around the elegant circular driveway with a large fountain in the middle.
Rodrigo stood at the bottom of the steps that led up to the main building and greeted them. He opened Isabel’s door, and helped her from the vehicle.
Dutch cut the engine and came around the front of the truck.
“Keys,” Rodrigo said to him. “I’ll have it parked.” He gestured off to the side where several black SUVs sat in front of a four-bay garage. “We’ll have your things brought up to your rooms.”
Dutch tossed him his keys.
“Rooms?” Isabel asked, emphasizing the s.
“Your uncle would prefer if you two didn’t share a room. It’s old-fashioned, I know, but he won’t bend on it.”
Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms. “I can’t wait to give him a piece of my mind.”
Great. One more thing to poke the bear, Dutch thought.
“I’ve got to pat you down,” Rodrigo said.
Nodding, Dutch extended his arms. Since he’d expected a pat down and to have his things searched, he’d given Isabel the degausser and the forensic lifting tape to get her uncle’s fingerprint. She’d stashed both in her purse.
Once Rodrigo was satisfied, he said, “Your uncle is waiting in the courtyard to have dinner.”
Isabel marched off, her heels clacking against the stone steps, spiking Dutch’s trepidation.
He hurried after her. When he caught up, he took her arm, encouraging her to slow down. “Don’t forget the objective. Dinner is perfect. He’ll have something to drink and we can pull a print from the glass. Please, try to remain calm.”
A guard opened the front door. They entered a palatial foyer, chandeliers glittering. He followed Isabel past a grand staircase. They crossed a room with a wall of windows thirty feet high that faced the ocean and went out through another door.
The courtyard was breathtaking, plucked straight from an Italian villa, and had a multimillion-dollar view of the ocean. Torches blazed and candlelight gleamed, bouncing off the silverware and crystal on the table.
“Mi hija,” Vargas said, standing with his arms outstretched to Isabel. “How are you?”
She went to her uncle, allowing him to kiss both her cheeks. “I’m fine.” Her voice was cold and sharp, her face stern. She sat opposite him and draped her napkin across her lap.
“Mr. Vargas.” Dutch shook his hand.
“Please, call me Emilio.” He gestured for Dutch to sit to his right. “Your fortitude is remarkable, my dear. Dutch told me about the crazy, random drive-by shooting at your gallery. I’m sorry to hear your friend was injured. It’s unfortunate such things happen in this day and age. How is Brenda doing?”
Isabel clenched her jaw. “She’s going to recover, thankfully. Her parents will fly out as soon as they can.”
“I’d like to pay for her medical bills as well as her parents’ expenses. We have so much good fortune. It’s the least I can do to help someone you’re close to.”
“Yes. It is the least you can do,” Isabel said, her tone scolding.
Vargas narrowed his eyes, giving her a strange look.
“What’s for dinner?” Dutch asked. “Isabel has low blood sugar and we’re starving.”
Isabel stared at her uncle, and Dutch could feel the animosity emanating from her.
A perplexed expression crossed Vargas’s face, but he picked up a bell and rang it. The tinny sound grated on Dutch’s nerves.
Seconds later, servants came outside in a single, orchestrated file and placed salads in front of them. Another poured chardonnay in their wineglasses.
“Let us toast.” Vargas raised his glass and waited until they had all done likewise. “To you, Isabel. May you have a long, happy, healthy life, mi hija. And to you, Dutch, for protecting her when I could not. Thank you. I owe you a life debt. Salud.”
They sipped the wine and set their glasses down.
Dutch dug into the salad, but Isabel pushed the food around on her plate with her fork.
Vargas stared at her, noticing her preoccupation, too. “What’s wrong? I know yesterday was difficult for you, probably terrifying. But you seem off. Like you’re angry with me for some reason.”
Isabel glared at her uncle, saying nothing.
Tension mounted, growing so tangible it had taken on a pulsing beat in Dutch’s head. Tick. Tick.
“It’s nothing,” she finally said, lowering her gaze.
“Don’t lie to me.” Her uncle’s voice was warm and loving. “Whatever it is, tell me.”
“You should try the salad,” Dutch said. “Eating will help.” Though he wasn’t sure if anything would make this situation better.
“Dutch, please,” Vargas said and then looked at Isabel. “There’s obviously something troubling you. I want to know what it is.”