Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4)

by Susan Vaughan

  He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to, but she guessed that wasn’t the only reason. “You never answered my question about Vadim.”

  Her statement stopped him in his doorway. His shoulders were as rigid as a statue’s. “No. I didn’t. Good night, Sophie.” The door closed behind him with a firm click.

  A few minutes later, as she sat on the bed combing the tangles from her hair, she heard the shower running.

  ***

  Sebastian Vadim dropped his mobile phone in his suit coat pocket.

  He smiled and sipped his morning coffee. The greedy housekeeper at his villa had proved resourceful enough that he didn’t begrudge the extra euros he’d sent her. His other contact had just given him the last piece of information he needed to finish this business.

  Once he had the package, he would arrange its delivery to Ahmed. Then he would slip away.

  He hated to leave Italy, but the situation forced him to relocate and create a new identity. He might return to Cleatia, but only temporarily. He preferred somewhere more civilized, perhaps Paris or Madrid.

  He left the breakfast dishes for the maid and strolled into the palazzo’s sunny courtyard. Petar and Guido had been worth little. Their deaths hadn’t cinched the noose around him. The police had no one to question and no clues to his location.

  The loss of his men had left a void, however. He needed to hire people. This time he took no chances with careless amateurs. Contacting the Sicilian had required bowing and scraping, but time was of the essence.

  The aria from Aida floated up from his pocket. This had to be the response to the other call he’d placed earlier. No one else would have the number of this new phone.

  He greeted the caller. “Pronto.”

  “The don said I should call you, dottore.” The caller’s voice rang with the familiar Sicilian accent Vadim disdained.

  The respectful address mollified him, increased his confidence in the deal. Low-class or not, this man was supposed to be the best. He’d better be. His price had been exorbitant. “I know who you are. You have your money and my requirements?”

  “Sì. Eliminate the man and woman. Bring you the package.”

  “That’s it. You must be extremely careful. The package is not to be damaged.”

  “I understand. And their location?”

  “As of this morning, they left the small village named Castelbuorno, north of Bologna. My source says they’re headed south toward Florence. There is a bonus if you complete the job quickly.”

  “Nessun problema.” No problem.

  Satisfied, Vadim disconnected. Strolling amid the roses, he plucked a blood-red bloom. He knew well the reason Thorne was part of this so-called task force. Thorne hated him for his well-deserved retribution. Vadim’s fingers curled around the delicate petals. Five years ago the man had thwarted his plans and paid a price. Not a big enough price. Vadim would not be thwarted again. He tightened his fist, crushed the rose to bits.

  This time Thorne would die.

  Chapter 11

  IN THE MORNING Jack was still reeling from their kiss the night before.

  While he helped Sophie dress, neither mentioned it. The red sleeveless dress she chose buttoned in the front. Good, the less he had his hands on her the better. But the garment’s hem ended at the knees and didn’t cover enough of her legs for his peace of mind. Not that it mattered. The image was burned into his brain.

  The usually ebullient Sophie thanked him in a subdued tone and avoided his gaze. The kiss had affected her too. Better they stick to business. He knew it. So, apparently, did she.

  Later, when he steered into eastbound traffic on A14, she said, “I thought you were avoiding major highways.”

  “Vadim probably expects us to head to the Tuscany coast, the tourist areas. We’ll go this way for about a hundred clicks, then south on secondary roads.”

  Most of the route lay away from populated areas, and spectacular scenery rolled away into the distance. Cypress and other trees lush with early summer leaves dotted emerald hills. Distant peaks loomed, craggy and purple.

  Entranced but tired, Sophie leaned against the headrest. She’d tossed and turned in her bed. Well, not really. Her injuries prevented too much movement. But she lay awake for what seemed hours wondering how to talk to Jack after that incredible kiss. His hunger and need scalded her, and together they combusted like Roman candles. Afterward, their shared denial had burned almost as hot.

  Even now.

  Tension emanated from him in waves like the terraced vines marching over the adjacent hillsides. She was no less tense. And not wholly because of their hot kiss.

  This morning, when he’d helped her put on the red sheath, something flickered in her mind. Sebastian Vadim. A ghostly image, out of focus. Holding her hand in an intimate gesture. She gave an involuntary shiver. Had she been the man’s lover after all?

  “You okay? Your shoulder bothering you?”

  Jack’s voice startled her from her reverie. She must’ve made a sound or spoken. Telling him what she remembered was out of the question. Disturbing and too close to what he’d first thought of her. “No. Just admiring the bell tower over there above the tiled roofs of that village. And I’m tired. Talk to me.”

  “Talk to you. What about?”

  “Since the task force has a file on me, my life is an open book. Yours, Jack Thorne, is so closed the pages are glued together. Tell me your story.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Not much to tell.”

  “DARK is new, part of Homeland Security, both since 9/11. What did you do before?”

  “U.S. Marshal Service for seven years. I came on board DARK five years ago.”

  She scooted around so she could tuck one foot beneath her. “U.S. Marshal. And how did you get into that?”

  His hands lay lightly on the steering wheel. “My dad was a small-town cop. Fieldton, Indiana. After college I wanted more than arresting rowdy teenagers. The USMS suited me.”

  In safe territory. She knew why he relaxed. “All I know about the U.S. Marshal service is from The Fugitive. They transport and guard prisoners.”

  “That’s one of a deputy marshal’s jobs. Court security, protecting juries and witnesses are others.”

  Now she was getting the picture. “I see. I’ll bet you were the guy who defended the little kid against the playground bully.”

  His eyebrows shot up as if in surprise she’d figured him out. “I never could stand guys who tried to look tough by picking on others. The strong should protect the weak, the way I see it.”

  Protecting was what Jack did. Although he wanted information from her, he was protecting her as well. An admirable man, a quiet man sure of his strength and honor. A man of many layers, one of them pain-filled.

  “What made you move to DARK?”

  He lifted one shoulder, but it was more muscle tightening than shrug. She’d hit a nerve again. “Lots of reasons. I needed a change. Wanted to get out of Miami. DARK was a new agency doing a crucial job.”

  None of that touched what she really wanted to know. “Miami? I’ve never been there. I couldn’t go far from my family in New York. Until now.”

  “You had responsibilities.”

  “Did you? You said before that you have no family. Is there an ex-Mrs. Thorne?” Someone who hurt you so deeply you keep it all inside?

  His jaw worked, and the amber brow dived into a scowl. Finally, he said, “I had a wife and son. They … they died.” Each word was torn bloody and writhing from the depths of his soul.

  Her senses went numb. Dead? That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Tears stung her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You must miss them terribly. What—”

  “Here’s our exit. I’ll need you to use the map again.”

  The leap of his jaw muscle said he’d closed the book again. Her heart twisted for him. Now she understood why he was so grim and closed. Why he hadn’t waved to the children on
the snail staircase. In fact, he’d deliberately looked away from them. Seeing little ones must bring back the terrible tragedy.

  Memories.

  His plagued him with grief and perhaps guilt. Hers were deadly, except they were locked in her brain. Which was worse—remembering horror or not being able to?

  What happened in Miami? An accident? Did what killed them also scar his hands? And what did it have to do with Sebastian Vadim?

  ***

  Jack’s tension finally eased as the Fiat chugged into the Tuscan hills. Sophie had ceased grilling him, thank God. Her exclamations on this gorgeous vineyard or that adorable farmhouse even elicited a smile or two from him. They bought lunch from a produce vendor — bottled water, a crusty loaf of bread, apples and a wedge of pecorino, a sharp cheese from sheep’s milk. By the early evening they approached one of the villages mentioned in her grandmother’s letters.

  “Before we arrive, I need you to understand something.” He braced himself for an argument.

  She tilted her head. Trust shone in her eyes.

  Despite the twinge in his conscience, he forged ahead. “We have a fine line to walk. We want to awaken your memory. But we don’t want to announce our presence.”

  As she shook her head, her dark hair swung onto her shoulders. “So what are you telling me exactly?”

  “Too much contact and conversation with locals will make them remember us. We don’t want to attract attention.”

  “But talking to people, asking questions, might lead me to Rinaldis. Finding family might trigger memories. Don’t you want me to remember?” Desperation edged her voice.

  She was right, dammit. But he’d take no chances with her safety, for DARK or his personal aims. Curbing her natural gregariousness would be hard. But her curiosity and warmth charmed people. People who would remember her.

  He felt her disappointment, but saw no other option. “Your memory is key, but so is your life. By now Vadim must have people on our trail. You have to talk for us both, so I need your word you’ll limit conversation to getting a room and ordering a meal. Don’t chat.”

  “All right.”

  Her wistful expression and crooked smile twisted something in his chest, but he kept quiet.

  The narrow, steep roads challenged his skills enough without distractions. An Ape — a three-wheeled miniature truck — approached at breakneck speed. Squashed into the tiny cab over the single front wheel, the corpulent driver saluted cheerfully as he nearly clipped them. No wonder Italy didn’t export those damn vehicles. Unsafe at any speed.

  Awhile later she said, “I get the feeling you believe me now. About amnesia, I mean.”

  He had no hard evidence, only his observations. And the reality of Sophie. He didn’t know, but for now he’d hold his cards close to the vest. “What if I did?”

  “That would be something, anyway.” She turned her gaze to the forested hillside beyond the passenger window.

  The village sat in a verdant valley ringed by vineyards and narrow roads snaking into the surrounding hills. As in the previous one farther north, businesses and the church faced a town square. The sun-kissed red and gold of the ancient brick structures looked grown from the Tuscan soil.

  The single small inn’s location on the square didn’t entirely suit his low-profile requirement, except for parking in back. Pale yellow, with arched windows, a wrought-iron sign and red-tile roof, the building glowed with the same Mediterranean gleam as the rest of the village.

  The innkeeper assigned them connecting rooms, but the bath was across the hall. Somehow the arrangement seemed safer, less domestic. Less prone to temptation. The intimacy of tending Sophie in their shared bathroom had strained Jack’s nerves to the snapping point.

  After settling in, Jack decided he approved of the room location. His window had a clear view of the small square.

  Two women chatted with the fruit and vegetable vendor at Fruttivendolo Conti as she closed up shop. The butcher swept the pavement by his doorway. Boys kicked a soccer ball around the fountain. No obvious strangers in sight.

  That evening he and Sophie walked to the restaurant, Trattoria da Paolo, across the square. The host, Paolo himself, greeted Sophie like long-lost family and brought them his family’s best Chianti. He seemed to remember her, but Sophie replied only in monosyllables.

  Over aromatic spaghetti with a porcini mushroom sauce, she informed Jack that Paolo said she’d taught his young daughter to make an origami bird. She had no memory of the man or the village.

  This woman who could converse with the wall restrained herself per his orders. Hunched over her plate, she seemed more ethereal and fragile than ever.

  The waiter brought her marinated chicken and his bistecca fiorentina — a huge cut of T-bone — both grilled.

  Jack didn’t know what to say, so he picked up his knife and fork. He didn’t wear emotions outwardly. Or handle others’ emotions comfortably. Sophie’s laughter or tears were never far beneath the surface. But not temper. She hardly ever stood up for herself. Her casual obedience and subdued acceptance confounded him. He almost wished she’d rebel and converse away with everyone in the place. Almost.

  The grilled beef turned from tender to tough in his mouth.

  ***

  Sophie felt as if lead weighted down her Gucci sandals as she trudged across the square from the bar where they’d just eaten lunch. She was tired and her shoulder ached. Quiet blanketed the square as shops began to close for siesta.

  She sighed as they approached the inn. “You’d think there’d be at least one Rinaldi alive in this town.”

  That morning they’d searched town and church records. The only Rinaldis they found lay in the cemetery. The elderly priest informed them the last family moved away twenty years ago.

  “Give it time, Sophie. Rest awhile. Then we’ll walk around and see if anything looks familiar.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She forced a sanguine tone but had little hope. So far in this town, no scent or object or person had fished out a memory from the deep pool of her brain. She had only a few glimpses of her missing memory, and Vadim’s face tainted those.

  This morning, unwinding the silk scarf from the saint statuette had triggered the sensation of him kissing her hand. Did he do more than kiss my hand? Could I be wrong that he wasn’t my lover? Anxiety made the panini she ate for lunch grow heavy in her stomach.

  “One more night here ought to be safe enough,” he said. “Putting off bending myself into a pretzel to bounce around mountain roads in that damn can suits me fine.”

  Relief washed over her like a balm. Her bruised body could use the day too.

  The siesta’s peace was broken as a refrigerated truck clattered into the square. The words Vianello e Figlio and cartoons of lambs, pigs and cows decorated its sides. With a squeal of brakes the meat truck stopped as its driver consulted a clipboard.

  “No noise-abatement laws here, I guess.” Jack shook his head at the disturbance.

  She was about to comment when a small figure in bright orange darted past them. The girl, about three years old, ran from the fruit-and-vegetable shop. Dark curls bobbed and chubby legs pumped as she chased a gray kitten.

  The meat truck began backing toward the butcher shop.

  Unaware, the toddler pursued her pet as it darted back and forth.

  Directly in the path of the truck.

  Chapter 12

  SOPHIE STIFFENED. ADRENALINE pounding her pulse in her ears, she started toward the child. “Attenzione!”

  The truck’s clattering and grinding drowned out her warning.

  The girl scurried after the kitten.

  Before Sophie could take a second step, Jack raced across the square. His long legs ate up the distance.

  Distracted by a blowing leaf on the paving stones, the kitten put on the brakes as the child reached it.

  Jack scooped up girl and cat together. Two more strides removed them all from harm
’s way as the oblivious truck driver continued backing toward the butcher shop.

  Sophie exhaled her pent-up breath. Dizziness threatened, and she had to steady herself.

  Jack marched up to her and handed off the kitten and the wide-eyed little girl to her like a football. She clutched them with her one good arm, but when at the sight of his face, she nearly dropped her. Color had drained from his cheeks. His tan looked gray. When he turned away, his hands were shaking.

  “Fabiana! Mi bambina!” Shrieking and waving her arms, the produce vendor ran to them.

  As soon as little Fabiana saw her mother in such a state, her chubby face puckered and tears filled her eyes. She joined the panic, crying for her mamma.

  Sophie handed her over, and the woman clutched the child so desperately that Fabiana bawled harder.

  The kitten yowled and clawed its way to freedom. It tore across the square to home and safety in the produce shop.

  All the while the woman babbled her thanks to the kind stranieri — foreigners — who saved her daughter’s life. Amid tears and smacking kisses on her daughter’s cheek, she called Jack her hero. She began to settle down, but when people came out of other shops to investigate the commotion, her hysteria mounted again.

  She wailed. The child bawled even louder.

  Jack stood apart, gray-faced and stiff as the paving stones underfoot.

  Sophie’s heart bled, but what could she do for him? Nothing at the moment. Calming the child came first, poor baby. Her only injuries were a few claw scratches. Fabiana’s face grew redder and redder with every exclamation from her mother’s mouth. She gasped for air, close to hyperventilating.

  Sophie shooed away the spectators and, crooning soothing words, escorted mother and child back to the shop.

  She glanced back to see Jack trudging along behind them. His mouth was tight, his eyes not cool and assessing but filled with the weary dullness of a grieving parent.

  ***

  “You okay?”

  Jack stopped short of closing his door on Sophie.

  They’d just returned from the fruttivendolo, and he ducked into the sanctuary of his room. Rude, but he needed time alone to regroup. He reeled from the near calamity. Judging from her words, she knew that.