Sitting in a chair by the bed was a striking young woman with long black hair. Her figure was curvaceous to say the least. A large, intricate necklace of thin gold filigree inset with deep burgundy rubies accentuated modestly revealed cleavage. The color of the stones was passionate. But their fire was not reflected in her face. She seemed exhausted.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice deeply accented. “And why are you in my brother’s room?”
Bailey stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m Bailey Collins, state investigator. I’ve been assigned to work the case involving Mr. Santiago’s disappearance. And this is Gil Addison, president of the Texas Cattleman’s Club.”
The Latin beauty shook Bailey’s hand briefly, her ample bosom confined in a jade silk dress. “Pardon my frankness, Ms. Collins, but from what Alex tells us about his ordeal, your progress in the case is, how do you say it...zippo. Nada.”
Gil had to admire Bailey’s self-control. She took the criticism without flinching. “I understand your frustration. But I can assure you that we are narrowing the field of suspects day by day. We will find out who did this.” She paused. “I know the sheriff took a look at your identification, but I must ask to see it, as well. I’ll need to scan it into our database as a precaution. I hope you understand that I can’t merely take your word as to your connection with Alex.”
The beautiful woman shot a look at the stranger by the window. “This is all his fault. Ask him about our IDs.”
The older man ignored her.
Alex interrupted, his face etched in discomfort, his voice subdued. “Why would they lie?”
Gil watched in silence as Bailey eyed the visitors. After a brief hesitation, when Gil had the impression she was weighing her options, she offered her hand to the man, as well. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Santiago.”
The man’s eyes flashed and he ignored her overture, forcing her to drop her arm. “Enough pretense,” he hissed. “The IDs I showed the sheriff are fakes. My name is not Santiago. I am Rodrigo del Toro.” His voice resonated with arrogance and pride and a thick Spanish accent. “This is my daughter, Gabriella, and the man in the bed is my son, Alejandro.”
Gil tensed. “Alex lied to us?” Alex had never talked about his background, particularly not the fact that he had family in Mexico.
Alex, looking almost frail despite his fierce masculinity, winced. “It’s damned hard to answer that since I can’t remember a damn thing.”
Gabriella slapped his hand despite the fact that it was attached to an IV. “Language, mi hermano.”
“Sorry.” Alex grimaced. “I don’t know who you people are, and I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m Alex Santiago.” His face reddened. “I’m trying. Hell, I’m trying!” The monitor beeped as Alex’s blood pressure spiked.
A nurse came running, her brows drawn together in a frown. “I must ask all of you to leave the room. Mr. Santiago needs to rest. There is a small conference room at the end of the corridor. Feel free to continue your conversation there.”
Alex’s father and sister each kissed him on the cheek with muttered apologies, and walked out. As Gil watched, Bailey approached the bed and laid a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “It’s not your job to figure this out,” she said softly. “There are a host of people looking out for you, and many professionals working on your case. I need you to quit worrying about things and concentrate on getting well.”
Alex’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the sheet at his hips. “I have no clue if that man and woman are related to me or not. I remember you asking me questions when I was found. Do you really not know who did this to me?”
“I don’t. But I will. Let me do my job. And in the meantime, try not to push yourself to remember. Everything will sort itself out in the end.”
* * *
Bailey approached the conference room with a sense of exhilaration. This new information had the potential to break her case wide open. Gil walked at her side, his quiet presence comforting.
Once seated at the small table, Bailey and Gil faced the del Toros. Neither of Alex’s family members looked encouraging, though they did hand over their real driver’s licenses and passports, albeit grudgingly. But Bailey had been stonewalled by the best, and she wasn’t afraid of a little conflict. She pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse. Ordinarily, she would do an audio recording of an interview in addition to entering notes straight into her laptop. But she hadn’t come prepared for that scenario, and even if she had, she doubted if the two people eyeing her with varying degrees of hostility would agree to going on the record at this point.