by Pam Jenoff
“I didn’t need you rescuing me,” I insist stubbornly. “I could have handled it.” But even as I say this, I know that it is not true. “Anyhow, I had no idea there was any danger.” I recall that he did not seem surprised by the dead man on the floor. “Who were those men, Ari?”
I half-expect him to deny knowing, but he does not. “Let’s get out of here first,” he says instead. Looking both ways over his shoulders, he leads me from the alley and down the street.
chapter NINE
BACK IN THE hotel room, Ari fills the electric kettle that sits on the low table and plugs it in. I sink to the foot of the bed. “Nicole’s gone.”
“Of course she is.” He goes to his bag and pulls out a shirt and a small plastic case. He crosses the room, putting on the shirt before kneeling down in front of me. “Let me see your arm.” His breath is warm on my skin as he examines my slashed wrist. He frowns and pulls a suture needle from the kit.
I pull back. “What are you doing?”
“You need stitches.”
“And you’re going to do them?”
“Unless you want to go to a hospital.”
I consider the option, then shake my head. Too many questions, too much time. “I’ve stitched guys up a dozen times in the army,” he adds, opening an alcohol swab. There is a stinging burn as he cleans the wound site. He raises the needle. “You might not want to watch this.”
“I can handle it.” But I avert my eyes, staring hard at the wall.
“I came back and you were gone,” he says, his voice recriminating.
“How did you find me?” My guilt grows.
“I heard the message on the voice mail and figured it out.”
“I didn’t mean to listen,” I say weakly. “I mean, I didn’t know that’s what the message would be, and then once I heard it and figured it out, well . . . ”
“And now Nicole is gone.”
“Even if I had waited for you, Nicole might be gone anyway—or worse.” I bite my lip, willing myself not to scream at the searing pain in my arm as the needle cuts into my raw flesh.
“She would probably be dead by now,” he admits.
“Dead?” Suddenly the gravity of the situation I encountered sinks in. Of course if Nicole were dead, then Jared would be single and . . . I stop, appalled by the callousness of my own thought.
I glance back in time to see Ari pulling the final stitch through my arm. The room starts to wobble. “Who were those men, Ari?” I ask, forcing myself to breathe.
He does not respond, but ties off the stitch, then cleans the wound site with another alcohol swab. “I’m sorry that I went out on my own,” I say, grabbing his arm. I am thrown off balance by the intimacy of my own gesture, the warmth of his skin against mine. “You keep asking me to trust you, but how can I do that when you won’t tell me the truth? I’ve been burned before by people who were supposed to be my partners and friends. I can’t let that happen again. And if we keep going with these half-truths we’re going to destroy our search and each other. So we’re either all in or we’re not. It’s time to stop holding out on me.”
He gazes at me for several seconds before pulling away. Straightening, he walks to the table and pulls out two tea bags. His hand shakes slightly as he sets them in cups. “There are two different answers to your question, one for the man on the floor, and one for the man who went after Nicole.”
“They’re not together?”
“I don’t think so. The dead man was Friedrich Heigler. He worked with Nicole on the wine deal. He was who I was hoping to find her with at the meeting.”
“But you said that transaction was supposed to take place later tonight.”
“It was. They must have moved the meeting time.”
“Or Heigler showed up unexpectedly,” I suggest.
He picks up a teaspoon, twirls it between his thumb and forefinger. “True. They could have had an argument of some sort.”
“Do you think Nicole killed him?”
He pauses, considering the question. “It’s hard to imagine.”
How can he be so certain, I wonder? It’s not as if he knows Nicole. “She was holding the knife,” I point out. “Of course, she could have told us if she’d bothered to stick around after I interrupted whatever was going on.”
“She has a funny way of expressing her gratitude,” he agrees.
“Or the man who attacked me could have stabbed Heigler. Who was he?”
He stops in front of me. Our eyes meet. “Have you ever heard of Marcos Santini?”
“I haven’t. Was that him?”
“No, but it might have been one of his men.”
“His men?” I tilt my head. “I don’t follow . . . ”
“Santini heads one of the largest criminal enterprises in northern Italy.”
“The Mafia?”
“Not exactly. Santini is related to some mob types, and his aunt is one of the most powerful bosses in Naples. He—”
“His aunt?” I interrupt, surprised.
“Yes, female crime bosses are more common than you’d expect. Lucia Santini, or the Little Tiger, as she is sometimes known, took over when her husband was sent to prison, and she’s as ruthless as any male don. But Marcos himself is much more of a businessman. You’re more likely to find him making money from insider trading than extortion.”
“What does he have to do with Nicole?”
“Like I said earlier, the wine fraud was a dangerous business. Remember the investment funds?” I nod. The kettle bubbles, steam shooting upward through the spout. “Nicole sold the fake shipment of Bordeaux to a wine fund based out of London. When the wine was proven to be fraudulent, the fund was devalued and lost millions.”
“All because of one shipment of wine?” He nods. “Was it worth that much?”
“Not the Bordeaux alone. It was valuable, but not that valuable. But the fake sale had a ripple effect. Investors lost confidence in the fund and pulled out, and the principals who remained took a big hit.” He lifts the kettle from its base and pours the water into the teacups, not looking up. “Santini was one of the fund’s principal investors.” He holds up the teacup. “Milk?”
“No thanks.” I take the teacup he hands me, then wave away the pack of sugar he offers. “And Santini’s after Nicole for revenge?”
He shakes his head. “Like I said, Santini’s a businessman. More likely trying to extract the money he lost. Although I’m sure there’s some wounded ego at work here, too. Santini fancies himself an expert on wines and he was likely furious that Nicole duped him.”
“I’m not so sure about this kinder, gentler Mafia,” I reply. “I mean, I didn’t get a good look at him, but the man who ran from Nicole’s apartment seemed like your standard thug to me.”
“The old ways die hard with these guys,” Ari agrees. “Don’t get me wrong; Santini’s not above using some muscle when he has to get the job done, and he can be just as ruthless as the Old World mobsters, if not more so. But he’s not going to dirty his own hands to do it.”
“So he sent that guy to try to get money from Nicole?”
“Probably. I could have found out if I caught him. But by the time I got there, he was running away.”
Ari could have gone after Santini’s man. But instead he had run into the apartment to find me.
“The mob’s after Nicole,” I say, processing.
“In a sense. Assuming that guy didn’t catch her after leaving the apartment.” Alarm rises in me. If something happens to Nicole, my chances of finding Jared are nonexistent. “Don’t worry,” Ari adds quickly. “Nicole’s pretty resourceful. And I doubt Santini’s man would have risked another confrontation so soon after what happened at the apartment. They’re more likely to regroup and then go after her again.”
Remembering Heigler’s body on the floor of the apartment, I shiver, then wrap my hands around the cup and take a sip, scalding my tongue with the too-hot liquid. “It just seems so implausible,” I say. “Killing over w
ine.” But even as I say this, I know that it’s not about the wine. It is about money, just as it had been with Jared’s research and the secrets he threatened to expose.
“What about the authorities?” I ask. “Why not go to the police with this?”
“Impossible. The wine transaction was illegal in the first place, so involving the police would put everyone at risk for prosecution. Including Nicole,” he adds, as though for my benefit. If Nicole is incarcerated, she won’t be able to lead me to Jared. “And as I told you on the plane, my clients, the wine industry folks, prefer to deal with it off-line because they want to keep the fraud issue as quiet as possible.”
“But if you knew that the mob was after Nicole, why did you want to wait to confront her?” I ask, taking another sip.
“I had no idea,” he insists. “I mean, I knew she had angered some nasty people by selling the fake wine and that she had a meeting set up here related to the sale. But I didn’t think that the mob would come after her here.” Seeing my mistrustful expression, he reaches down and takes my hand. “My sources gave no indication. If I had known, I would have tried to get to her first.”
I pause, considering his explanation. It makes sense. He didn’t want Nicole killed any more than I did. “I believe you,” I say finally.
“Of course, if you had just trusted me, instead of going behind my back . . . ” He drops my hand and turns away.
“I’m sorry,” I reply quickly. “I was afraid of losing Nicole again.” Which happened anyway. “I went on an impulse. I didn’t think.”
“I’ve been burned before, too, Jordan.”
“Oh.” I am not entirely surprised. The fact that we have both been betrayed by those we trusted is one of the things that makes Ari and I understand each other so readily. But maybe it means that we can’t trust each other enough to work together. My stomach twists at the thought. Ari is the only hope I have of finding Jared. “Let’s make a pact,” I say, standing up and taking his hand. “No more secrets, okay? We tell each other everything and neither goes off alone. We’ll swear to have each others’ backs.”
I watch his face as he considers the proposition. “All right.”
I remember the CIA agent who had approached me in the cab. Should I tell Ari about him? I feel guilty about keeping it from him so soon after we’ve promised to be honest with each other. But it isn’t relevant to what we are doing here, and I do not want to answer the complex questions about my background the disclosure would raise. “So what now?” I ask instead.
“Back to square one,” he replies. “Comb my sources, try to figure out where Nicole went from here, and get to her before Santini’s men.”
I consider asking what kind of sources he has, then decide against it, not wanting to overstep. “There’s another issue, though,” he adds. “The man in Nicole’s apartment saw you and knows that you saw him. That makes you a target—and one that they likely want eliminated.”
A chill runs up my spine. “Great. So I lost Nicole for us, and put myself at risk.” I wait for Ari to disagree or tell me I am being too hard on myself, but he does not. “If these men are as dangerous as you say, I’ll need one of those.” I gesture to the pistol at his waist.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you know how to use it?”
I quickly realize my error. Ordinary diplomats do not, as a matter of course, need guns—my firearms training was only a product of my special intelligence role. I search for a plausible explanation but find none.
“I wouldn’t have thought you carried one,” he adds.
I shift uncomfortably. “I had some unusual assignments these past few years. Before England, I mean.”
“Oh.” He does not seem surprised. No, of course not. He has already seen my dossier. How on earth does he know so much about me? His access to information suggests that he is something more than a private investigator, though perhaps he still has contacts from his military days. The imbalance of knowledge in our relationship creeps up once again, making me uneasy. I make a mental note to circle back with Lincoln, see what if anything about Ari he has learned, as soon as I am alone again.
My thoughts return to Santini’s men and I look around the room uneasily. “Do you think they know where we’re staying?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never shared this location with anyone.” Except the contact who called with Nicole’s whereabouts, I think. He continues, “So we should be safe. But, all the same, I may try to find us another place.”
“I’m not sure that we need to stay in Vienna at all,” I observe, standing up. “Now that Nicole knows someone is after her, she’s sure to take off.”
He does not respond but sits down beside me and grasps my forearm, drawing it closer to him and resting it in his lap. I shiver at the unexpected touch. My pulse quickens. What is he doing?
Then I notice he’s staring down, studying the stitches. “How’s your arm?”
Embarrassed to have misunderstood, I look away, feeling the heat rise in my neck. “Fine.”
But he brings my arm closer and his fingers remain, grazing the soft underside. “Jordan,” he says, and as our eyes meet I realize that the attraction to him, which I’ve been trying to ignore, is not one-sided. My breath catches. He brings my fingers to his mouth. I am too surprised to respond as he presses them against his lips. An urge to protest rises in me, falls quickly again. He begins to suck gently on my fingertips, sending tremors of electricity through me. My knees buckle and he catches me, drawing me close until I am half-sitting on his lap.
I pull my hand away. “Jor—” he begins, his voice part apology and part plea. But before he can finish my name, I lean forward, putting my mouth on his, meeting his open lips with such force that he rocks backward on the bed. He wraps his arms around me as he falls, taking me with him.
As he unbuttons my shirt, a moment of doubt flashes through my mind: I don’t know him, shouldn’t trust him. But he is kissing me harder now, hands running down my body. Desire rises in me. There have been others, of course, my awkward night with Chris in London that was a mistake before it happened, my perfunctory trysts with Mark, the Secret Service officer I dated before leaving Washington. But neither was like this. This is the promise I thought I glimpsed with Sebastian, what it might have been had he not proven to be a traitor. I push the thought from my mind as I let myself be swept away by passion I haven’t felt in a decade.
I reach down for him, first on the outside of his jeans and then beneath the fabric, and he groans, growing taut. He follows my lead, hands dropping lower, exploring. He touches me and in that instant I explode, all of the pent-up desire rushing forth in a single burst of light.
“Do you have a condom?” I whisper into his shoulder, as the initial waves of passion subside, practicality intruding upon desire. Though I want him beyond all reason, to let myself sleep with him unprotected is a mistake too costly to make again.
He groans. “No. I hadn’t exactly planned for something like this.”
I roll to one side, still holding him close. Somehow the fact that he isn’t prepared for this—with me or anyone else—makes me feel better. “I can run out and get something . . . ” he suggests.
I hesitate, my need to have all of him conflicting with not wanting to break from the moment. “Not now.”
“All right,” he acquiesces, not pressing, willing to take what is offered. For a minute I wonder if our encounter has gone as far as it will, but then he lifts up on one elbow, pushing me back to the bed and lowering his head, lips trailing down my torso as his hands travel farther. I close my eyes.
Afterward we lie in the darkness, not speaking. His breathing grows long and even and for a minute I think he is asleep, but when I turn toward him he is watching my face, studying me. “What?” I demand, pulling my rumpled shirt down, immediately self-conscious.
“Nothing. I was just thinking about something you said earlier, that you were betrayed by someone you trusted. Who was it?”
I swallow
, realizing how very little I’ve told Ari about what happened. “A few people, actually. You see, there were men looking for Jared because of his research, powerful men. And Mo . . . ” I am unable to hold back any longer. “She was the deputy ambassador in London. She was also my mentor at State and someone I thought I could trust. But then I found out she helped fake a letter from my best friend, Sarah, who’s very sick with ALS, to get me to come to England to help draw out Jared.”
“I see,” he says, his expression impassive.
“There was someone else, too.” Sebastian’s face appears in my mind. “I worked with a man in London, a Scottish agent. We were on a task force together, but he turned out to be a traitor.”
“There was no way you could have known, I’m sure.” His voice is soothing.
I shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. I wasn’t at my best in England—I was emotional and on edge with all of the baggage from my past there and I made a lot of mistakes because of it. I got close to Sebastian and became involved, and it clouded my instincts. My colleague Sophie and another person were killed as a result, and my friend Sarah nearly was as well.”
He is silent for several seconds and I wonder if he thinks less of me now that he knows about my error in judgment. But then he wraps his arms around me, burying his head in my neck. Our chests rise and fall in unison until I cannot tell where his breathing stops and mine begins. My body still tingles, reminding me of what just happened between us. It was not as unexpected as I would like to pretend—there has been a spark of attraction between us since we met, flamed by the adrenaline of the danger we just encountered while chasing Nicole.
I like him, I realize suddenly. Really like him. The thought is as startling as it is undeniable. This is not some fling because we happen to be together, a moment born out of convenience, or our considerable physical attraction. We understand each other in a way I haven’t felt since Jared, perhaps even more so because our bond comes from our shared experiences, the deeper nuances that have made us who we are as adults. There is a connection between Ari and me, an intensity to the chemistry between us, that tells me it could be something more.