Santiago Sol (2 page)

2

Tansy stumbled twice as she headed down the Jetway onto the plane that would carry her to Santiago. The blustery flight between Denver and Miami had strained her nerves. On arrival in Miami, a harried airline employee had explained that the flight was overbooked, but for a hefty fee she could upgrade to business class. Or wait for the next flight—the following day. Tansy grimaced and counted out a wad of traveler’s checks. The attendant smiled, assured her she’d be much more comfortable in business class, and handed her a new seat assignment.

She was the last passenger to board. She hefted her carry-on into the overhead bin and sat down to buckle her seatbelt as the flight attendant moved down the aisle, checking the latches. Tansy leaned over to shove her messenger bag under the row in front of her, then sat up and surveyed her sleeping seatmate with a sidelong glance.

He was cocooned in a blanket that was pulled up almost to his nose. His eyes were hidden under a sleep mask, and she could see a bright yellow earplug poking out of one ear.

At the front of the cabin, two flight attendants began to review the plane’s emergency instructions, including directions for using the seat cushion as a flotation device in case of a water landing.

Tansy felt a sudden, and vicious, twinge of envy for her neighbor’s sweet slumber.

****

She pressed her head against the seat and practiced slow deep breathing in an attempt to settle her nerves. The takeoff had been smooth, and she had a lovely view of the setting sun through the window over her sleeping neighbor’s reclined seat as the plane carried them out over the Gulf of Mexico, but she couldn’t relax.

It was a relief when one of the flight attendants announced the dinner service. Tansy needed a distraction. She dropped her tray table and waited. When her food arrived, she arranged and rearranged the flatware, aware that her appetite had disappeared.

Her seatmate grumbled and turned his head. It was the first time he’d so much as flinched, and she turned to look at him. The sleep mask had slipped off, and the blanket had fallen to his chest.

She took in the tousled dark hair, thick black lashes, and generous lips. His firm chin and jaw were coated with dense black stubble. She didn’t think he was much older than she was, but he had the look of wealth and power. He wore a dark suit over a crisp white woven shirt. He’d loosened the knot of a silky platinum-gray tie and undone the top button of his shirt. This was not a man dressed for leisure travel. Was he going home to a wife and children in Chile, or leaving a family behind in the U.S. while he traveled for work?

Tansy’s fingers drummed against the tray, her imagination running free. Work on Eva’s memoir had taken up time she would otherwise have devoted to fiction, either reading or writing. Not that she’d minded the labor. Helping Eva was a worthy task, and Tansy was grateful both for the work itself and for the time she had been able to spend with Eva St. John.

“Are you going to eat that?”

The growl startled her, and she jerked out of her reverie. Her neighbor’s eyes were open. The silvery-gray irises were almost the same color as Eva’s mercury glass collection.

“I’m not very hungry. You’re welcome to it,” she said. She hadn’t touched the smoked salmon, roasted zucchini, and stewed artichokes offered as an appetizer.

“Thank you.” He flipped down his own tray with practiced ease, and slid her plate across. He ate like a polite linebacker. He chewed with his mouth closed and used his napkin, but he was focused on the food.

The flight attendant paused at their row, looking concerned. “I’m sorry, sir, you were sleeping when I came by earlier. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water,
por favor,
” he replied, smiling at the woman. Tansy twitched. He was a handsome man asleep, stunning when his eyes were open, and downright gorgeous when he smiled. She swallowed and bent to drag a fat paperback novel from her bag. She couldn’t, however, concentrate on the words.

It was going to be a long flight.

He polished off the salmon, dabbed at his mouth with the linen napkin, and took a long pull from the bottle of water the flight attendant had delivered.

“So what takes you to Chile?”

Tansy’s mind tumbled. She thought of the walking stick stowed in the baggage compartment and her bizarre mission to return stolen property to a well-to-do Chilean family on behalf of an ailing old woman.

Nope. Not sharing any of that with her attractive seatmate. Even if Eva hadn’t forbade her to tell anyone. “I’m a writer. I’m gathering research material for a book,” she said. It was mostly true.

One dark brow winged upward. “What’s it about?” Either he was interested, or bored.

Tansy decided she didn’t care. Talking kept her mind off flying. “It’s the memoir of a woman who lived in Chile during the 1960s. She lost her husband during Pinochet’s military coup in 1973.”

“A black mark on the soul of my nation,” he said, shaking his head. He speared a bite of artichoke.

“After she returned to the United States, she campaigned to reconnect families separated by war and violence. She traveled to Cuba, Cambodia, Vietnam, Haiti...” Tansy waved her hand. “She’s an amazing woman.” There was no need to tell this man Eva’s daughter had stolen a family heirloom, and Tansy was supposed to return it.

“And will you visit all those other nations for your research as well?”

“Definitely not.” Just the idea made Tansy a little queasy. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“So you’ve never been to Chile before?”

“This is my first time out of the United States.” Tansy knew she was breaking some traveler’s code of wisdom, but his demeanor was soothing, and he was a much better distraction than the appetizer.

“Are you taking a tour?”

“No.” Tansy hesitated. Thanks to Eva’s attorney, she had the address of an
aparthotel
and some possible contacts for the Sandovals. Other than that, she wasn’t even sure how to get through customs. She brushed hair from her face to hide her shaking fingers and announced in what she hoped was a breezy, confident tone, “I’m just going to ‘wing it,’ as they say.”

****

Sebastian’s mouth tightened. He’d seen her hands shake, noticed the way she tensed every time the plane shuddered or groaned or bumped through turbulence. It was part of the reason he’d engaged her in conversation. In his experience, distracting the poor souls he encountered who were afraid of flying was often the only way to ease their constant tension. Now he wondered if her trip would end in a greater disaster. For the most part, Chile was a safe nation in terms of violent crime, but he doubted this young woman would make it from the baggage carousel to a taxi with all her belongings intact.

“
¿Hablas español?
”

She faced him, and he acknowledged with surprise the sudden, low hum of attraction. He’d already appreciated the swing of her hair—a rich, buttery shade of caramel with golden highlights—and the delicate shape of her profile, but he hadn’t paid much attention otherwise. Sebastian had dated Brazilian models, Argentinian heiresses, and a few Mexican television stars, but he’d never been drawn to any American women, due, he surmised, to a lifetime of negative references to his American-born mother.

This woman was pretty in a quiet sort of way. Not the sultry beauty he was usually attracted to. The wide eyes she turned on him were a bright, quirky hazel, the kind that reflected everything from her feelings to her fashion choices. They were set in a pixie face with small features and smooth, pale skin. Her cheeks were flushed—because she was nervous, or too warm, he didn’t know—but the effect ratcheted the hum into a buzz at the base of his skull.

“I don’t,” she replied. “I took two years in high school, but it didn’t stick with me. I think you have to be around a language all the time to really become fluent in it.”

He had to blink twice to remember what he’d asked her.

“I’m sure it will be all right. America tends to be the only country where its populace speaks one language,” she continued.

The flight attendant returned, this time to present options for the main course.

Sebastian chose the beef, with a glass of Chilean Merlot. He’d been raised on a vineyard. Not having wine with dinner was tantamount to blasphemy.

She selected the beef entrée and a soda, and when the flight attendant moved down the aisle she faced him and grinned. “You’re a miracle worker! I think I’ve found my appetite. I hate to fly, and you distracted me. Thank you.”

“
De nada.
You’ve made an otherwise boring flight more enjoyable.”

The flush on her cheeks deepened to a dark rose, and she fiddled with her napkin. “What about you? Are you headed home?”

Home. The word slammed into his gut like a cannonball. His quest had been an abject failure. Of his grandfather’s two qualifications for claiming his inheritance, Sebastian was stymied on both counts. The walking stick was still missing, and Sebastian was still unmarried. He’d hoped that finding the walking stick would make up for his lack of a wife. Now, he had neither.

When the main course arrived, the woman beside him prayed over her food, which prompted him to bow his own head. He thought of the conversation he needed to have with his grandfather and felt deflated. He glanced at the woman beside him. Perhaps it was time for an uncharted detour. If he could protect a naïve young woman from harm in the process, all the better.

“I’m at loose ends for a few days. Would you allow me the honor of introducing you to my country?”

Her eyes widened. “I... I don’t know. I mean, I don’t even know your name.

“Sebastian. Sebastian MacKenna.” The name was out of his mouth before he could reconsider.

“MacKenna? Is that a Scottish name?”

“Irish. My great-great-grandfather emigrated to Chile in the 1800s,” he replied. “You haven’t answered my question, or told me your name.”

She smiled. “Tansy Chastain.”

“
Mucho gusto,
Tansy Chastain. Pleased to meet you.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles in the European fashion.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Sebastian,” she said, “But I’m not sure I feel comfortable keeping company with someone I just met.”

Sebastian leaned back. “No offense taken.” He raised his almost untouched glass of wine. “I hope you will find Chile a hospitable nation. But please take care.”

****

Tansy blinked gritty eyes and stared, uncomprehending, at the movie on the flat-screen monitor in front of her. She glanced at Sebastian. He was sleeping again, this time without the mask. She looked at his lips and a curl of pleasure flickered in her belly. No one had ever kissed her hand before. His warning to “please take care” rattled through her head. Part of her wanted to accept his offer, but another part was as wary of him and the effect he had on her, as she was of navigating a strange nation alone.

She tried to read, but her lids kept drooping. Unfortunately, every time she dozed, the plane tilted or lurched, wrenching her from sleep with every nerve on alert.

It was with relief that she saw the sun rising over the Andes’ sharp, angular peaks, tinting the snow-covered mountains a rosy pink. The view was dramatically different from her own familiar Rockies, and certainly nothing like the rolling green Appalachians where she’d spent a few summer vacations as a child.

The pilot’s voice announced their descent to the Comodoro Arturo Merino Benítez International Airport, and the other passengers shifted and roused themselves.

Tansy yawned. The first thing she wanted to do in Chile was sleep.

3

She and Sebastian exchanged polite good-byes as they deplaned, and then he went one way while she was directed toward the line for foreign visitors. She smiled. Sebastian would be a good memory from this adventure, and a fun story to share with Eva when she returned to Colorado.

She flushed with pride when the customs agent stamped her passport. Then she followed the crowd to collect her luggage. A young man jostled her near the baggage carousel, nearly knocking her down. She apologized, unsure if she’d gotten in his way, but he brushed her aside and disappeared. She grabbed her suitcase as it came around and dragged it off the conveyor.

One of the wheels had popped off her suitcase somewhere between Denver and Santiago. Dragging the handicapped bag, she limped toward the customs area, trying in vain to figure out what she was supposed to be doing.

A uniformed inspector snatched up her suitcase and flipped it open. The pink dress unfurled itself, exposing the walking stick. The inspector peppered her with questions, pointing at the walking stick. Heart pounding, Tansy attempted to explain, in pathetic Spanish, that she was returning it to a family friend. Eventually, the inspector grunted and waved her on, leaving her with the impression he didn’t think she was bright enough to pull off a smuggling scheme.

Tansy found the
TaxiOficial
counter, whose website had promised “safe travel in one of their almost-new cars.” She handed the young man behind the counter the address of her aparthotel. He looked at it, tapped something into his keyboard, and shook his head.

“It’s going to be very expensive,” he said in well-spoken English. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a bus?”

“It’s all right, I can manage.” She rummaged through her bag for the envelope containing her traveler’s checks.

The envelope was gone. Her heart lurched. She dropped to her knees on the polished floor in front of the counter and dumped the contents of her bag. Her passport was there, and the list of possible contacts, but her wallet, with her credit cards and her Colorado driver’s license, and the envelope with the traveler’s checks, were missing. A sodden blanket of cold horror settled over her.