Stepping aside for her to enter, he said, “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
A knowing but sad smile blossomed. She closed the gap between them and wrapped her good arm around him. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
She was the exact height for her head to fit beneath his chin. He kept his hands away from her, kept his body rigid so he wouldn’t succumb to the pleasure of her body against him. He damn near didn’t breathe so he wouldn’t inhale her scent. An impossible challenge.
“Saving that child was heroic. I could see it hit you pretty hard.” Her voice muffled against his chest, she held him tightly. “I was terrified. I shudder to think what could’ve happened.”
He didn’t want a hug. He didn’t need a hug.
Dammit, what was she doing? Her warm tears wet his shirt. He felt her tremble. Ah, the aftermath of danger. The woman had deep strengths, for herself and for emergencies. When Vadim’s men had chased them, she hung tough, didn’t fall apart then or afterward. Today, when the child and her mother needed help, Sophie took charge. No shock for herself, but plenty for a little one. And a huge, warm heart that included everyone.
He melted. How could he deny her? What the hell. If she needed comforting, he could handle that. Careful with her sore shoulder, he curved his arms around her. They stood quietly, wrapped around each other. He could feel the fine bones of her spine through the thin T-shirt, the plump fullness of her breasts against his chest.
Getting the stretchy cotton over her head that morning had made him sweat until she’d finally tugged it down over her barely covered breasts. He was sweating again.
Gradually her tears dried and her trembling stopped. Her scent and softness seeped into him, giving the comfort he’d denied himself. One part of him hardened, but his muscles relaxed and the band around his chest eased.
She tilted her head and regarded him oddly, as if considering what to say. A few remaining tears beaded her thick lashes. One fell, trickling down her dampened cheek to the slight indent by her mouth.
He shouldn’t touch — any more than he was already. But that single tear pulled his finger up to swipe it away. Her cheek felt unbearably tender, a damp petal. And her mouth — he ached to run his finger across her full lower lip, to kiss her again. To do more than kiss.
What did Leoni say? Enjoy the scenery, but don’t touch. On a deep breath Jack dropped his hand and stepped back.
Sophie did not. Her hand went to his forearm. “That awful scare must’ve reminded you of your son.”
Seeing that little girl in danger had stabbed him in the heart. Fear had galvanized him. No parent should suffer the senseless tragedy of losing a child. “I don’t need reminders.” He cleared his throat and crossed the room, away from her touch. No more consolation. No softening. He wanted to relish the sharp, fresh pain, to stoke the ruthless, relentless need for revenge.
“I didn’t mean you could ever forget.” She pivoted and grasped the doorknob. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
He should let her go. Hell, he should push her out the door. But he said, “What was all that babbling the mother did before you calmed her down?”
A tender smile dancing on her lips, Sophie released the knob. “I didn’t understand everything Chiara said. That’s her name. She spoke in fast-forward, and the Tuscan accent changes the c and ch sounds. What I gather is that Fabiana got up from her nap and slipped past Mom. Probably to follow the kitten.
“Chiara blames the butcher — he’s her brother-in-law — for not coming out to supervise the trucker. She called him some colorful names. Creative ones, involving the animals whose meat he sells, and definitely insulting.”
“You were amazing, the origami and all.” He’d stood by in mute shock while Sophie had distracted the child by making an origami swan with pink and green tissue paper from the fruit display. The project had calmed both mother and daughter. And intrigued Jack. “You’re a natural teacher.”
Sophie laughed. “Maybe. I learned origami from an art teacher. I used to do crafts with the Donati kids when we couldn’t go to the park. We made all kinds of things.”
“You just proved my statement. Natural teacher.”
She shook her head. “A variation on nanny. Not in my plans.”
“Isn’t there some saying? ‘Life is what happens while you’re making other plans.’ ”
“When I get my memory back, maybe I’ll know.”
Before he could respond, she slipped out the door.
***
Their afternoon tour of the town and environs produced no memories for Sophie.
When they returned to the inn to change for dinner, Jack took the time to check in with Leoni. He reported their location and that they planned to move on the next day. “Any developments?”
“Not much. Vadim owns several properties under his various aliases. Some in Italy, some in Cleatia, one on Cyprus. We’re tracking them down, but it’s slow going. The Cleatian authorities don’t want to cooperate.”
Jack could almost hear Leoni’s shrug. He made himself comfortable on the bed. “And the courier Dobrich? Autopsy results yet?”
Sophie knocked on their connecting door and opened it. He waved her in, and she crossed to the window. In preparation for dinner, she’d changed from cropped pants into a short skirt, something she could manage one-handed. The scoop-necked top was the same. He should be glad she hadn’t needed his help, but he was no saint. When she sat to observe the square, he had an excellent view of her trim legs. She would people watch, and he would Sophie watch.
“Funny you should ask,” Leoni said. “Damaged spleen, low blood count, lungs shot. Doc said radiation poisoning. If they hadn’t shot him, he’d have died in a matter of days anyway.”
“He opened the package.”
“That’s my take on it. Makes sense. He didn’t know what he had. After his boss was picked up, he was on his own, curious. And you know what they say about curiosity.”
Jack emitted a long, low whistle. “If radiation was released, whoever has the package now could be in trouble.”
Wide-eyed in alarm, Sophie stared at him, but he mouthed okay, and she returned her attention to the square.
“Vadim’s no dummy. He would’ve had it secured again.”
“I hope you’re right. Or there’ll be more inadvertent casualties.”
They ended the conversation. Jack related the update to Sophie.
She nodded absently. “You might want to look at this man sitting outside the trattoria. I don’t think he’s local.”
He joined her at the window and immediately knew what she meant.
Thirties, short dark hair slicked back, black polo and shiny trousers, predatory look. Drinking a glass of something, he sat apart from the other patrons, who glanced nervously his way from time to time.
The fine hairs on Jack’s nape rose. “Definitely not local. Not a tourist.” He had hit man written all over him. Weren’t these wiseguys smart enough to blend in? Or was it sheer arrogance?
The distance fuzzed the picture, but Jack snapped three shots with his phone. Leoni could ask the techs to enhance them enough to ID the guy. Fifty euros said he was known to the polizia.
“Look, there’s Chiara, Fabiana’s mom, leaving the trattoria,” said Sophie. The woman glanced furtively at the stranger, then jogged across the square. “She’s coming here, to the inn.”
Jack kept his eyes on the stranger. At the man’s waist, beneath his shirt, bulged a distinctive shape. Armed. Unusual in Italy.
Excited voices rose from downstairs, then louder as the speakers mounted the stairs. There was a frantic pounding on Jack’s door. “Signore! Signora!”
“What is it?” She rose and wrapped her good arm around her injured one.
He opened the door to Chiara and the innkeeper, who were talking in chorus. He stepped back and motioned Sophie forward. He listened to the excited exchange, punctuated with expansive hand gestu
res, but understood little. Only the words stranieri, foreigners, and pericolo, danger.
When the rapid-fire conversation began to run out of ammunition, he could stand waiting no more. “Sophie, explain.”
Her eyes were bright, but her cheeks had paled. “Chiara says she was delivering peppers and mushrooms to the kitchen when the waitress ran in all nervous. The man out there was asking if any foreigners were in town. She says he’s a Southerner. That seems to be the local term for Mafia.”
He looked out the window.
The Southerner who looked like his name ought to be “Slick” sat sipping his drink and browsing the square with a hard gaze. The waitress, her eyes round as plates, brought him a pasta dish.
Good. Still there. Would be there for a while. “What did the waitress tell him?”
Sophie relayed the question to Chiara, who stood wringing her hands. Her eyes were still puffy from her earlier fright. Another volley of words, and Sophie said, “She told him he was the first stranger she’d seen in weeks.”
He was impressed, but somebody would blab soon. Slick was here for them. But he wanted to calm her. “Good, then maybe we’re okay.”
“Wait, Jack.” Not calmed, she gripped his arm. “He described us — a man and a woman with her arm in a sling. He’s looking for us!”
He nodded and turned to the gaping innkeeper and Chiara. “Grazie mille,” he said, thanking the women and shaking their hands.
To Sophie he said, “Please tell the innkeeper we’re checking out.”
After she translated, the innkeeper dashed downstairs to prepare their bill. She and her new fan exchanged cheek kisses, and then Chiara left.
“Chiara says Paolo will keep the Southerner occupied with food and a full wineglass.”
“Good, but I’m taking no chances. Pack your bags.”
In a few moments, bill paid, Jack hoisted his duffel on his shoulder and entered Sophie’s room. “Ready?”
She lifted the red tote from the bed. “I’ll carry this.”
“You sure you can handle it?” He lifted the larger one.
“It’s light.”
He snorted in disbelief. “The thing weighs a ton. What’s so heavy?”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “Shoes, makeup. Stuff.”
No time to argue. If she’d healed enough so she could carry it, he’d let her. They made their way through the labyrinth of corridors to the back stairs that led to the parking area.
As darkness descended on the small town, Jack drove the Fiat into the hills. He remembered the roads well enough and headed for a crossroads where he turned farther south. Since they would get no dinner, Sophie divided what was left of the pecorino and fruit to eat as they drove.
He crunched into an apple as he chewed on what had just happened. “Sophie, those people in that town saved our lives.”
“Yes. Yes, they did.” Her voice caught with emotion. “Chiara and Paolo and even Paolo’s little waitress.”
He’d admonished her not to chat, not to get involved in people’s lives, that calling attention to themselves was dangerous. As it turned out, their safety depended on that same involvement. Was he too by-the-book, too harsh in his approach? To everything?
Sophie’s soft appearance gave the impression of fragility, but inside she was stronger than he was. And the more time he spent with her, the more he liked her.
The more he wanted her.
When the mountain road widened for a scenic turnout, he pulled over and stopped. The sickle moon shed little light, so the scenery below lay unseen in its ebony blanket.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Before we go any farther, I need to check for electronic bugs and tracking devices. Everything has been swept, but Vadim found us somehow.”
He got out, leaving the engine running and the lights on.
Sophie watched as he began removing their belongings from the compact Fiat. She grabbed her tote from the backseat and lugged it onto the pavement.
From his duffel he withdrew a device that looked like a fat ballpoint pen. When he pressed a button, a tiny antenna extended from one end and a green light glowed.
“What’s that?” she asked, intrigued. “Spy stuff?”
“An RF detection unit. RF for radio frequency. If we have an operational bug, the light will blink red. The faster it blinks, the closer the detector is to the bug.”
He lay on the ground and ran the detector beneath the car chassis. Nothing. Then he passed it over and around his duffel. He opened the bag and jabbed the pen-like device inside. Still nothing.
“You shouldn’t have to be precise with this detector, but I’m taking—”
“No chances. And I appreciate that.” As he finished with his duffel and moved to her big suitcase, her nerves flitted like fireflies on a summer night.
If Jack saw the marble saint, would he think she’d stolen it from the villa? It belonged to her, but he’d seen it on the nightstand and didn’t know that. Maybe she was worrying for nothing, but she’d keep Santa Elisabetta hidden. Once her memory returned so she knew what secret of Vadim’s she held in her brain, she’d tell him.
She remembered some things now, but nothing helpful. Impressions of Vadim kissing her hand helped no one. She shuddered in revulsion. What did I do?
“We’re almost done. Just this.” Jack reached for the tote handle.
“Oh, can I do it?” Sophie gushed. “This is so cool. A real spy gadget.” Managing to bat her eyelashes, she gazed up at him. She hated such feminine ploys as phony and obvious, but this was an emergency.
He looked at her oddly. Either he thought she had something in her eye or he was on to her. But then he shrugged. “Sure, why not? Nothing to it.”
After a demonstration, he stepped aside.
She passed the bug detector over and around the tote. She unzipped it and swept inside. “Nothing.” She indicated the green light, steady and bland.
“That’s that, then. No bugs.” They repacked the car, and then he said, “We’ll head for a town you didn’t visit before. Maybe Vadim knows what was in your grandmother’s letters.” He bent his long body into the driver’s seat.
She got inside and opened the map. “I suppose I could’ve shown them to him. I can’t imagine why he’d care or remember. At the time, I mean.”
“But the letters are only one possibility. There could be a leak.”
Chapter 13
TWISTED MASS OF metal. Grotesque in the pink dawn. The small face. Upside down and too still. So much blood.
Pain and rage a jagged boulder inside. Must reach him. Save him.
Cascade of glass. Sharp. Stabs. Ignore them. Red shards. Dripping. A crimson lake. Red and more red. Nothing but red. Only blood—
Jack jerked upright. He dragged in a rasping breath. His gritty eyes stung from his own sweat and tears. Breathing deeply to calm his racing heart, he focused on the pale dawn lighting the open window. Tuscan June nights were comfortably cool, but not when past terrors came back to haunt a man.
Too much was happening to exhume all the pain. The small child yesterday. Sophie’s gentle probing…
Sophie.
She lay beside him in the bed. On her side, she curled her free hand beneath her cheek like a child. The pj placket gapped open above the sling strap, affording him a view of the inner curve of her breasts. Nothing like a child.
He returned his gaze to the encroaching dawn.
Late last night, when they’d dragged into the hill town, only one room was available at this bed-and-breakfast. He offered to sleep on the floor, but Sophie insisted they share. So she slid beneath the sheet and light blanket, and he stretched out on top in gym shorts and a T-shirt.
Perfectly respectable. Sure.
The first part of the night he was too aroused to relax. He watched her fall asleep and half hoped she would roll into his arms and let him hold her. She didn’t. Finally exhaustion had closed his eyes.
Sophie ought to have more rest. Another chat with Leoni before they hit the road was essential. But the hour was early. So Jack lay back on his pillow, found it soaked with sweat and flipped it over to the dry side. He adjusted his position to face his bed partner.
Inky lashes, long and curled, fanned beneath Sophie’s eyes. If only he could see past them, past her eyes, into the brain that hid the information he needed. Or did it? She was hiding something from him. He sensed it. Did she remember and not want to tell him? Or was there something in her tote?
Last night she’d carried the bag herself, guarded it from him like a treasure. She insisted on scanning it herself with the bug detector. He’d begun to trust her, but now he wasn’t sure.
He didn’t know about her or how Slick found them. He didn’t know much, but he would go with what he suspected. No more cat and mouse with a hit man. No more chances with a leak. Was somebody in the task force feeding info to Vadim? Jack’s sat phone was secure, but was Leoni’s? Could he trust Leoni? Or De Carlo?
Contacting them to find out meant more risk to Sophie’s life. Not an option.
From now on, they hit the road on their own. No more contact with Leoni or the task force. He’d removed the phone’s battery and SIM card to make him — and Sophie — invisible.
He slid off the bed and padded out barefoot to the bathroom.
***
Sophie wrenched her good arm into the stretchy yellow T-shirt and worked the garment into place. Thank God for Lycra. She panted like a marathon runner from the strain, but she’d dressed by herself. Her injured shoulder had healed enough in a week that she could manage a limited range of motion.
Dressing and undressing she could handle alone. No more unnecessary intimacy.
Now why did that give her a pang? Wasn’t sleeping in the same bed with him too close for comfort? Comfort, yes. The reality of his large presence weighing down the covers cocooned her in a feeling of safety and security she hadn’t felt since waking in the hospital. But close meant body heat and masculine breathing and muscles that invited cuddling. Not that Jack would ever… Enough of that, Sophia Constanza.
Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4) Page 10