by Kym Roberts
He had no idea what her shape was like, since her clothes had been baggy and misshapen. She purposely hid her body from everyone, but her hands were strong, her feet were fast, and he found her just as desirable in the rags she chose to wear, as any other attractive woman on the beach in a bikini. There was just something about her that called to his basic instincts and he hated himself for even thinking of her in that manner. Since he’d found her working in the food bank eight months ago, she was the one he thought of when he was in the shower. He couldn’t count how many times thoughts of Téa had caused him to fist his dick and find a release he would never dream to seek with the real woman.
She had a hold on him that made him despise himself. Upon arriving in Rome this time, he’d combated his lust by placing restrictions on his thoughts. He refused to give into images of her touching him, licking him, sucking him off until his cum shot down her throat as she swallowed everything he had to give her.
Until now. Shit.
“Agent Artino?” Father Petra’s tone held concern. As if he’d said something Khaos hadn’t heard.
“I’m sorry, Father. My phone cut out. What did you say?”
“If she is running, I believe she will visit the Salone da Parrucchiere on Via Condotti. They help our clients change their appearance.”
Son of a—she was going to cut her hair. Those long dark locks he wanted to wrap his hands in were probably gone as they spoke.
“Thank you, Father. I will find her…and bring her home.”
Chapter Five
The lights of the city rebounded off the clouds, illuminating the alley in a way that made her pulse pound. This route should’ve been the safest. The darkest. Instead, she felt as if the whole world could see her every movement. There were no secrets to hide when the night turned to daylight in Rome. She couldn’t conceal what was there for everyone to see.
She was the one they sought. The one who held their secrets. Too afraid to do the right thing; still stuck in the mindset of that fifteen year old girl who was left in the clutches of evil. If her mom had been able to protect her she would’ve, but evil had forced them out of the shadows and into the spotlight of her father’s enemy—her own uncle. Or great uncle if she wanted to get technical, but she’d always called him Zio.
One day she would spit on the grave of Marco Vanetti. He was no uncle to her.
The homeless drunk who’d been in the alley when she’d headed for the salon, was still there with a bottle in his hand. His clothes were filthy, his shoes worn through from years of wear. The hat low over his face concealed his age as he snored his way through oblivion. The smell of cigarette smoke permeated the stench of rotten food in the dumpster.
Téa knew the man was harmless, yet refused to trust any man within arm’s reach. It had nothing to do with the man, and everything to do with what life had taught her. As if to reinforce her dubiety, his shoulders jerked and he muttered some unintelligible warning as his hand with the bottle raised toward the end of the alley. Her gaze darted in the direction he pointed, but the only thing she saw before his arm dropped down on his lap, was a stray cat running out into the street.
She wanted to laugh at her fear, but her muscles tensed as trepidation iced her spine. She gazed back at the homeless man once more to make sure he wasn’t the threat she sensed, and a figure dropped down behind her. She’d been so preoccupied with the drunk, she’d ignored the low hanging balconies above. Before she could run, someone grabbed her around the shoulders. A sharp blade pricked at her neck as she grabbed the arm imprisoning her against a lean, hard frame.
“Muoviti e sei morto, cagna,” he hissed in her ear.
Move and you’re dead, bitch didn’t mean anything to a woman who’d mistakenly frozen with fear in the past. That error had nearly cost her, her life. Téa wasn’t going to make anything easy for this man. She immediately grabbed his knife arm and slammed her heel down on the top of a canvas tennis shoe, which had helped his stealth, but did nothing to protect his feet. As he bent over in pain, she pulled down on his arm and drove her other elbow up and back into his jaw, while twisting out of his grip. It was only then she noticed the homeless man wasn’t passed out, but lunging in her direction. She turned to run, but his momentum was too fast and she realized her mistake too late.
This man wasn’t homeless or drunk. He was larger and harder than she’d ever imagined. Téa lost her footing on the pocked, cobbled road; ancient ruts were now her captor, as her hands and chest collided with the wet pavement. She expected to feel a body land on top of her, trapping her once and for all. When nothing came but the sounds of breaking glass and male grunts behind her, she rolled away and pushed her back up against the building.
The homeless man, because she didn’t know what else to call him, dislodged himself from her attacker and the two men stood face to face; like two wrestlers with their arms outstretched and their weight resting on the balls of their feet. Each man scowling meaner than the other. Each man ready to fight—over her.
It was enough to spur her feet into motion. No one would be the victor in this fight, because she wasn’t a prize to be won.
Not this time.
She was on the run again, and this shitbag needed to die. He’d tried to warn her of the upcoming attack without blowing his cover. The man had come out on the balcony after she’d gone into the salon. He’d stood there smoking a cigarette and watching the mouth of the alley the same as Khaos had. Nothing about this intruder had been familiar. He’d been watching for someone, but as far as Khaos knew, the man could have been watching for his wife to come home.
Once Téa entered the alley, he couldn’t watch the man and Téa had been too leery of him to see the real danger above. If it hadn’t been for the cat that had disappeared out the end of the alley she wouldn’t have been distracted in the wrong direction. Fate was a son of a bastard. It seemed he wasn’t the only one tracking Téa Bello, who rose to her feet and escaped down the alley.
“Stay in the gutter, old man,” her attacker ordered. His English was as crisp as his east coast accent.
Interesting, since he’d chosen to use Italian with Téa.
“You like picking on the little ones?” Khaos let a thick Florentine dialect flow through his English making his opponent concentrate to understand what he was saying while he kept his cover intact. The sharp blade of her attacker’s knife jabbed toward his chest. Khaos jumped back; slowing his reaction on purpose as he prepared to knock the blade away from his body. The little nudge by his opponent, however, wasn’t meant to cut. It was a test of his agility, from an experienced man with a knife. Khaos went with his original ruse of being a drunk and added a stumble to his near miss with the wrong end of the blade.
A grin flashed on the man’s face. “You’re going to regret messing with me, pops.”
His next move came fast, faster than even Khaos had anticipated. The blade lowered, the attack aimed for his gut, as if he had a bullseye that said, disembowel me here, tattooed on his skin. A hand clenched his jacket, pulling him forward as the knife thrust forward and up. There was no time to think or plan. Just react.
With both hands, Khaos blocked the arm with the knife. Grabbing the man’s elbow and wrist, he pulled him in tight against his body and locked the asshole’s arm in place. Without stopping, he pivoted in a fluid motion to position himself behind the man’s shoulder. In training, he would have stopped when the pressure became painful. In real life—fuck this guy. He was there to kill Téa.
He torqued the arm with so much force, the man squealed as bones popped, then snapped. The knife clattered to the ground as Khaos slammed the man’s chest into wet pavement.
Surprisingly, the asshole wasn’t out of fight despite his dislocated shoulder and broken elbow. Khaos would’ve loved to give him more, but Téa was disappearing at the opposite end of the alleyway. He stomped on the broken arm as he got to his feet and took off after her.
It was time he introduced himself and took Té
a Bello Vanetti home.
He shrugged off the oversized jacket of his disguise that hampered his movement and picked up his pace. Rounding the corner, he looked up the street, but saw no sign of her long dark hair. It was the first thing he noticed about her appearance tonight. She hadn’t cut her hair. It had been pulled off her face in a graceful chignon, with blond streaks flowing through the tresses. Her curls were completely gone. She’d had her hair straightened, but not cut. She may look completely different in her eyes, but in his, she’d just magnified her beauty.
He ran toward the train station. It was the only destination that would give her a quick exit. He’d watched her enter the hair salon over an hour ago, and wanted to stop her, but there were too many people around and if Téa put up a struggle, which he had no doubt she would, the polizia di stato would get involved. He had to wait…and wait, and plan for his intervention.
She was on the run, which changed all of his plans and made him realize this was not a one-man job. He wanted to call Megan for help, but what he was about to do, broke every rule in their playbook. If things went wrong, he would be out of a job by tomorrow morning. Not to mention the manhunt that would spread across Europe for his sorry ass.
He entered the train platform and gazed around at the tourists, travelers and locals. Families tried to contain little ones, and elderly assisted each other as they made their way toward the platform that would take them to their destination. He had no idea what her destination would be.
He approached a group of American college students and used his most charming smile. “Scusi.”
The three girls with the long straight hair looked up at him as one, he said, “Sto cercando mia sorella, Téa.” As he suspected, none spoke Italian. Thank God.
The teenager in the middle who was taller than the other two by a hair, smiled widely. “I’m so sorry. Non parliamo italiano.”
Her Italian was worse than his Japanese. She butchered the pronunciation, but she got the message across. They didn’t speak Italian and they didn’t have a clue what he’d said.
Again he used the heavy Florentine accent. “My apologies, le signore. I’m looking for my little sister.”
They melted just a bit.
“I’m supposed to meet her here. We’re traveling together to Florence for our parents twenty-fifth anniversary.”
That earned him a round of, “Awwwes.”
“Have you seen a young woman wearing a large gray coat, with straight brown hair piled up on top of her head? She has blond, how you say, highlights, in her hair?” He held his hand up to display how short Téa was. To these American girls, his target would be very short.
The middle girl grinned, but her friend to her left began to eye him suspiciously. He had to be careful with that one.
“Real pretty and petite?”
He grinned. “She is my sister, I would not say she is as pretty as you.”
That brought giggles from two of the girls. The third was still eyeing him suspiciously. No doubt her dad made her watch the movie Taken, before heading off to Europe. Smart girl, but her friends were completely charmed by his fake accent.
“I think we saw her in the restroom changing a few minutes ago.” She pointed toward the restroom at the far end of the platform.
He laughed. “She does not like for her famiglia to see what she wears while at Università.”
“Actually, she was changing out of some pretty fugly clothes.”
“Trinity, I don’t think we should be telling him these things.” The third girl was ready to take a stand. She’d noticed the dirt on his pants and the worn shoes he’d traded a homeless man for. They’d been great on stakeout, not so much running through the streets or pretending he was an upstanding citizen. If she’d been his sister, he would’ve yelled at her for taking so long. As it was, he knew it was time to back away. If it was Téa they’d seen in the restroom, he’d already learned she’d changed into clothing that was no longer ‘fugly.’ That would have to do.
Trinity waved away her friend’s concerns. “Don’t be silly. He’s trying to find his sister.”
Khaos gave a pleasant but sorrowful grin. “Your friend is right. I have imposed upon you too much.”
Lucky for him, Trinity wasn’t done being helpful. “There she is!” She pointed at a group of people walking along the wall away from the restroom.
Khaos scanned the area, but came up with nothing, until he looked at the group a second time. Holy hell. It was her.
He quickly turned back to Trinity and grabbed her hand. Her friend began to move forward to stop him, but Khaos pulled her hand up to his lips and quickly kissed the back of her of her knuckles. “Grazie mille.” Thank you so much wasn’t enough gratitude for what Trinity had done for him, but he would leave it at that.
As he turned to head away from the girls, he heard three sets of giggles. His retreat had given him the authenticity he’d needed to convince Trinity’s skeptical friend he was trustworthy. Part of him wanted to go back and tell all three girls they should know better. Charm didn’t equal innocence.
Instead, he tracked the beautiful woman who now appeared to be average height. Her figure was no longer hidden, but accentuated to distraction. Holy mother, she was gorgeous.
Her hair, which had previously displayed her beautiful neck, was now flowing down across her shoulders in a sexy wave of tawny silk. Gone was the oversized coat that had extended past her knees. In its place, a bright white, v-neck tee to underscore her round breasts and tiny waist, as it draped down to her hips. Her legs were wrapped in black leggings that molded to trim muscles. She glided toward the train stop on the opposite platform in what had to be five-inch leopard print heels with an expensive looking brown leather shoulder bag hanging at her elbow.
She’d replaced her horrible coat with camel colored sweater. It covered her well-rounded ass in a way that made men take notice.
Holy hell.
If he’d fantasized about bag lady Téa, sexy as fuck Téa would keep him hard for days. He’d removed his hooded coat, but he wasn’t certain she wouldn’t recognize him from their meeting in the food bank eight months ago. He paced two other businessmen as he turned the corner at the end of the platform, to make his way down the concrete peninsula for track three. She was casual in her movements, but he could tell she was on high alert by the way she continued to people watch. Each individual around her was sized up and examined. It was only a matter of time before she caught his movement. In Italy, his height made him hard to miss.
Four stops to go. He increased his pace. Three stops. Her search turned in his direction. Two stops. Her body froze and her eyes widened. A second later, she was on the move in the same direction, heading toward the next stop up, where a train to Florence was boarding.
Damn it. He’d never make it.
He began to run down the platform as if he was going to miss his train. The last car was still loading passengers and Téa was jogging as well, as if she planned to squeeze in among them. He had his height and the length of his stride in his favor, but it was those stiletto heels that were her downfall. She wasn’t used to wearing anything but the comfortable shoes of a woman who didn’t give a rat’s ass about style. He reached her side right before the last passenger entered the train.
“Téa!” He yelled and laughed as he swung her around and put her in a big brotherly bear hug.
She immediately began kicking and it took everything he had to protect his groin from her knees. Passengers looked out at them, one attempted to hold the door as it started to close. He smiled and shook his head as if to say don’t worry, that’s not our train and the man stepped back. The door immediately closed and the train took off down the track before she could say anything.
Her silence, however, didn’t last long.
“Let me go!”
The first time she yelled the sound was covered by the noise of the train. The second time, attracted the attention of travelers
at the previous stop she’d abandoned. He turned her away from them.
“I’m not going to hurt you. My name—”
“I know your name, Agent Artino.”
Of course she did. He leaned back to establish eye contact between them. If she was a stuntwoman, or stupid, she would try to head butt him into submission. If she was smart, she’d think better of it. A move like that would hurt her as much, if not more, than him. He had a pretty hard head.
He almost forgot who he was and what he was doing as he gazed into her brown eyes. No. They weren’t brown. At the moment, they were darker than midnight—dangerous primordial black holes in an unknown universe that could swallow him whole.
He cleared his throat and refused to get lost in her gravitational pull where time and space became distorted. “Then you know I work for the Secret Service of the United States.”
She laughed as if that was the punch line to this encounter. He needed to resist the allure only she seemed capable of wielding over him.
“Should I be impressed?” She asked.
Most women he encountered were. Téa Bello apparently wasn’t like most women.
“You should feel safe.”
“I’ll feel safe when you let me go and get out of my life,” she hissed.
He’d done his research and knew that Téa didn’t have faith in many people. Two, in fact were the extent of her circle of trust. He hated that one of those people had broken her confidence, even if he’d done it in her best interest. He looked over her shoulder and his gaze fell on two men heading their direction. Unlike everyone else, the men didn’t have luggage. They didn’t hesitate to see if Téa was truly in trouble, or if they were just an over exuberant young couple. No, their set jaws said all he needed to know. These two were tracking them.
Strike that. Him. They had been tracking him. Téa would’ve escaped if it hadn’t been for him giving away her identity.
Fuck.
“Do you know those two?”
She stopped struggling in his arms, as he turned sideways so they could both view the two men in suit jackets and jeans headed in their direction.