Well, no, she didn’t, but she was hoping he might see reason. As that seemed a lost cause—evidence: she was tied up, for Chrissakes—she leaned over and looked down at her fallen hero.
Poor Michael. He had an ugly gash on the back of his head. But he had come just like Adolfo said he would, and for some reason, that gave her a major feeling of warm pride. The man had put his life on the line for her. He really did love her, didn’t he?
Adolfo trussed Michael’s arms behind his back, chuckling to himself as he worked, muttering alternately in Spanish and English. When he had finished, he fell, exhausted, into the Naugahyde chair and smiled at Leah. “Here he is, the bastard. He’s not such a very big man now, si? Without the American government, he’s a little cockroach, one that I will smash with my boot.”
“Did you have to hit him so hard?” Leah asked, peering at the blood at the base of his skull. “He might be seriously hurt.”
“What care do I have?” Adolfo exclaimed, then frowned at Leah’s expression. “Don’t cry. He’s not dead, he is merely sleeping. I have not yet killed him.” He stood, looked down at Michael again, then abruptly squatted next to him. He tightened the rope that bound Michaels hands, and then—with a lot of grunting and grimacing—he hoisted Michael up, so that the upper half of his body was on the bed. He then grabbed Michael’s legs and hoisted them up, too, so that Michael was lying next to Leah, his face in a pillow.
“At least move his face so that he can breathe,” she insisted.
Adolfo rolled his eyes, sighed loudly, and with one big hand, shoved Michael’s face around, so that it was facing Leah. “There. You may gaze at your bastard and fill your mind with the memory of him before I kill him.”
“Just stop it, Adolfo! No one is killing anyone here!” she exclaimed, and tried very hard to believe it. She leaned forward, put her bound hands to the gash at the back of Michael’s head. “Ohmigod.”
Adolfo laughed and turned toward the tarnished mirror and began to mess with his hair. “You do not understand. This man is no better than the dirt on your feet.” He paused, leaned forward to examine his bangs a little more closely. “He deserves no better than to be slaughtered like a pig.”
“Okay, I am asking you nicely to please stop saying things like that,” Leah said, throwing up a hand. “It’s really very upsetting.”
Adolfo shrugged.
She was going to kill him, literally kill him with her bare hands, and she could, too. Cooper had taught them the hand-to-hand combat moves for the film, and had jokingly told them that with some real force, they could kill someone. If she could get her hands free, she’d cheerfully test that theory on Adolfo.
Leah turned away from Adolfo, who was preening in the minor like he had a big date, and glanced at Michael. She leaned forward—and gasped softly. His eyes were open, and he was squinting up at her. His lips were pressed tightly together, and she had the distinct impression that he was trying to tell her to be silent.
Leah stole a quick look at Adolfo over her shoulder, who was now fixing the tuck of his shirt into his trousers just so, the goddam peacock. God, she hated him. But she hated even worse that she had fallen for his stupid lines and his easy charm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She looked down at Michael, whose gaze was steady on hers, his jaw clenched tightly shut. She had the feeling again that he wanted her to do . . . something. But what?
Leah jerked her gaze to Adolfo, who caught her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “No, no, Leah. You must not have good feelings for him,” he advised. “He is not a good man. He lies and he cheats and he steals. He pretends to be your friend and then he stabs you in your back. He is like a leech, creeping into your life and sucking the blood from you.”
“Ewww,” Leah said, wrinkling her nose.
Adolfo turned around and leaned up against the scratched bureau and flashed the charming smile that had sucked her in once upon a time. “I think we must change your binds of the hands,” he said thoughtfully, gesturing to her hands. “I do not trust you not to untie him when he wakes, and I cannot watch you like a little bird. I have much to do.” He studied her hands and her feet for a moment, muttered something to himself, then disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a wooden chair from the kitchen.