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Authors: Marie Higgins
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door.
Quietly, Anton opened the back door and crept outside. The moon hung high in the sky, lighting his way around the house perfectly. Shadows danced everywhere as the wind rustled through the trees.
Swift and sure, he took cautious steps, trying his best not to make any noises. Voices had disappeared, and he hoped Vivian could handle the stranger without problems. If that man laid one finger on her, Anton would be tempted to snap the man’s neck with his bare hands.
Once he turned the corner of the house, the Spaniard’s voice rang through the night air. Anton stopped and flattened himself against the wall. The small, pudgy stranger doffed his hat, and his baldhead shined in the moonlight. Within a few hours, the sun would peek over the horizon and turn the man’s head a pinkish color.
“I am sorry to upset you , Señorita , but it was most important I see you now.”
“You still have not told me your name.”
“My deepest apologies. My name is Señor Eduardo Gomez. I work for Señor Ballí.”
She nodded. “He hired Mr. Pinkerton to find Antonio Romero.”
“ Sí .”
“What is of such great importance that you must disturb a lady at this late hour?”
Anton’s heart lightened. Vivian held her own with the stranger. He knew firsthand how stubborn she could be even through her fear.
“ Señor Ballí informed me that Mr. Pinkerton sent you to locate Antonio Romero. Is this so?”
She cocked her brow. “It seems you have the answer, Señor Gomez, or what else would explain your visit here? Please, get to the point of the matter.”
He nodded. “As you wish. I understand you may have found the man impersonating Señor Ballí’s nephew.”
“No. Suffice to say, my search led me to the wrong man.”
“So, the opera singer is not Antonio Romero?”
“Unfortunately, no. Although the two men are similar in appearance, the opera singer’s life is far different from Antonio Romero’s.”
“Are you certain the performer is not lying? Perhaps we should let Señor Ballí know so he can look at him.”
“If you think it’s necessary, but during my visit with the performer tonight, I found no reason to suspect him of being Antonio Romero. I would hate to waste Señor Juanito Romero Ballí’s time.”
In a flash, the bulky Spaniard scowled. His body stiffened. “How did you know my employer’s full name? I did not tell you.”
Panic flowed through Anton, but he kept still and waited. If that man touched her even once…
“No, you did not tell me, but Mr. Pinkerton did.”
“That cannot be. Señor Ballí does not ever give out his full name.”
“Then how would I know it?” she questioned.
He lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “Because I think you have been talking to his nephew, Antonio.”
The moment she cried out, Anton sprang into action. He tripped over a bush, but righted himself before lunging toward the man standing on the porch.
“Please, sir,” she begged, “you’re hurting me.”
“Tell me where I can find Antonio,” he demanded.
“I don’t know.”
He raised his arm as though to hit her, and she flinched. Anton grabbed the man by the shoulders and whipped him around. When the Spaniard’s gaze met Anton’s, he didn’t give him much time to recover from surprise before Anton plowed his fist into the stranger’s face, hitting his nose dead center. A sickening crunch echoed through the night before blood poured from the wounded man’s nose, causing him to crumple to the ground in a motionless heap.
“Is…he dead?” she questioned with a quiver in her voice.
Anton knelt beside the man and touched the side of his neck to feel for a pulse. A slight beat pounded against Anton’s finger.
“He’s alive.”
She sobbed and quickly covered her mouth. Anton stepped toward her and took her shaky hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” she answered breathlessly.
She stepped closer, and he moved his arms around her
Quietly, Anton opened the back door and crept outside. The moon hung high in the sky, lighting his way around the house perfectly. Shadows danced everywhere as the wind rustled through the trees.
Swift and sure, he took cautious steps, trying his best not to make any noises. Voices had disappeared, and he hoped Vivian could handle the stranger without problems. If that man laid one finger on her, Anton would be tempted to snap the man’s neck with his bare hands.
Once he turned the corner of the house, the Spaniard’s voice rang through the night air. Anton stopped and flattened himself against the wall. The small, pudgy stranger doffed his hat, and his baldhead shined in the moonlight. Within a few hours, the sun would peek over the horizon and turn the man’s head a pinkish color.
“I am sorry to upset you , Señorita , but it was most important I see you now.”
“You still have not told me your name.”
“My deepest apologies. My name is Señor Eduardo Gomez. I work for Señor Ballí.”
She nodded. “He hired Mr. Pinkerton to find Antonio Romero.”
“ Sí .”
“What is of such great importance that you must disturb a lady at this late hour?”
Anton’s heart lightened. Vivian held her own with the stranger. He knew firsthand how stubborn she could be even through her fear.
“ Señor Ballí informed me that Mr. Pinkerton sent you to locate Antonio Romero. Is this so?”
She cocked her brow. “It seems you have the answer, Señor Gomez, or what else would explain your visit here? Please, get to the point of the matter.”
He nodded. “As you wish. I understand you may have found the man impersonating Señor Ballí’s nephew.”
“No. Suffice to say, my search led me to the wrong man.”
“So, the opera singer is not Antonio Romero?”
“Unfortunately, no. Although the two men are similar in appearance, the opera singer’s life is far different from Antonio Romero’s.”
“Are you certain the performer is not lying? Perhaps we should let Señor Ballí know so he can look at him.”
“If you think it’s necessary, but during my visit with the performer tonight, I found no reason to suspect him of being Antonio Romero. I would hate to waste Señor Juanito Romero Ballí’s time.”
In a flash, the bulky Spaniard scowled. His body stiffened. “How did you know my employer’s full name? I did not tell you.”
Panic flowed through Anton, but he kept still and waited. If that man touched her even once…
“No, you did not tell me, but Mr. Pinkerton did.”
“That cannot be. Señor Ballí does not ever give out his full name.”
“Then how would I know it?” she questioned.
He lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “Because I think you have been talking to his nephew, Antonio.”
The moment she cried out, Anton sprang into action. He tripped over a bush, but righted himself before lunging toward the man standing on the porch.
“Please, sir,” she begged, “you’re hurting me.”
“Tell me where I can find Antonio,” he demanded.
“I don’t know.”
He raised his arm as though to hit her, and she flinched. Anton grabbed the man by the shoulders and whipped him around. When the Spaniard’s gaze met Anton’s, he didn’t give him much time to recover from surprise before Anton plowed his fist into the stranger’s face, hitting his nose dead center. A sickening crunch echoed through the night before blood poured from the wounded man’s nose, causing him to crumple to the ground in a motionless heap.
“Is…he dead?” she questioned with a quiver in her voice.
Anton knelt beside the man and touched the side of his neck to feel for a pulse. A slight beat pounded against Anton’s finger.
“He’s alive.”
She sobbed and quickly covered her mouth. Anton stepped toward her and took her shaky hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” she answered breathlessly.
She stepped closer, and he moved his arms around her
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