The guy openly eyed Colin before clearing his throat. Colin was used to men eyeballing him, so it made no difference.
“Ah, good evening, Se?or Douglas. Dinner will soon be served and the Master would greatly enjoy your company.”
The Master. Bloody hell.
“I’ll be there.”
The young man nodded and dropped his eyes, turning to leave.
Dinner was mostly a pleasant affair with small talk about the Spanish economy. Colin tried not to stare as “Masters” around the table fed bites to their slaves. Still no sight of Angela. Colin was beginning to lose hope, and wondering if a whole week at the villa would be a waste of time.
“Mr. Douglas,” Marco suddenly said. “And how did you fare this afternoon?”
Colin set down his fork and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “Quite productive, actually. Thank you.”
“I’d love to see what you’re working on, unless of course you don’t share works in progress.”
Colin kept a neutral look on his face, knowing full well the bastard had probably already seen his painting on the cameras.
“It still needs a bit of work, but you’re welcome to see it at any step of the process, Se?or.”
This seemed to make Marco happy. “Perhaps one of these walls can someday be adorned with a creation of yours.”
“Aye. I would be honored to paint something for your home, Sir.”
The guest who owned the European girl spoke up. “What style of painting do you do, Se?or Douglas?”
The conversation steered into artistic territory as Colin explained his use of water color and style of Abstract Expressionism.
“And where did you attend school to learn your craft?” asked the wife he’d seen in the hot tub. Her dark hair, streaked with a few strands of gray, was pinned up and she wore a straight gown with spaghetti straps.
“I was self-taught in my youth, Se?ora, but I honed my skills at university in Glasgow.” This earned Colin a round of raised eyebrows and impressed sounds.
As soon as the dinner dishes were cleared away, the man beside him broke out a silver box and set to cutting lines of cocaine.
“Anyone interested?” he offered.
The classical music that had been playing softly overhead changed to something modern with a faster tempo and louder volume.
Everyone but Marco partook of the cocaine. Colin did one line. Then he watched as the man wiped his finger across the remnants of powder and brought the fingertips to his slave girl’s nose. She breathed it in and shuddered with bliss.
Colin felt the room going wonky. Sounds were off, getting quieter, then suddenly louder. He felt his heart rate jack up. He was accustomed to this feeling, and he knew one line wasn’t enough to overtake his mind. He basked in the energy ricocheting underneath his skin.
“Se?or Douglas,” Marco said in a low voice. Colin looked at him. “I have a surprise for you.”
Shite. Colin hated surprises. Especially the type criminals liked to spring.
Colin braced himself and followed Marco’s stare toward the doorway where a head of light blonde hair was being led into the room, crawling, her shoulders and backside swaying with the movements. Colin held his breath, his heart accelerating, unable to tear his eyes from her as she came to Marco’s side and stopped. She wore a gold and white bikini. Even with her head down, Colin recognized the oval face. The small nose and perfectly shaped lips of Angela Birch.
“This is Angel,” Marco said. He was calling her a different name. Colin made note.
His mind swam with euphoric relief and excitement, but he kept a straight face. She was really fucking here. Marco had kept her hidden, but somehow he’d made enough of an impression to bring her out. He bit back a smile of triumph.
“Se?or Douglas.” Marco’s voice was hard. “You look almost as if you recognize the girl.”
Colin tore his eyes away and landed them on Mr. Ruiz. Armed men from around the room stepped closer at the deadly sound of Marco’s voice. Colin’s buzz increased, setting his entire being on edge.
This was a test. Lucky for him, Colin prided himself on acing tests.
“I do recognize her, Se?or Ruiz,” Colin said, his voice going husky. “From every fucking wet dream I had as a lad.”
One person at the table began chuckling, and others joined, until finally Marco relaxed and smiled. He snapped his fingers and said, “Time for the dancing.”