Chapter Eleven
A fiery orange sunset shimmered on the canal fronting Seville’s Plaza de España, burnishing the face of the extravagant semicircular landmark. The grand structure, with its Moorish and Renaissance revival elements, had been featured as a backdrop in a recent Star Wars movie, making it famous overnight. Eying the forty-eight flags that represented the provinces of Spain, Katrina wondered if Catalonia’s flag would flutter on its pole much longer.
“Want to rent a boat?” Mitch asked her. He had propped his forearms on the stone balustrade to watch rowboats gliding lazily along the canal and under the arched bridges.
Considering how much he had already splurged on a horse-drawn carriage ride through the historic district, Katrina shook her head. “That’s okay. It’ll be dark soon.”
Straightening, Mitch put his arm around her the way he had on the carriage. Together, they watched couples and young families pulling on the oars, doing their best to maneuver about the watery enclosure.
Katrina basked in the security of his embrace, the warmth of the moment. Being with him—it felt perfect.
“I love the water,” he said on a reflective note. “In fact, I built a little house on the water. Want to see it?”
Her heart gave a funny leap at the question but then she realized he meant a photo of the house, not the house itself, as he removed his arm to pull out his cell phone. Accessing his photos, he paused briefly over the one he’d taken of her. “Pretty.” Casting her a smile of appreciation, he then thumbed through his album to find the one he was looking for.
“Here.” He showed it to her.
The tiny timber structure, standing under towering oaks and surrounded by blooming azaleas, intrigued her. She looked up at him. “Were you inspired by your great, great uncle?”
“Actually, yes. I built it myself,” he admitted on a humble note.
She looked back at the photo in astonishment. “By hand?”
“Every bit of it. Don’t get too excited. It doesn’t have electricity.”
“Is it on Walden Pond?” She regarded it more closely, having glimpsed a body of water beyond the house.
“No.” He laughed softly. “It’s on a man-made lake in North Carolina, about an hour from where I live. But it’s still a great getaway. I go there to decompress.”
His words spoke volumes about the harrowing nature of his job. Katrina checked her peripheral vision to make certain no one could hear her. “You’re not an ordinary sailor, are you?” she asked, watching him closely.
He went perfectly still then looked up from his cell phone. “No. I’m a Navy SEAL.”
Even though she suspected as much, his words sent a strange shiver through her.
“Does that put you off?” he asked.
She inhaled a shaky breath then slowly released it. “No,” she decided. “My mother’s skiing accident taught me to live life in the moment.” The recollection of her father’s more recent death hit her anew, causing tears to rush into her eyes.
Mitch reached for her, stroking the side of her face to convey his sympathy. Katrina’s feeling of belonging with him transformed in that moment into a knowing. This was the man she was meant to be with. Closing her eyes, she nuzzled her cheek against his palm, then kissed it.
“I must be dreaming you,” Mitch said, his words a reflection of her thoughts.
The sound of flamenco music and the warm, dry breeze fluttering the many flags conspired to make the moment perfect. Heeding an inner voice, Katrina stood on tiptoe, encircled Mitch’s neck with both arms, and pressed her lips to his.
They had not kissed since the night they’d gone out dancing. Scarcely forty-eight hours had passed since then, yet it seemed like a lifetime ago. She was relieved to find his lips both familiar and inviting. His sensual skill hadn’t been a figment of her drunken imagination.
As warmth flowed through her, she melted against his solid frame. With her breasts crushed against his chest, she could feel the swift, powerful strokes of his heartbeat. He kept himself firmly controlled, but his voice rasped with desire as he spoke against her lips.
“I think we’d better head back to the hotel.”
Lured by the prospect of intimacy, she released him. He caught up her hand in his and led her briskly away from the canal in the direction of El Abanico.
As they strolled along the medieval streets of Seville, traversing diagonal alleys hemmed in by whitewashed buildings, Katrina lost her bearings. Had they gone left or right when leaving the hotel earlier that afternoon? The Catedral, looming over the red tiled roofs behind them, had been their clear landmark then. However, with the cathedral behind them, finding their way back to El Abanico proved trickier.
“Are you sure we’re headed the right way?” she asked Mitch as they came upon a deserted plaza. Three narrow streets fanned off in three different directions. The sun had dropped behind the building at their back, leaving them with mere minutes left of daylight.
“Nope.” He cast her a sheepish smile but then consulted his watch, which she realized had a compass on it.
“I could ask for directions,” she offered, glancing around for an open shop.
“That’s okay.” He squeezed her hand affectionately. “I like getting lost with you.” With confidence, he drew her toward the street on their right.
Katrina’s heart fluttered. Cuidado, she warned herself. Mitch was not the self-interested bastard Armando was, but she should not overlook reality. The fact was, they were both persons of interest skirting a national investigation.
At the same time, she admitted she was falling in love. Mitch clearly felt the same way. At check-in, he’d requested an upgrade to a suite, giving them their own private bedroom. This night would be theirs alone. Regardless of what happened to them, she was certain she would cherish the memories they would make for years to come.
***
Seeing El Abanico Hotel with its lights glowing invitingly on the next street corner, Mitch breathed a sigh of relief. Compass or no compass, the maze of old roads and alleys would have challenged even the most directionally astute. Slanting Katrina a triumphant smile, he received a look from her that caused his testosterone to spike. The rest of the evening belonged to them. He would spend the whole night making love to her.
Picturing the queen-sized bed awaiting them, in a room decorated to reflect the era in which Miguel Cervantes wrote Don Quixote, Mitch swept open the hotel’s massive poplar door and gestured for Katrina to proceed him. As they crossed the foyer, designed to resemble an outdoor courtyard, his gaze collided with that of a man seated at one of the small coffee tables, and his expectations for a night of intimacy detonated without warning.
“Shit,” he growled, slowing his step as he considered—and dismissed—the idea of trying to run from the law.
Glancing at him askance, Katrina followed his gaze to the man who was now rising from the table. The captain of the Civil Guard had put aside his red beret and uniform in favor of civilian clothing. Katrina’s indrawn breath suggested she had nonetheless guessed his authority.
“Lieutenant Thoreau.” With a keen glitter in his nearly black eyes, Capitán Rodrigo del Rey intercepted their trek to the elevator. He extended a hand to Mitch, who grudgingly shook it. He had to respect the man’s ability to tail him while being spotted only once.
“Captain.” Resignation kept his tone flat.
Del Rey’s gaze flickered over Katrina. “You’ve been enjoying Seville’s many delights, I trust.”
Mitch noticed he did not ask for an introduction, which meant he already knew who Katrina was. “It’s a beautiful town,” Mitch replied.
“Yes, it is.” With a tip of his head, Del Rey indicated the table where he’d left his coffee. “Let’s talk,” he invited. “All three of us,” he added, affirming Mitch’s guess.
Katrina’s silence bespoke her fear. She sent Mitch a scant nod, and they crossed to del Rey’s table. Mitch pulled out a chair for her, while del Rey crossed to a sideboard and poured two additional cups of coffee. He brought them to their table. Then, the captain and Mitch sat across from each other.
“Creamer? Sugar?” These were already on the table. Del Rey pushed them closer to Katrina, who stared at her cup, unmoving.
Del Rey then sat back, hands interlaced on the tabletop as Mitch methodically doctored his coffee. The captain waited for Mitch to take his first sip.
“I told you to remain in Barcelona.” The reprimand held only the slightest hint of recrimination, as if the captain hadn’t expected his wishes to be followed anyway.
Returning his cup to the table, Mitch considered his reply. “When we left the hospital, on our way back to our hotel, my friends and I were confronted by members of The Liberation Front.”
From the corner of his eye, he noted Katrina’s startled response.
“They wanted to…escort us out of town in a van,” Mitch added, downplaying what had actually taken place.
“Yes. I watched that happen.”
“Ah.” With the clarity of hindsight, Mitch realized that was why the street had been devoid of civil guards. Del Rey must have ordered them to clear the area hoping some event would unfold that would give him insight into the SEALs’ role in the bombing.
With a small smile, del Rey acknowledged Mitch’s thoughts. His dark gaze then settled predictably on Katrina.
“Ms. Ferrer. That is your name, is it not?” he addressed her mildly.
Katrina’s sun-kissed face had lost all trace of its tan. She darted a frightened look at Mitch before holding del Rey’s gaze and nodding. “Yes.”
The captain shifted deliberately into Spanish, an obvious ploy to exclude Mitch. His quickly uttered observations were marked with the Castilian lisp typical of Spaniards from Madrid. Still, Mitch managed to decipher half of what he said—something about Katrina’s allegiance to Catalonia, to her brothers.
“I’m not a member of The Liberation Front,” she insisted, answering in English for Mitch’s benefit.
Mitch laid his arm deliberately along the back of her chair.
Flicking him a look, del Rey seemed to accept her assertion. In the very next breath, however, he inquired as to whether she knew about the explosion in advance.
Katrina had knotted her hands in her lap. “Yes,” she admitted in a strained voice. Her eyes grew bright. “I forced my brother Jordi to tell me. He had nothing to do with it, I promise you. I’m sure he even told me in the hopes that I would do something—which I did. I told Mitch.” Her gaze darted to him. “And he and his friends went straight to the Benemérita.”
Continuing in Spanish, del Rey managed to extort the details she was reluctant to expose—like when Jordi had told her about the bomb and when she had relayed the truth to Mitch. He asked if Katrina didn’t feel responsible for the lives that were lost as a result of withholding information from the authorities.
As tears welled in her eyes and her tightly held expression started to crack, Mitch pushed his chair back and stood up. “All right. That’s enough.”
Del Rey responded with a glance toward the stairs that drew Mitch’s attention to a second man, unnoticed until that moment. He descended the marble staircase that swept from the second-story gallery enclosed by a wrought iron railing. Del Rey had brought along reinforcements—of course he had.
“Look.” Mitch laid a comforting hand on Katrina’s shoulder and registered her quaking. “Miss Ferrer isn’t guilty of anything,” he insisted, certain he spoke the truth. “You have a family, don’t you, Capitán?” he demanded, keeping one ear cocked to the approach of the second civil guard.
“I do,” del Rey admitted. A hint of amusement rode the line of his thin upper lip.
“Then you understand loyalty to family,” Mitch continued. “Put yourself in Katrina’s shoes. What would you have done? Betraying your own brother takes courage, especially when he threatens you, which he did. She defied Martí by telling me the truth. She saved a lot of lives in the process. Don’t you dare lay guilt at her feet.”
Squeezing his hand with ice-cold fingers, Katrina conveyed her gratitude.
Del Rey waved off the second man, keeping him from getting any more defensive. With a grimace of acknowledgment, del Rey reconsidered Katrina, who held his gaze pleadingly.
“I see your point, Lieutenant.”
The words eased the tight band around Mitch’s chest. Katrina drew a shuddering breath.
“I’ll tell you what,” the captain added, signaling for Mitch to sit and stop towering over the table.
He sank back into his seat, heart thudding as he awaited del Rey’s decision.
“I will make the two of you a promise if you will make me one, in return.”
Mitch and Katrina shared a hope-filled look. “What’s your promise?”
“I give you my word I will protect Katrina from retribution at the hands of The Liberation Front, and I will see that she is not charged with any crime.” He pinned Mitch with a look reminiscent of Captain Montgomery’s default expression. “You will promise not to disappear tonight as I myself could use some rest. Tomorrow at eight in the morning, you will hand Katrina into my custody. She is a key witness to a crime that has rocked the entire country. I cannot let her walk away—not until justice has been served.”
Katrina’s soft whimper tore at Mitch’s heartstrings. Clearly, he hadn’t been the only one hoping against all logic that she would end up going to the States with him. That they would stay together in the days, weeks, and months to come.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, holding her hand tightly.
“Your word, Lieutenant?” del Rey prompted.
Mitch acknowledged that they had no choice. Del Rey was going out of his way to keep things civilized. Rising slightly out of his seat, he released Katrina to extend a handshake across the table, sealing their arrangement. “My word, Capitán,” he agreed.
“Go to your room, then,” del Rey ordered. The look he divided between them was not without understanding and sympathy. “The night is still yours.”