Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4)

by Susan Vaughan

  He’d finished his boning up on the Yamari terrorist. De Carlo had given an inch and agreed to install a police officer outside Sophie’s room. But the protection wouldn’t start until morning. Jack would keep watch for the night.

  The hospital had once been a palace, with entrances on all four sides, at least damn six staircases and a courtyard. Beautiful but not secure. If Vadim sent one of his thugs to finish off Sophie, he might choose daytime, when no one would notice an extra person in the halls. But Jack’s money was on a late-night foray. His watch read ten-thirty. The hospital corridors would be quiet and dim, the staff inattentive.

  He climbed the entrance steps and hurried to the arched stairwell that led to the patient floors. As he neared the third floor, he heard more than one voice shouting.

  Sophie!

  Pulse revving, he took the last flight two steps at a time. He burst onto the corridor to see two people grappling outside Sophie’s room — a nurse and a man with a black cap pulled low on his forehead. Two other uniformed staff ran toward them. The man knocked down the nurse and took off.

  One woman spotted Jack and yelled to him, but her Italian was too rapid for him to catch even a few words. She waved her arms frantically toward the dark-capped man, who was hurrying toward another stairwell.

  Jack peered into Sophie’s room but saw only white uniformed staff around her bed. “Sophie? La signora Americana?” Dammit, he ought to know more of the language!

  Through the nurse’s incomprehensible stream of Italian, he understood the one word in English. Okay.

  At that, he sped after the black-capped man. His quarry had a head start, but Jack knew the hospital layout. Ahead of him on the stairs was the muffled stomp of sneaker-clad feet.

  Jack hit the ground floor in time to see Sophie’s assailant make it out the door. It was a side door away from the canal, on Ruga Brunetti. He raced after the man, who lengthened his stride when he glimpsed his pursuer.

  Using his Glock was unwise in these narrow streets of homes and shops. He was at a disadvantage in dress shoes against a man in sneakers, and his high school track days were in the distant past. Regular jogging didn’t cut it for flat-out sprinting.

  The assailant could be Vadim’s Cleatian bodyguard Petar. Right build. Right moves. Damn, he wanted this guy. But all he could hope for was to keep the man in sight.

  Sweat stung his eyes, but his pace was steady, his breathing strong. He could keep the black cap in sight. He followed him through a right turn. The man peeled left, and Jack followed him into a church plaza.

  The chase led him across a bridge, then toward another narrow street. He raced behind the man to yet another bridge. This one arched higher than the others, and he could see only the black cap as he crested the bridge. By the time Jack crossed, the assailant had disappeared. Three narrow streets diverged from the canal’s edge.

  Petar — if it was Petar — could’ve gone down any one of the three streets. Or into any building.

  Dripping and defeated, Jack walked to catch his breath. In his mind he spewed out every oath he knew and kicked himself for not being at the hospital earlier.

  A few minutes later, cooled down and cooler-headed, he checked the street signs.

  Great, just great. He had no idea where he was, but he had to get back to the hospital fast.

  Sophie could still be in danger.

  ***

  The early-morning sun streaming through the window woke Sophie. She opened her eyes and recoiled with a start. A man sat in the chair beside her bed. Thorne, not her attacker. She relaxed, her pulse slowing to normal.

  He was asleep, his head lolling sideways against the high back of the sagging upholstered chair. Mussed from sleep, his hair gleamed like antique gold in the sun. In repose his harshness was muted. His eyebrows and eyelashes were a red-gold mix. The darker contrast created that fierce stare she’d seen yesterday. Red-gold bristle covered his chiseled jaw. His mouth still looked austere but not stern or intense. The light tan softened him, but not much. He didn’t seem like a man who frequented tanning booths or lounged on beaches. A jungle or desert assignment, then.

  Strong throat and wide shoulders, impressive in such a lean body. Her gaze traveled to the golden hairs curling at his shirt opening, then down his leanly muscled chest to his folded arms and the scarred knuckles.

  The scars — how did he get them? Rescuing a hostage? Fighting a terrorist?

  No more questions that hurt her head. The attack had brought back the ringing in her head and the drilling ache in her shoulder. Painkillers and a sleeping pill did their job. She felt better this morning.

  Better enough to face facts. A man tried to kill her last night. Remembering the panic of not being able to breathe, she tensed from head to toe, and fear tightened her throat. Thorne must be telling the truth about Sebastian Vadim. At least the part where he wanted to kill her. Why was the big question.

  “Why what?” a deep male voice asked. Thorne straightened in the chair and scrubbed a hand over his eyes.

  She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Have you been here all night?”

  “Most of it.”

  “A nurse told me you chased the man. Did you catch him?”

  He shook his head. “He had a head start. I chased him long enough to get lost. Had to pay a water-taxi driver a month’s rent to return me here.”

  If not for his scowl, Sophie would’ve thought the DARK officer was making a joke. “You tried.”

  “Trying doesn’t cut it. I was too damn late getting here. It’s a miracle you’re alive. What stopped him?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t take the sleeping pill they brought me and I was still awake. I don’t think he was expecting me to fight him.” The memory — only that memory — flooded back with a buzzing in her head and a spasm in her throat.

  “Can you go on?” He stood and stared hard at her, as if willing strength into her.

  She nodded, reaching for him with her free hand. He hesitated, then clasped it and held on. His hand was tough and hard, like the man, but offered warmth and solid support.

  After a moment she felt able to continue. “I couldn’t breathe. He held a pillow or something over my face. I pulled my good arm free and knocked over the IV stand. The nurses came.”

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “No. It was too dark to see his face.” She searched her brain for impressions. “He wasn’t as tall as you but strong and fit.”

  “I’ll vouch for fit.” Thorne subsided into the chair again but kept possession of her hand. “You were asking why earlier. Why what?”

  “Why does someone — this Vadim — want to kill me?”

  “If you can remember the last few days, we’ll know the answer to that.”

  More than anything, she wanted to remember. And not just a motive for murder. She wanted the last four weeks. She wanted her life back. But remembering could be a double-edged sword. What if she’d been that man’s lover? What could she know that was so bad he wanted to kill her? Whatever had happened, she needed the truth.

  “Officer Thorne, yesterday you said DARK could offer me protection if I would help find Sebastian Vadim.”

  Jack watched her eyes. She seemed damned sincere. After last night’s attack, even that polizia prick De Carlo would have to admit she needed protection 24/7. After his unprofessional loss of control yesterday, he’d expected her to refuse to talk to him. That she reached out to him today shocked the hell out of him. But no more attack dog. Kindness had a better chance of gaining her trust. Reluctantly he slid his hand from her grip. He shouldn’t get too used to how soft she felt. “I was too hard on you. I apologize.”

  “It’s okay. You have a job to do. I was too upset to understand or accept what was happening. I don’t know if I can help. I don’t remember Vadim or anything. I want to remember, but I’m afraid of what it might be.”

  He smoothed his rumpled
dress shirt and dragged fingers through his hair. He’d have to move fast to convince De Carlo and Ramsey to leave him here. Sophie didn’t yet trust him, but she seemed to acknowledge that she needed him.

  He could work with that.

  “I have to arrange some things. I’ll get back to you later today.” He started toward the door.

  “But what if someone comes again?” A note of panic tightened her voice.

  “There’s a police officer outside your door. You’ll be safe.” There’d damned well better be a cop on duty today. Jack would alert the day staff to keep an eye out too.

  Her lips curved with a warm smile. “Thank you. A cop is good, but I feel safer with you, Officer Thorne.”

  He sure as hell hadn’t done her much good so far, but hearing her say it eased his tension a notch.

  He opened the door, then stopped and half turned. “Sophie, my name is Jack.”

  Chapter 5

  “TELL ME ABOUT this man,” Sophie said two days later as she rode with Jack to Sebastian Vadim’s mainland villa. “Why do you want him so badly?”

  Why do I— No, she meant why did DARK want Vadim. He was jumpy and overreacting. He slanted a glance toward his passenger in the tiny Fiat.

  Her hair was clean and brushed so it floated in a glossy cloud around her shoulders. A female DARK officer had taken pity on Jack and selected clothes from the luggage at Vadim’s villa for him to take her. In the short pink pants called “cropped,” a buttoned blouse and sandals, she looked like any young woman out for a drive.

  With a few exceptions. The abrasions and scrapes on her face, but those were healing. The purple-and-red bruises were fading to yellow. Her shoulder bandage had been replaced by a green sling with hook-and-loop fasteners and a strap around her chest to immobilize the arm.

  As if she’d asked him the weather, she gazed out the windshield at the lush green countryside. How did she maintain that ethereal calm? Even if she was faking the amnesia, two attempts on her life ought to have shaken her to the core.

  And they had. He’d seen her tears.

  “Did you hear me? Earth to Jack.”

  He checked the rearview mirror. Behind them, their escort in an unmarked polizia Alfa Romeo sedan, were Leoni and Assistant Director Ramsey. De Carlo was waiting for them at the villa. He’d grumbled but agreed to leave Jack where he was, guarding Sophie. For now.

  “Sorry. I was concentrating on the traffic.”

  “A good thing.” She laughed, low music. “In Italy, driving is a blood sport. And it’s even worse on the Autostrade.”

  A dark green BMW passed them. It zigzagged around two trucks and took a sharp curve with two wheels airborne.

  The next exit was theirs. Thank God. “Four lanes is a free-for-all.”

  “I asked about Vadim. DARK is a terrorist-hunting agency. What do you want with a diamond smuggler?”

  Did she really want to know or was she testing to see what DARK knew? Either way, he saw no reason not to tell her the facts. The events surrounding Roszca’s arrest had been in the news. Very little was still classified. “Viktor Roszca is an international arms dealer. A few months ago he arranged the theft of weapons-grade uranium — four-point-five kilos, about ten pounds — from an old nuke dump in the former Soviet satellite of Cleatia. He was arranging an auction when the U.S. and the Cleatians arrested him. The courier vanished. We think he sold the package to Vadim, but we have no proof.”

  “I understand. But if Vadim is from Cleatia, how is he Mrs. Donati’s cousin?”

  “His mother was Italian. He grew up in both countries. He learned his trade with the Mafia before graduating from local rackets to diamond smuggling.”

  “Why hasn’t he been arrested before?”

  “He was tough to track. Too many aliases. He seemed to be at least a half dozen different people.”

  “But Sebastian Vadim is his real name?”

  “Sebastiano Vadim, to be exact.” Jack bit out the words. “He must’ve kept in touch with the Donatis under his real name. The villa’s also listed under Vadim.”

  “So he has aliases, Mafia connections, resources to add to his arsenal.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “And what about the uranium?”

  He heaved a sigh. “Vanished with the courier. What Vadim plans for it is anybody’s guess. Even that small amount of kilos could arm a dirty bomb or a small missile.”

  “It could fall into terrorist hands. I see.” She contemplated the vineyard that came into view as they exited onto a two-lane highway. “And you think I know something about his plans. That’s why he tried to kill me.”

  “His plans or about the uranium. Yes.”

  Both fell silent as they tooled along the country road. Farm fields and vineyards thick with leaves and ripening fruit edged the road. The leaves of olive trees flashed green and silver, with wildflowers sowing color at their feet. So much beauty with such evil in its midst.

  When they turned in at Vadim’s villa, she sat up straight. Her gaze scanned the long driveway, the vineyard and the redbrick villa as if hoping for a breakthrough.

  “Look familiar?” he said.

  She sat back against the cushion. Such hard staring must’ve roused the dizziness again. “No. Nothing. I wish it did.”

  The two cars pulled up to the manor house’s entrance. Jack helped Sophie out of the little car. She was still shaky, and her bound arm limited her agility.

  Before they’d left Venice, he’d introduced her to his colleagues who accompanied them. A long shot that her artless charm would win over the commissario as easily as it did them.

  De Carlo opened the heavy front doors of the house and stepped out, and Jack introduced him. In a formal Italian manner, the task-force leader bowed slightly over her hand. “Piacere.” A pleasure to meet you. But his eyes were cold.

  “Piacere,” Sophie replied.

  Inside were three more officers with boxes of documents and electronic devices in their arms.

  “Let’s walk through the house,” Jack said, taking her good arm.

  “You’re hoping something I see will trigger my memory.”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope so too.”

  They strolled through a large sitting room and a dining room with tile floors, into the kitchen and out onto a shaded terrace. Fifteen minutes later, as they reached the back section of the main floor, she sighed. “I don’t remember ever being here before.” Shoulders and eyelids drooping, she eased down on a settee.

  He didn’t want to push her, but… “Your things are upstairs in your bedroom. Can you manage the stairs?”

  Hope bloomed on her delicate face. “Oh, yes.” She looked around. “I saw the stairs when we came in, but now I’m all turned around. Where?”

  Nothing, damn. “This way.”

  As they walked back toward the front hallway, she said, “I know you don’t believe in my amnesia. Yesterday you said Vadim accused me of stealing. You made that up to trick me, didn’t you?”

  He winced that she’d read him so well. “I had to try.”

  She gave him a sad little smile. “And just now you were trying to trip me up about finding the stairs. It doesn’t matter. I know of nothing you or I can do to bring back my memory except keep trying.”

  “The doctors said your memory might return all at once or in pieces.”

  “Or never. Thank you for being kind enough not to mention that possibility.” Her smile sagged. “I’d be grateful for one of those pieces, even a tiny fragment, anytime now.”

  They entered a spacious bedroom with hardwood floors, a large bed with a pale peach coverlet. Flowers in a vase on the bedside stand had died. No one there to replenish their water. The doors and woodwork, including the bed frame, were painted grass-green.

  “The room is inviting. I wish I remembered staying in it.” Sophie ran her fingers across the cotton coverlet.

  Jack opened a wardrobe. “Your luggage is in here. Not
the ones the airline lost, but new ones.” He pulled out two red leather suitcases, one large and the other a carry-on tote. He slung them onto the bed. “They’re a little damaged from searches. Slits in the lining, a few scuffs.”

  “If I recognized them, I might be upset.” She lifted out dresses and skirts and tops, silk and linen, all expensive.

  These were the boutique fashions Vadim had bought her. Had bought his lover, Jack reminded himself. There was no clothing of Vadim’s in her room. That meant nothing. He must’ve made her come to him.

  “How about the other bag?” He stood by, his gaze fixed on her, willing her to recognize something or to slip and prove his doubts right.

  She opened the tote and gasped. “My purse. My folio of letters.” She beamed at him. “You said they were here. Oh, thank goodness!”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. He didn’t seem to be able to resist her infectious smile. “Your passport’s there too. You must’ve had those with you on the plane.”

  One-handed, she pawed through the frilly underwear and the cosmetics bag at the bottom of the tote. “My phone? I could’ve taken pictures of my long-lost relatives.”

  “No phone.” He cleared his throat, waited. “You don’t recognize anything else?”

  “Sorry. These things are lovely, but they aren’t mine.” She gestured at the clothing strewn on the bed.

  “They are yours,” he said. “Vadim bought them for you. Until your luggage is found, they’re all you have to wear.”

  She frowned as if ready to object, but a voice from downstairs summoned Jack.

  He scrubbed knuckles over his jaw. A moment ago sympathy cracked his determination, but he needed to remember what this woman was to Vadim. And keep his eye on his goal. “See if you can pack this stuff. I’ll come back to carry the suitcases downstairs. We’ll be at a safe house in Venice for a while. You’ll need clothes.” He turned and walked out.