“He’s behind us, isn’t he?” Sophie said, her voice tight.
“Could be Slick. I’ll head for the Autostrade. Four traffic lanes should give me room to maneuver.” And plenty of witnesses to make him think twice if he intended to shoot.
“How did he find us?”
The Mafia hit man had more tricks than expected. Did he have an accomplice who’d followed them? Jack had spotted nobody. The possibility scraped his nerves raw. “We’ll figure it out later.”
With the breeze dancing little tendrils loose around her face, she turned halfway to peer out the rear window. “He’s just following, not trying anything. What does it mean?”
Before he could answer that he had no clue, he saw the answer. Dead ahead.
Where the road turned, a red motorcycle, a Ducati, lay across the right-hand lane, and a man bent over it, one arm cradling the other as if he were injured in the spill.
“Oh, that man is hurt,” she began. “But if we stop—”
“If we stop, they have us.” Adrenaline pumping, he shook his head. “A fake accident’s an old ambush deception, to make the victim stop. Our Mafia boy has accomplices. But how the hell did they get in front of us?”
“What’ll you do?”
“I’m going around.” He downshifted in preparation for speeding around the stopper. “Get down as low as you can in case they start shooting.”
She slid to the car floor, as she’d done on the Venice powerboat. Jack caught that her movements were more agile than before and no pain tightened her mouth.
“Hold on,” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror. The blue car was closing the gap. Sweat streamed down Jack’s temples. He accelerated at the same time he swerved into the oncoming lane to pass the spilled bike.
The motorcyclist waved frantically at him. When he didn’t stop, the man drew a pistol from somewhere and fired at them.
Jack stomped on the accelerator. The little Fiat groaned but gradually sped up.
Behind them, the muzzle of a pistol jutted from the blue car’s driver window.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Bullets slammed into the fenders.
Just don’t let them hit the tires. As he’d done in the boat, Jack zigged and zagged, working to throw off their aim. He was just approaching the turn when he saw the second shooter kicking his motorcycle to life.
“Now they’re both after us. Stay down, Sophie.”
“Are you okay? You’re not shot?”
“Fine. You?”
“Peachy.” But her voice hitched.
He urged the whining Fiat into fourth gear. Hanging in the left lane, he gunned it toward the turn. The odds were against meeting oncoming traffic.
From the left a green Ford Fiesta pulled out of the roadside brush.
Oh, hell. Jack zipped over to the right lane and into the turn. The Fiat fishtailed, tires squealing. He yanked it into the turn and kept going. Encouraged, he crossed mental fingers that the Fiesta’s arrival would confuse the thugs.
No such luck. The Fiesta’s driver joined the others in pursuit. Jack pounded on the wheel and swore.
“What happened?”
“Another car. Three of them now.” He felt like a character in the movie about Butch and Sundance. Who are those guys?
He made it around the turn, but his pursuers were gaining speed. He was not.
More bullets hit the trunk.
He swerved around another turn.
Sophie rolled with a thump against the car door.
He tamped down boiling fear and rage that he couldn’t protect her, centering his mind and drawing from the experience he needed. “Sorry, but the curving road is the only thing keeping them from catching us.”
“I’m okay.” She was holding her injured arm tightly against her. “Do whatever you have to do.”
The road took them up hills and down the other side, still with the three vehicles in pursuit. The Fiat careened around one curve after another like a drunken donkey.
Another stopper entered from a side road just before another sharp curve.
His throat tightened. If he braked now, they’d kill Sophie. “Aw, damn it to hell!”
“What now?” She pushed up to peer out the passenger window. “A farmer?”
The new stopper ahead was no Mafia accomplice but no less effective. The wooden wagon pulled by a team of horses blocked his lane and half of the left. Behind it lumbered a second team pulling a wagon.
Vineyard on one side. Opposite, another dirt road. Boulders flanked both roads. “Hold on, Sophie. I might be able to make hay out of this.”
He veered left, barely keeping the tires on the pavement. The rear fender kissed the boulders with an ear-splitting screech. The Fiat passed directly in front of the plodding horses.
The big animals shied and stomped. Three more steps and they halted and tossed their heads. The wagon driver dropped the reins. He waved both meaty fists at the rude motorist.
Jack eased the Fiat back onto pavement and zipped on around the curve. “I think that did it.”
“What happened? What did you do?” Sophie crept back into her seat.
“The two wagons were loaded with men and tools from the day’s labors in the vineyard on the other side. Now the wagons are blocking the entire roadway. Those Mafia bottom-feeders can’t bypass the boulders. They’ll have to wait for the horses to calm down and finish crossing before they can chase us.” He rolled his shoulders.
“You’re a genius!” She searched the road behind them as she tucked curls behind one ear. “I see no sign of them.”
“We’re not in the clear yet.” A glimpse of her glowing face had him gripping the wheel tighter so he wouldn’t reach for her. Damn, he didn’t need this. “Look at your map. What detours can we take to throw them off?”
“The map from the Etruscan Museum shows more detail than the road map. I see several dirt tracks that lead to tomb sites. We could—”
His heart bumped when he checked the rearview mirror. “Hold it. The creeps are back. I see the motorcycle.”
“No. Oh, no!” Sophie’s trembling fingers crumpled the map.
Chapter 15
SOPHIE’S CHEST TIGHTENED as if cinched by a steel belt. This chase was worse than the one through the Venice canals.
Jack briefly covered her hand with his. “We’ll get out of this. I promise. If what I have in mind works, we’ll have a place to hole up for a few hours.”
Downshifting, he pushed the little car to its limit, but he managed to pull ahead. A series of S-curves in the narrow road blocked them from view of their pursuers.
“Now where do I turn for one of these tomb sites?” He steered through another curve.
Exactly what she longed for, a place to hide, a safe place. She drew a deep breath for calm. “Take the next right. Then there’s a dirt road on the left just after a small shrine.” The chase had swabbed her mouth dry, and she managed only a whispery voice.
“Thank God the bike’s small and not a monster that could power rings around us. They’re not close enough to shoot. We have a good chance of fooling them.”
No sign yet of their pursuers, but they must be gaining. Her heart crowded into her already tight throat. Faster, faster, she urged the intrepid Fiat.
Jack hung a sharp right onto the side road.
Beside a natural spring someone had built a stone pillar topped with a crucifix and a picture of the Virgin Mary. Roses and wildflowers bedecked the pillar’s base. “There, up there’s the shrine. See the flowers?”
Thirty feet farther along, barely visible, a narrow dirt track disappeared into a thicket.
“Got it.” Jack braked and yanked the wheel left.
Dappled emerald shade embraced them as the Fiat bumped and bounced onto the rutted dirt. He pulled into a cleared place on one side and cut the engine.
Over them arched a cool canopy of native pines and beech trees, and behind them spread thick shrubs. The f
amiliar scents of heather and juniper drifted on the light breeze. Deep shadows shielded the black car.
“We’re hidden. I’ll give it a few minutes before we go on to the tombs.” He dug his 9mm from beneath his seat and checked it over. “Stay here.”
Sophie held her breath as she watched him. Swinging open the door, he levered his long body from the car. He pushed the door almost shut. Thigh muscles shifting under worn denim, he crouched over and edged along a sprawling juniper to where he could see the paved road. A spear of sunlight glinted off his pistol, and he lowered it.
She held her breath and listened. The hum of motors increased to a roar as the three Mafia vehicles drew near. Slowly the noise diminished to a hum.
The cars and the motorcycle passed them by!
She slumped, her pulse thumping in her ears like a drum solo.
A moment later Jack returned to the car. He examined the rear, where the bullets had hit. Then he clambered back into the driver’s seat. “Car seems all right. No sign of gas leaks. But our suitcases have new ventilation.”
“Oh, you did it! You fooled them. They’re gone.” She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him, but no. That scowl was back. “They are gone, aren’t they?”
“For now. They could turn back when they don’t see us.”
“Or they could think we took the other road.”
“Miss Optimist. If they come back, we could be trapped here.” His gaze softened and his big hand cupped her cheek.
Her insides turned to warm risotto. She smiled, savoring the contact. “Or we could be safely hidden.”
“If we leave, they could split up and find us again.”
She opened her mouth to object, then closed it. Their shade-camouflaged car was cozy, intimate. Jack was beside her, so close that his heat, his scent and his chiseled jaw made her dizzy with longing. “You think we should stay too.”
As he traced a finger across her lower lip, small flames flickered to life within her. “We’re out of sight,” he said. “Untraceable. And I need to make a call. Got to know how those guys found us.” He took the phone, battery and SIM card from the glove box and put them together.
His words broke her sensual trance. She considered. “How did they get ahead enough to set up an ambush? We didn’t choose this route until—” She sucked in a breath so fast she coughed.
“Exactly. The car-rental agency.” Jack handed her the phone. “Check if anybody came in asking about us.”
She flipped over her map for the phone number. When a woman answered, she began to explain in Italian. But the agent cut her off, blasting Sophie’s ear with a shrill narrative before she disconnected.
“Whoa, what was that about?” He took the phone from her hand. “That woman’s soprano aria nearly cracked the phone.”
Her brain whirled from the woman’s hysteria. She blinked and tried to make sense of the jumble of words. “She said that right after we left two men came in and asked about the Americans and where they went. Remember we asked about a back route? When her partner didn’t answer fast enough, they beat him. The police came, and the man’s in the hospital.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Jack, they hurt that poor man because of us. Because of me.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Sophie. Vadim’s hit men beat the agent. You didn’t.”
She blew her nose on a tissue from her bag. “The two men we didn’t know must’ve seen us enter the agency.”
“And the timing explains how the ambushers got ahead of us. We bought food and had to move our luggage. We gave those dirtbags more than enough time to get in place.”
“What do we—”
“Shh.” He held up a hand. “I hear engines.”
Sophie pressed the damp tissue against her lips. She could barely hear the cars over her thundering heartbeat.
The whine of the bike, like an oversize mosquito, registered first. Then the lower timbre of the small cars’ engines.
They zipped past, a mini parade that came and went.
A tidal wave of relief washed through her. She grabbed Jack’s hand and held on tight. “They didn’t stop. Maybe they didn’t see this road.”
“If luck is with us, they think we’ve headed for the Autostrade or Siena.” He rubbed his thumb across the underside of her wrist.
The rough pad abraded the sensitive skin, but she didn’t want him to stop. “What do we do now?”
“We have a look at the end of this superhighway.” Grinning, he started the engine.
But rather than roll ahead, the Fiat’s wheels thumped like a rabbit with a swollen foot.
“Flat tire. They looked all right before,” he said, shifting to neutral and yanking on the emergency brake. “Maybe there’s a spare.”
She got out of the car with him. Scents of rich loam and wild herbs told of wooded seclusion. Overhead the sun played peek-a-boo among the branches of overhanging oak trees and pines.
“Correction — tires, plural,” she said. Both rear rims sat on the ground with black rubber pooled beneath them. “Guess it took a while for them to deflate.”
“Dammit, there won’t be two spare tires. We’re stuck here.” He scrubbed his chin and scowled at the dirt track that led deeper into the woods. “We have enough provisions in the cooler you convinced me to buy, thank you very much. Task-force emergency kit with blankets and a tarp are in the trunk. How do you feel about camping out at an Etruscan tomb?”
So relieved to be safe, for now, and pleased to have with her the regular guy instead of the grim officer, Sophie felt as giddy as a five-year-old at a carnival. She flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Well, sir, that depends on the accommodations. And the company.”
“You don’t suppose these tombs are haunted?”
“I’d rather have Etruscan ghosts than Mafia hit men.”
And she’d be alone with Jack in this leafy bower. Why did she have to be so aware of him? Her lost memory frustrated and terrified her. She was afraid for her life, but she trusted him to keep her safe. He was brave and caring and wounded. Or did her feelings for him rise from more than their situation? Did fear sensitize a person?
She didn’t have a clue, but she did know that his every touch, his every look, aroused her. At first he’d built an invisible shield between them, but he’d gradually lowered that barrier so he touched her constantly. And she wanted more.
They’d found safe harbor from Vadim’s thugs — just what’d she’d wanted. But was she safe from temptation? Which was frying pan and which was fire?
They transferred necessities into her tote. He carried the emergency kit and the cooler, while she trudged along with the tote. With the statuette in the bottom, the bag dragged on her right arm like an anvil, but no way was she leaving Santa Elisabetta behind.
The track led uphill on deep twin ruts and ended abruptly at a whitewashed stone wall at least twenty feet high. New wooden stairs climbed about ten feet to three rectangular openings in the wall.
To the side was a cleared space. Only a wild cuckoo’s song broke the silence. A faded sign said Parcheggio — parking.
“This clearing will do for a campsite,” Jack said, in an effort to sound cheerful. He still heard the fear in Sophie’s voice though she’d masked it with flip words.
He’d begun their journey protecting a witness who could lead him to Sebastian Vadim. But Sophie couldn’t remain merely a witness to him. Saving her now had little to do with his main objective and everything to do with Sophie. She was vulnerable with a tough core and sexy with a natural naïveté, too intriguing a female for his well-being. Being with her slam-dunked him so he didn’t know up from down.
A toxic mix churned in his stomach. He wanted this gig done, Sophie’s memory back, Vadim brought down. Where the hell was the slimy diamond smuggler? Shocking, but he’d hardly given a thought all day to the man he’d hunted for five long years. Add a shot of guilt and fury to the acidic cocktail. Dammit, he—
A
glance at Sophie beside him, pale with fear and the aftermath of an adrenaline high, brought him up short. Stuff it. She needed reassurance. He turned to place a hand on her arm. Anxiety flickered in her beautiful brown eyes before she averted her gaze.
The sensation of touching her seeped into his hand and stirred his blood. “I hate like hell putting you through this. I’ve done a piss poor job of protecting you.”
She threaded her fingers with his. “Oh, no, you’ve saved my life four times at least. Three times while we’ve been on the run, including today. And the day Vadim ran me down.”
He cringed inwardly. She shouldn’t think of him as some sort of hero. A hero would’ve saved his family from a monster. “How do you know about that?”
“Officer Leoni told me. He said you chased Vadim and shot at him or else he’d have run me over or shot me to make sure I was dead.” She smoothed her fingers across his scars.
Sparks flared at her touch. He huffed a noncommittal reply, then said, “We all chased Vadim that day. Not just me.”
“You were the first. Don’t deny it. I have confidence in you. I just can’t help being scared.”
“Hey, I’m scared too.” With sweat-damp curls framing her face and her clothes disheveled, she looked cuter and sexier than any woman should. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her again, but he’d violated the no-touch rule too many times already.
She gave him a limp smile. Sadness swam in her eyes. “You’re my rock, Jack, the one solid reality in my Swiss-cheese world. I have these big holes in my memory. Sometimes I feel like I’m walking in a barren desert, nothing for miles around me. Occasional mirages shimmer in front of me, but I can’t make sense of them or connect them. You’re the only support I have to keep me from running off screaming. I feel safe with you.”
Touched more deeply than he dared let on, he swallowed. He lifted their joined hands and kissed hers. “I’m trying my damnedest to deserve your confidence, lady. Now let’s go see what’s in those tombs.”
***
Only skeletons of spiders and scorpions. And living ones that skittered away from the flashlight’s beam. That was all that remained in those tombs.
Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4) Page 12