Vistaria Has Fallen (The Vistaria Affair/Vistaria Has Fallen #1)(18)

“I’ll walk you to the car,” Calli told him, getting to her feet.

“‘kay,” he said without hesitation.

When they were outside, he raised his eyebrow. “Something in the paper spook you?” he asked.

“A little. What did that headline say?”

“Congratulations to Blanco for his excellent leadership and his birthday.”

“Oh.”

“It’s El Liberalé, which is a conservative newspaper despite the name. What were you hoping for? Disclosure of a conspiracy?”

She shook her head. “It was the man two seats to the right of Blanco.”

“Nicolás Escobedo?” Joshua said sharply. “What of him?”

“He’s the man who helped me at the jail.”

Joshua rested his briefcase on the bonnet of the silver Chevy Cavalier and leaned on it, thinking hard. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Another thoughtful silence. “Jesus Maria...” Joshua breathed. “He really does have feelers out everywhere.”

“The army calls him el leopardo rojo.”

“Yes, I just made the connection.” Joshua frowned. “Although I wouldn’t go around blurting that out to anyone, Calli.” His brow smoothed. “It’s good to know we have friends in high places. It confirms they’re working to support us. With the problems I get handed every day, I sometimes wondered.” He patted her shoulder. “Thanks for telling me.” He got into the car and drove away.

Calli stood on the narrow, cobbled street, watching the Chevy twist around the hairpin bend twenty yards down the hill and disappear.

The conversation had cheered Josh. Perversely, Calli felt more uneasy than ever.

I want to live in your mind, at least. His voice curled through her thoughts.

Had he really believed she could dismiss him when his face was plastered on the front page of the national newspaper? Yet, gut instinct told her his intention had been to linger in her memories at a far more personal level.

The image from her dream, her thigh over his hip, his hand on her skin, hot and demanding, slipped into her thoughts. That was what he had meant.

Why her? Why? When no other man had raised so much as an eyebrow in her direction for five years? More? She was a dusty, ill-used thirty-something woman well on her way to becoming a rusty, disused old spinster set in her ways, entrenched in academia and teaching dry economics until she retired.

Why me? And why him?

It was beyond comprehension.

It was all theory, anyway. He had made that clear last night. Nothing would ever come of it. He was as untouchable as she had suspected.

She went back inside, blinking in the dimness of the apartment after the brilliant sunshine outside and asked Minnie to take her shopping again. She would need something sexy to wear tonight if she wanted get herself laid.

*

“You know, you really are a knockout,” Peter said. “Joshua said you scrubbed up well. I think he was being conservative.”

Calli smiled mechanically and swallowed another mouthful of the dry, overcooked steak. This was the third time Peter had told her what a knockout she was. It didn’t sound any better with repeating. Although, his need to please her added points in his favor.

She had surreptitiously checked off other criteria throughout the evening. His breath smelled sweet. He had no discernable body odor. Clean hands, a nice white smile and a small bonus—tight buttocks beneath the dark business suit. He stood half an inch shorter than her, which she could overlook for now. In bed, the height difference would be no difference at all.

The absolute lack of any appeal he had for her was a drawback. He had light brown hair, brown eyes, nicely tanned skin to go with the white smile and he clearly worked to maintain his body. There was nothing wrong with him, yet nothing sparked her interest.

He had picked her up at the apartment right on time. She walked out the door knowing she looked as beddable as it was possible for her to get. Minnie had worked all afternoon to ensure Peter got the right impression.

Minnie had somehow intuited Calli’s intentions, for she discarded various options, settling on an appearance she pronounced with her arms crossed as, “totally fuckable, honey.”

Calli’s dress was stretch lace. The halter top had a vee-neck that ended low between her breasts. There was no back to it. The dress dipped to where the indentation of Calli’s spine flattened over the back of her hips. It had no lining. Her skin showed through the lace, except for a nearly invisible flesh-colored panel of elastic that covered her breasts and supported them. The skirt hugged her hips. The elastic fabric gave her flexibility, while the dress clung to her. The hem stopped several inches short of her knees.

Minnie insisted she wear the tallest shoes they could find, a black pair with ankle straps. Her hair was piled on top of her head and held with dozens of pins. Wisps fell around her face. Minnie also directed the application of her makeup. Red lips, red toenails, and gold hoop earrings. Minnie could do nothing about Calli’s work-worn fingernails other than file them and paint them.

Calli looked in the mirror and frowned. “Don’t you think it’s a bit subtle?” she asked Minnie. “I should wear a mini skirt and thigh high leather boots or something. This looks...”

“Sensual,” Minnie declared.

“I want to say ‘sex’ not ‘sensual’.”