believe she’d snooped through his love life merely to satisfy her own curiosity. She left the paper in her purse when she followed Maggie into his room. With the blinds open, it was a bright sunny room, but against a day’s growth of beard, he looked pale. He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual high-voltage grin.
His right knee was heavily bandaged, and Maggie walked around the other side of the bed to kiss his cheek. “How do you feel?” she asked.
“It hurts, but I can take it. I want to get out of here, but the doctor says I’ll have to stay until tomorrow. Would you please go down to the gift shop and buy a paper? I want to read the comments on yesterday.”
Libby stepped toward the door. “I’ll go.” She’d already dropped off the magazine she’d not meant to take and had seen the gift shop on their way in. The first paper she picked up had Santos’s photo on the front page. To her absolute astonishment, the second had Santos’s photo plus the one Ana Santillan had taken of her as she turned back toward Rafael. They were shown in profile facing each other and it looked as though they were exchanging some delicious secret. She quickly paid for the papers and rushed back upstairs.
“Here you are. Both papers have you on the front page. What does it say about Rafael and me in this one?”
Maggie quickly read the description of the photo. “It seems Rafael has left me for an ‘unidentified woman’.”
“Where is Rafael? Don’t tell him I asked for him, though,” Santos cautioned.
“Of course not,” Maggie promised. “He went to the police station to see how they’re following up on what the arena security might have found. He believes one of the protestors was behind this. Apparently when any matador is injured, more people are drawn to the anti-bullfighting cause.”
“He’s right,” Santos agreed, “But I’d rather not die to feed their propaganda.” He noted Libby’s preoccupied frown. “What do you think?”
She moved the visitor’s chair closer to his bed. “Two matadors had already fought without any threats from the crowd. It makes me wonder if you weren’t targeted for another reason.”
He wrinkled the bed’s top sheet in his fist.
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