“You had to resign because you were protecting that woman from her husband?”
He shrugged. “It’s more complicated than that. But, essentially, yes.” He didn’t elaborate.
“So you were the hero of the situation, not the villain the press made you out to be.”
“I was no hero. She came to me, the captain, for help and protection. I gave it to her. End of story.”
“And my father knows. He must know the real version of events.”
“If your father knows anything of it, he didn’t hear it from me.”
She nodded. “And he’d respect that. But he knows. He’d have made it his business to find out everything about you.”
She hesitated. “Nick…what happened to Carolina? She’s not fine, is she?”
He shook his head. “Her husband killed her,” he said baldly. He didn’t go into details. He didn’t want to think about them himself—the blue-black marks around her neck, the other bruises on her body, her broken fingernails with her husband’s skin under them. Even now, it made him physically ill, and her open eyes haunted him. They always would. “The bastard killed her when she tried to leave him.”
“Oh God.” Helena put a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry.” She’d met Carolina once, when Nick’s cousin had come to his apartment in Athens. She’d been so young, so full of life, with her future spread before her. Tears filled Helena’s eyes. “It’s awful,” she said inadequately.
He turned away, picked up his pants and put them on. The playful, affectionate Nick she’d made love with and drunk champagne with had vanished, to be replaced with a maritime officer under the weight of unpleasant memories and hundreds of responsibilities.
His silence alarmed her. “Look, I didn’t mean to pry. Or to listen. But I couldn’t help overhearing.”
“I know. It’s all right.” He reached for his undershirt and pulled it over his head, tucking the hem neatly into his trousers.
“You seem angry,” she ventured.
He turned to face her again, and his gray eyes were like steel. “I am angry. But not at you. I’m angry that we didn’t see what Vigo was like. That we allowed Carolina to marry him, left her helpless, with no support. I’m angry that we didn’t prevent what happened. I’m furious that we didn’t just—” He broke off, his mouth grim.
“You can’t blame yourself for what happened!”
“Yes, I can. And I do. It was the job of the men in Carolina’s family to see to her well-being. I’m one of those men. We let her down. So you see, Helena, you’re not the only one who feels you’ve failed your family.”
“Oh, Nick.” She went to him and put her arms around him, but he stood unyielding. She may as well have been hugging the stone Poseidon down there in the Court of Dreams. “You didn’t fail anyone. How were any of you supposed to know when she didn’t confide in you?”
“She must have felt that she couldn’t,” he said. “That’s our fault.”
“Or she was too ashamed!”
He shook his head.
“Nick, think about it. How many family members did this poor woman Eva call? None. She finally asked for help from a stranger, because it was probably too painful to face those she knew well. She was humiliated.”
Helena finally had his attention. “It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated. “Women are expert at hiding things.”
Suddenly the atmosphere between them shifted. “Yes, they are. You are.”
He took a step back from her. Distance and distrust seemed to lie between them now.
Helena retreated. This had all been a mistake—agreeing to have dinner alone with him, coming to his room. They couldn’t just roll back the years and take up happily where they’d left off so unhappily.
She picked up her dress, which lay on the floor like some unlucky sapphire. She stepped into it reluctantly—it was far too glamorous and carefree for the way she felt at the moment.
Without being asked, Nick crossed the divide between them, at least physically, and zipped her into it with an air of finality. She felt his warm breath in her hair; it sent a shiver of need down her spine. But she moved away with casual thanks and found her sandals.
She needed to get away from him now, gather her thoughts and try to make sense of them. Helena slid the silver leather straps over her feet and fastened them behind her heels. She wished her sandals were like the winged ones of Perseus and could carry her back to her room in a flash.
But they weren’t. So she finger-combed her hair in the mirror, all too aware of Nick’s unreadable eyes on her. And then she allowed him to walk her back to her room.
NICK LEFT HELENA at her door with a brief kiss that communicated absolutely nothing. No regrets, but no joy, either. No promises, which she’d said she didn’t want. And no reaction to what had occurred between them during the last few hours.
How could it be otherwise? He didn’t know what the hell to think. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed…and he was an idiot of epic proportions.
Did you have to sleep with her, Pappas? Are you crazy?
Clearly, he was. Because he couldn’t touch her, kiss her, caress her without becoming emotionally entangled with her.
Helena was not just any woman. He hadn’t simply been using her body for pleasure. Nick had thought of her needs and desires first; her gratification had been more important than his.
The recent memory of her lips on his, her hands raking through his hair, her soft, warm skin sliding against his…her muted cries and exclamations. He was afraid that she’d ruined him—again—for any other woman.
He cursed under his breath. What had he been thinking? That they could take a simple trip down memory lane and then be done with it?
He hadn’t been thinking, and that was the problem. He’d been under the influence…not of alcohol but of Helena. And she was twice as intoxicating.
But where did it go from here? Where did it stop? Because it had to end. She had a satisfying and successful career in London. His place was at sea.
Nick shook off his thoughts, which only frustrated him, and began his walk to the bridge. He needed to make sure that all paperwork was being filed correctly with immigrations officials for their docking in Katakolon, where the main tourist attraction was Olympia, the site of the very first Olympic Games.
At least four officers were on the bridge at all times, and right now it was the quartermaster at the helm, First Officer Tzekas at the coffeepot and two junior officers. These last two checked and revised maritime charts for things like shifting sandbars and coral reefs. They also monitored satellite communications for unusual currents and weather information.
All four men were licensed captains in their own right, fully certified to run Alexandra’s Dream if anything should happen to him. But Nick himself was the “Master,” the head captain, and he, for one, wouldn’t put Giorgio Tzekas in charge of the head on a shrimp boat.
Nick’s eyes narrowed on Tzekas, who was focused not on monitoring safety operations for the ship, as he should be, but on getting just the right amount of cream into his late-night coffee. The man was just too casual about his duties and responsibilities.
Something in his gut told Pappas that the first officer was dirty. He was what Nick called a roufiano, or a man without honor. But how dirty was he? Was it Tzekas who had been in his office, digging through his files? And why? To try to get some information he could use against Nick? Suspicion roiled in Nick’s gut.
The waters were rough tonight, the wind blowing at about twenty knots in his estimate. If it gusted any more and the waves kicked up higher, they’d have to slow their progress into Katakolon. The ship couldn’t operate at full speed in bad weather conditions.
The delay would mean further headaches and scheduling issues with everything from excursions and tendering the passengers ashore to crew exchanges and provisioning. But it was all business as usual, and Nick had been dealing with these same problems for years.
“Tzekas,”
Nick said in neutral tones, “have you conducted a thorough inspection of the fire alarms and made sure all the extinguishers are operational?”
“A check is scheduled, sir.”
“Yes, Officer, it was scheduled for today. Is the inspection complete? Because I don’t see a report.”
“Er. There’s been a delay, sir, because the crew swap-out at Santorini didn’t go as smoothly as it, er, could have. So I didn’t have the manpower….”
“The crew issues were ironed out by 0100 hours yesterday, Tzekas.”
“Well, sir, all I can say is—”
“All you can say is that the inspection has not been done, correct?”
Giorgio stared at him resentfully. “No, sir.”
Pappas nodded. “I see. Well, I’d like that report on my desk by 0800 hours tomorrow. All right, Tzekas?”
“Yes, sir.” His color high, his breathing shallow and irregular, the first officer looked as if he wanted to choke his superior.
“Excellent.” As Nick walked away to speak to the quartermaster, he heard Tzekas say something under his breath.
“I beg your pardon, Officer?” Nick demanded.
“I didn’t say anything, sir. Just cleared my throat.”
Nick held his gaze for several beats before the first officer broke eye contact. “That will be all, then. Dismissed.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ARIANA COULDN’T HELP BUT be nervous again as her captor hustled her up the irregular stone stairs of their rough underground refuge. Expecting to see sun, or at least clouds, she was disappointed when the darkness was unrelenting outside. She didn’t know what time it was, but guessed that they were moving in the wee hours of the morning. A small sliver of moon hung in the Mediterranean sky like a glinting scimitar, offering little visual aid and no comfort.
“Where are we going?” she asked the hulking man.
“On holiday,” he said with irony.
He’d been out of sorts since he’d gone off by himself with his cell phone. He’d stomped around in those black boots of his, and every muscle in his body had been tense.
“Andiamo! Hurry,” he said, dragging her to a car no bigger than an American hamburger. He wrenched the passenger-side door open. “Get in.”
Okay, maybe she could fit in there. But him? No way. It would be like the Incredible Hulk driving off in a Matchbox car. With a little help from the push he gave to the small of her back, Ariana wedged herself into the vehicle. He slammed the door on her and rounded the hood to get in on the driver’s side.
Go! Her chance was now. She wrenched the door handle and shoved hard for freedom. She hurtled forward blindly and heard him curse behind her.
Three, maybe four footsteps pounded the earth and then suddenly an iron arm caught her around the waist and she went airborne in reverse.
The big man jerked her back against his body and she flinched in terror. Oh, God, he’s going to kill me now.
“Da tutti i santi, do not try my patience at this moment, ragazza!”
“Mi dispiace, mi dispiace,” she babbled.
“You endanger us both, do you understand?” He said this in gentler tones. “What do you think they will do if they see you alive? They’ll be looking for me, too, since I did not return to the site.”
“Who?”
“Get into the car, and keep your head down.”
Shaking with both adrenaline and fright, she did as he said.
“Do you not understand what kind of men these are? They would have their way with you before killing you, eh? Do you want that?”
“No! No, no.”
“Then do what I say and don’t cause me any more grief.”
She crouched obediently in the passenger seat, her head as low as she could force it, while her captor somehow folded his enormous body into the sardine can and started the engine.
They shot forward onto a dirt road, the car’s engine sounding like a lawnmower. Every time he switched gears, he elbowed her and grunted an apology.
In such close quarters she couldn’t help but be intensely aware of him physically, even if he hadn’t been touching her.
But his muscular arm pressed against hers even when he wasn’t shifting gears, and she was aware of his scent—musky, ripe and disturbingly attractive.
He’d floored the gas pedal and they careened around corners on a dark, twisty road. She’d hoped to see the lights of civilization ahead soon, but they didn’t appear. He seemed to be taking the scenic route through the back of beyond.
“Where are we going?” Ariana asked, even though she had a feeling he wouldn’t enlighten her. He hadn’t even told her his name.
“Somewhere safe,” he answered.
For a few moments she was too busy getting over the shock of a reply to press for more information. She braced herself against the seat and the now-locked passenger door while they drove, and tried to focus on the mustiness of the carpet and the mild chemical smell of the vinyl seats instead of the scent of her kidnapper.
It didn’t work. He smelled overpoweringly male.
“Excuse me,” she ventured above the noise of the engine and the gravel that was now clinking against the bottom of the car, “but if you’re going to kidnap me twice, could you tell me your name?”
He cast a dark glance at her. “I could,” he answered.
She waited.
He said nothing else.
“Well, will you?”
“Dante,” he finally said.
Dante. Like in Dante’s Inferno? “Of course your name is Dante,” she said. “It had to be. Do you mind telling me which circle of hell we’re visiting at the moment?”
He rewarded this question with a flash of white teeth in the darkness. “My own private circle. The one I reserve for…how you say? Smart mouth? Yes. Smart-mouth women.”
Okay. So he had a sense of humor. That was welcome news. And he hadn’t killed her when he’d had the chance, though that was still a possibility.
Was he after a ransom? Ariana tensed. Since her father’s death, money had been an issue. Although his case hadn’t gone to trial before he died, they’d already spent a fortune in legal fees.
“If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it back in that cavelike place, right?”
Again, that obsidian gaze flicked over her. “If I were going to kill you, I’d have done it the way the Camorra suggested, bella.”
“So you’re not going to?”
“No. I told you that.”
Had he? If so, he hadn’t been a hundred percent reassuring. Then again, she was quite sure he hadn’t been hired for his diplomatic skills. She eyed his muscular build, unable to help herself. “Then why won’t you just let me go?”
He shook his head, took a hard left that had her sprawling against him, and then a hard right that tossed her in the other direction. Water. She saw water—and a ferryboat. He drove right toward it, and her throat tightened. It was one thing to be on a massive ship, where she couldn’t feel the waves beneath her. It was quite another to take a small ferryboat. Was he going to throw her overboard?
He noticed her discomfort right away. “I’m not going to toss you overboard,” he said as if he could read her thoughts. “We’re just leaving Naples.”
“Where are we going?”
No answer.
Dante steered the car expertly onto the ferry and her tension grew. What if something happened and the car slid off into the water? She couldn’t swim and had an irrational fear of small boats.
He glanced at her sharply. “Va bene?”
No. She wasn’t all right, and she was beginning to wonder if she’d ever feel all right again.
“Signorina, there is nothing to be afraid of,” he said in bracing tones.
Despite her fear, she cast him a sardonic glance.
“Ah,” he said. “You are wondering which is worse, me or the water.”
She didn’t reply, and remained silent throughout the short trip. Soon they were docking at what
she guessed to be Capri, judging by distance alone.
She relaxed marginally as Dante drove them off the ferry and onto dry land, where he took a series of twists and turns that she had difficulty remembering. Soon they clattered across a small metal bridge and turned down a drive that led to a nondescript house with a tiny yard. Dante stopped the car in front of it.
Her fear started to rise again, especially as she saw two armed men round the sides of the little house. They were going to shoot her and then bury her. She looked around wildly for any possible escape route.
“Relax, Ariana. I told you that I have no plans to kill you.”
“But…” she said, shaking. “Then what are you going to do with me?”
He exited the car, rounded it and opened her door as if they were on a date. He extended his hand to her, his dark eyes enigmatic. “An excellent question, signorina. An excellent question.”
THE MAN TRAVELING under an alias cursed, looking at his watch. Too much time had elapsed—he had to meet the silly old cow he’d been carrying on a shipboard “romance” with, or she’d come looking for him and make a fuss.
He’d have to abort his plans yet again. Who knew the rich bitch would spend so much time at an ancient site she had to have visited before?
He’d hoped to overpower her here in her room, then summon the good captain and start the games. He wanted to disappear long before the ship got back to Rome.
Goddamn women. Out of sheer spite, he pulled the drawings out of her portfolio and ripped up every other piece. It was all melodramatic shit anyway, the pretentious scrawls of a gold-plated whore.
Savagely, he thrust the papers back into the flat case and zipped it. Then he cursed again and carefully let himself out. Things were getting complicated, harder to organize.
He fingered the revolver in his pants, itching to put a hole right through Nick Pappas’s skull. It had taken some doing to get the gun on board. Security on Alexandra’s Dream was particularly tight with that Israeli in charge. But every system, without exception, had weaknesses to exploit. One simply had to find them, and he had.
Karen Kendall - An Affair to Remember Page 11