One Month with the Magnate (12 page)

“I like living alone,” Emilio told her. “And if I ever feel the need to have kids, I can just borrow Alejandro's.”

“You need to fill it with niños of your own,” she said sternly.

“Why don't you nag Enrique about getting married?” Emilio said.

She rubbed her youngest son's arm affectionately. “He's still a baby.”

Emilio laughed. “So what does that make me? An old man?”

“You are pretty damn old,” Enrique said, which got him plenty of laughs.

Chris climbed into Emilio's lap and hugged him, staring up at him with big brown eyes. And Emilio was thinking that maybe having a kid or two wouldn't be so bad, just as Chris threw up all down the front of his shirt.

“Oh, sweetie!” Alana charged over, sweeping him up off Emilio's lap. “Emilio, I'm so sorry!”

“It's okay,” Emilio said, using the tissues his brother handed him to clean himself up.

“Honey, take your brother up and get him a clean shirt. You're the same size, right?”

“I'm sure I have something that will work,” Alejandro said, and Emilio followed him upstairs to his bedroom.

Alejandro handed him a clean shirt and said, “While I've got you here, there's something I wanted to ask you.”

He peeled off his dirty shirt and gave it to his brother. “What's up?”

“How much do you know about Isabelle's father?”

He was having such a good day, he didn't want to ruin it by thinking about Isabelle and her family. “I'm not sure what you mean. Other than the fact that he was a bastard, not too much I guess.”

“Did you know he had a serious gambling problem?”

“So he was an even bigger bastard than we thought. So what?”

“He'd also had charges filed against him.”

“For what?”

“Domestic abuse.”

Emilio frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. And he must have had friends in high places because I had to dig deep.”

Emilio shrugged into the shirt and buttoned it. It was slightly large, but at least it didn't smell like puke. “So he was an even
bigger
bastard.”

“There's something else.” His grim expression said Emilio probably wasn't going to like this. “There were also allegations of child abuse.”

Emilio's pulse skipped. Had Izzie been abused? “Allegations? Was there ever any proof?”

“He was never charged. I just thought you would want to know.”

“Can you dig deeper?”

“I could, if it were relevant to my case.”

“Are you suggesting I should investigate this further?”

Alejandro shrugged. “That would be a conflict of interest. Although I can say that if it were me, I would try to get a hold of medical records.”

“Could this exonerate her?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

“Damn it, Alejandro.”

He sighed. “Probably not, but it might be relevant in her defense.”

“I thought she was taking a plea.”

“She is, on the advice of counsel, and I think we've already established that she may not be getting the best advice.”

So in other words, Alejandro wanted him to dig deeper. He couldn't deny that the idea she might have been mistreated was an unsettling one. He could just ask her,
but if she hadn't told him by now, what were the odds she would admit it? And if she had been, wouldn't he have noticed? Or maybe it was something that happened when she was younger.

“I'll look into it.”

“Let me know what you find.”

He followed his brother back downstairs, but he'd lost his holiday spirit. He felt…unsettled. And not just about the possible abuse. It seemed as though quite a few things lately weren't…adding up. Like why her husband kept her in the lap of luxury and expected nothing in return, and Isabelle's sudden change of personality to Miss Snarky.

“You ready to go?” he asked Estefan an hour later.

“I think I'm going to crash here tonight. Get some quality time with the nephews.”

He glanced over at Alejandro, who nodded.

His mama protested him leaving so early, so he used exhaustion from work as an excuse. Everyone knew things had been hectic since the explosion.

He said his goodbyes and headed home. When he pulled into the garage just before nine, he was surprised to find the Saab there. He figured Isabelle would have taken it to her mother's. Or maybe she thought he wouldn't want her driving it now.

He crouched down to look at the dent. He didn't doubt that it was caused by backing into something. She probably wasn't paying attention to where she was going. If she had just fessed up when it happened, it wouldn't have been a big deal. Although it wasn't like her to lie. Every time she screwed up, she owned up to it, and she had looked genuinely surprised when he pointed it out.

Curious, he walked around to the driver's side and got in. He stuck the key in and booted the navigation system,
going through the history until he found what he was looking for.

Damn it. What the hell had she been thinking?

Shaking his head, he got out and let himself in the house. There was an empty wine bottle on the counter by the sink. Cheap stuff that Isabelle must have picked up at the grocery store.

He checked the dishwasher and found a dirty plate, fork, cup and pan inside. She hadn't gone to her mother's. She'd spent the holiday alone.

I
sabelle wasn't in her bedroom, so Emilio went looking for her. He found her asleep in the media room, curled up in a chair in her pajamas, another bottle of wine on the table beside her, this one three quarters empty, and beside it the case for the DVD
Steel Magnolias.
The movie whose credits were currently rolling up the screen. There was a tissue box in her lap and a dozen or so balled up on the seat and floor.

Far as he could tell, she'd spent her Thanksgiving watching chick movies, crying and drinking herself into a stupor with cheap wine.

“Isabelle.” He jostled her shoulder. “Isabelle, wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open, fuzzy from sleep, and probably intoxication. “You're home.”

“I'm home.”

She smiled, closed her eyes and promptly fell back to sleep.

He sighed. Short of dumping a bucket of cold water over her head—which he couldn't deny was awfully tempting—he didn't think she would be waking up any time soon. He just wished she would have told him she was spending Thanksgiving alone.

And he would have…what? Invited her to his brother's? Stayed home with her and ignored his family? He wouldn't have done anything different, other than feel guilty all day.

He picked her up out of the chair and hoisted her into his arms. Her eyes fluttered open and her arms went around his neck. “Where are we going?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

“I'm taking you to bed.”

“Oh, okay.” Her eyes drifted closed again and her head dropped on his shoulder. He started to walk in the direction of her quarters, but the thought of leaving her in there, alone, isolated from the rest of the house in that uncomfortable little bed…he just couldn't do it.

He carried her upstairs instead, to the spare bedroom beside his room. He pulled the covers back and laid her down, unhooking her arms from around his neck. It was dark, but he could see that her eyes were open.

“Where am I?”

“The guest room. I thought you would be more comfortable here.”

“I had too much to drink.”

“I know.”

She curled up on her side, hugging the pillow. “I don't usually drink, but I didn't think it would be so hard.”

“What?”

“Being alone today.”

Damn. “Why didn't you go to your mother's?”

“She wanted to be with Ben and his friends.”

He had no idea who Ben was. Maybe a friend or boyfriend. “You couldn't go with her?”

“She needs to meet people, make new friends, so it won't be as bad when I'm gone.”

By gone he assumed she meant in prison. So she'd spent the day alone for her mother's sake. Not the actions of a spoiled, selfish woman.

He thought about the news his brother had sprung on him tonight and wondered if it could be true, if Isabelle had been abused as a child.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Isabelle, why didn't you tell me the truth about the car?”

“I told you why.”

“What I mean is, why didn't you tell me that it wasn't you who caused the damage?”

She blinked. “Of course I did.”

More lies. “I looked in the navigation history. Unless you spent the afternoon at a strip joint downtown, it was Estefan who took the car.” He touched her cheek. “Why would you take the fall for him?”

Looking guilty, she shrugged. “You're brothers. I didn't want to get between you.”

“You're right, we are brothers. So I know exactly what he's capable of.” He brushed her hair back, tucked it behind her ear. “Is there anything else? Anything I should know?”

She gnawed her lip.

“Isabelle?”

“He's been drinking.”

Emilio cursed. “How much?”

“As soon as he gets up, pretty much until you get home.” She took his hand. “I'm sorry, Emilio.”

“I'm disappointed, but not surprised. I've been through this too many times with him before.”

“But it sucks when people let you down.”

She would know.

“I have a confession to make,” she said. “About Estefan?”

She shook her head. “I ruined your shirt on purpose.”

Oddly enough, his first reaction was to laugh. “Why?”

“I was mad at you. For telling Estefan that I was a virgin.”

What?
“I never told him that. I never told him anything about us, other than it was none of his business.”

“So how did he know? He made a remark about it yesterday.”

“He was in the kitchen when I walked out of your room. Maybe he heard us talking?”

“All the way from the kitchen? We weren't talking
that
loud.”

She was right. He would have had to be listening at the door.

She must have reached the same conclusion, because she made a face and said, “Ew.”

“He's staying at Alejandro's tonight, and tomorrow he's out of here.”

“No offense, but he's always given me the creeps. Even when he was a kid. I didn't like the way he stared at me.”

Then she probably wouldn't want to know that Estefan used to have a crush on her. Apparently he thought that someday they would be together, because he had been furious when he found out that Emilio was dating her. He accused Emilio of stealing her from him.

“Emilio?” she said, squeezing his hand.

“Huh?”

“I didn't marry Lenny for his money. That isn't why I left you. You can think whatever horrible things about me that you want, but don't think that. Okay?”

“I don't think you're horrible. I wanted to, but you're making it really hard not to like you.”

“Don't. I don't want you to like me.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm going to prison and I don't want to hurt you again. It's better if you just keep hating me.”

“Do you hate me?”

“No. I
love
you,” she said, like that should have been perfectly obvious. “I always have. But we can't be together. It's not fair.”

He didn't even know what to say to that. How could he have ever thought she was selfish? The truth is, she hadn't changed at all. She was still the sweet girl he'd been in love with fifteen years ago. And if her leaving him really had nothing to do with Betts's money, why did she do it?

He knew if he asked her, she wouldn't tell him. He could only hope that the medical records would be the final piece to the puzzle. But there was still one thing he'd been wondering about.

“How was it your mother wound up indicted?”

“After my father died, she knew virtually nothing about finances. She didn't even know what she and my father were worth, and it was a lot less than she expected. He was heavily in debt, and nothing was in my mother's name. After the debts were paid, there wasn't much left. Lenny said he could set up a division of the company in her name. He would do the work and she would reap the benefits, only it didn't turn out that way. She's in trouble because of me.”

“I fail to see how that's your fault.”

“I encouraged her to sign. I trusted Lenny.”

“Does she blame you?”

“Of course not. If she knew I was planning to take a plea in exchange for her freedom, she would have a fit. But
my lawyer said that was the only way. She's been through enough.”

Izzie's mother had always been kind to him and his brothers, and his mother never had a negative thing to say about her. If she wasn't involved, he didn't want to see her go to jail, either, but if Isabelle was innocent she shouldn't be serving herself up as the sacrificial lamb. She should be trying to fight this.

“I'm sleepy,” she said, yawning.

After all that wine, who wouldn't be? “And you're probably going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

“Probably.”

“Scoot over,” he said.

“Why?”

He unbuttoned his shirt. “So I can lie down.”

“But—”

“Just go to sleep.” The one thing they had never done was spend the night together. He figured it was about time.

And drunk or not, he'd be damned if he was going to let her spend the rest of her Thanksgiving alone.

 

Isabelle woke sometime in the night with her head in a vise, in a strange room, curled up against Emilio's bare chest.

Huh?

Then she remembered that he had carried her to bed, and the conversation they'd had. Though that part was a little fuzzy. She was pretty sure the gist of it was that Emilio wasn't mad at her anymore. Which was the exact opposite of what she had wanted.

She considered getting up and going to her own bed, but she must have fallen asleep before she got the chance. The next time she woke, Emilio was gone, and someone was inside her skull with a jackhammer.

She crawled out of bed and stumbled downstairs to the kitchen. Emilio was sitting at the island dressed for work, eating a bowl of cereal. When he heard her walk in he turned. And winced.

She must have looked as bad as she felt.

“Good morning,” he said.

Not.
“Shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

“How about some coffee and ibuprofen instead?”

Honestly, death sounded better, but she took the tablets he brought to her and choked down a few sips of coffee.

“Why are you up so early?” he asked.

“I'm supposed to be up. It's a work day.”

“Not for you it isn't.” He took her coffee cup and put it in the sink, then he took her by the shoulders and steered her toward the stairs. “Back to bed.”

“But the house—”

“It can wait a day.”

He walked her upstairs to the guest room and tucked her back into bed. “Get some sleep, and don't get up until you're feeling better. Promise?”

“Promise.”

He kissed her forehead before he left.

She must have conked right out, because when she woke again, sunshine streamed in through the break in the curtains, and when she sat up she felt almost human. She looked over at the clock on the dresser and was stunned to find it was almost noon. After a cup of coffee and a slice of toast and a few more ibuprofen, she was feeling almost like her old self, so she showered, dressed in her uniform and got to work. She wouldn't have time to do all her chores, but she could make a decent dent in them.

She was polishing the marble in the foyer when Estefan came in, looking about as bad as she felt this morning.

“Rough night?” she asked.

He smirked and walked straight to the kitchen. She heard the fridge open and the rattle of a beer bottle as he pulled it out. Figures. The best thing for a hangover was more alcohol, right?

She went back to polishing, but after several minutes she got an eerie feeling and knew he was watching her.

“Is there something you needed?” she asked.

“Have you got eyes in the back of your head or some thing?”

She turned to him. “Are you here for your things?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She just assumed Emilio would have called him by now. Guess not.

His eyes narrowed. “What did you tell Emilio?”

She squared her shoulders. “Nothing he didn't already know.”

“You told him about the car?”

“I didn't have to. He looked up the history on the GPS. He knows it was you driving.”

He cursed under his breath and mumbled, “It's okay. I can fix this.”

She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she couldn't help herself. “He knows about the drinking, too, and the fact that you were listening outside my bedroom door the other night.”

He cut his eyes to her, and with a look that was pure venom, tipped his half-finished beer and dumped it onto her newly polished floor.

Nice. Very mature.

He walked up the stairs to his room. Hopefully to pack.

Isabelle cleaned up the beer with paper towels then repolished the floor. She cleaned all the main floor bathrooms next, buffing the chrome fixtures and polishing the marble countertops.

When she was finished she found Estefan in the living room, booted feet up on the glass top coffee table, drinking Don Julio Real Tequila straight from the bottle.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” he asked. “That I have to go, and you get to stay. That once again you mean more to him than his own brother.”

Once again? What was that supposed to mean?

“You're leaving him no choice, Estefan.”

“What the hell do you know? Emilio and I, we're family,” he said, pounding his fist to his chest. “He's supposed to stand behind me. This is all your fault.”

She knew his type. Everything was always someone else's fault. He never took responsibility for his own actions.

He took another swig from the bottle. “I loved you, you know. I would have done anything to have you. Then Emilio stole you from me.”

Stole her?

So in his mind they had been embroiled in some creepy love triangle? Well, that wasn't reality. Even if there had been no Emilio, she never would have been attracted to Estefan.

He shoved himself up from the couch, wavering a second before he caught his balance. “I'm tired of coming in second place. Maybe I should take what's rightfully mine.”

Meaning what?

He started to walk toward her with a certain look, and every instinct she had said
run.

 

First thing when he got to work, Emilio called the firm Western Oil had hired to investigate the explosion and explained what he needed.

“Medical records are privileged,” the investigator told him.

“So you're saying you can't get them?”

“I can, but you can't use the information in court.”

“I don't plan to.”

“Give me the name.”

“Isabelle Winthrop.”

There was a pause. “The one indicted for fraud?”