Sophie shuddered, glad to be sitting beneath the stars that night instead of beneath the rectangular carved-stone ceiling of an Etruscan tomb. They’d spread blankets on the grass at the clearing’s edge, and Jack strung the green tarp overhead to keep off the dew.
The musty stone crypts were interesting, but lower rated than the one-star accommodations of their makeshift camp. The three tombs were room-size, in cross shapes. The guidebook said that the benches carved from the curving walls had held the urns of ashes. Tombs on the regular tourist circuit still possessed frescoes and carvings, and later ones contained sarcophagi, but these had only bare stone walls.
Cold stone walls. The June night was blessedly cooler than the day but not cold. After a sponge bath in a freshwater spring behind the tombs, she’d donned pants and Jack’s sweatshirt for warmth and her sling for support, since she would be sleeping on the ground.
If she slept at all.
At every rustle in the ivy-draped blackberry bushes beside her she jumped, fearing Vadim’s hired hit men had found them. Her awareness of Jack didn’t relax her either.
He sat on a boulder far enough away to talk privately on his satellite phone — a sat phone, he’d called it. Apparently he meant to stay secure from her as well as from anyone else. She couldn’t help feeling a twinge or two at his not trusting her, but she understood.
He’d shared something at least. He failed to reach his assistant director and then called another colleague Stateside. She watched his expression and hoped for clues to what he was hearing. Did the task force find Vadim? Did they plug the information leak? If only.
He jabbed fingers through his short hair. The gesture of barely controlled anger was her only clue. Otherwise, his erect posture and his stone face, limned with shadows in the fading light, revealed nothing more than rapt attention.
Patience, Sophia Constanza. Jack would tell her what he could afterward. And she had things to tell him.
Chapter 16
“WHY HAVE THE idiots not eliminated them and brought me the package?” Sebastian Vadim’s bellow blasted his new so-called assistant up against the drawing room wall. “Why am I surrounded by incompetents?”
The Sicilian don had sent this man, saying he would be totally loyal to his employer. He’d better be. His name was Ugo, which meant intelligent — a mother’s futile wish, for the man was anything but.
Vadim didn’t have access to all his funds, courtesy of Interpol and the Italian polizia. His mouth tightened. Ah, well, he would permit Ugo to remain, to please the don, but one man couldn’t perform mundane chores such as going to the market as well as protection and … other duties. Vadim would have to dip deeper into a bank account the officials didn’t suspect.
He deposited his shopping bag on a table. “Answer me, Ugo,” he continued in Italian.
“Peggio così, signore,” Ugo said. Unfortunate. He was a squat man with square hands that hung loosely at his sides at the moment. Except for a wry mouth, everything about him was square — square chin, square shoulders, a flattened brush of brown hair. “Tomasso will find them. The don has contacts between Firenze and Siena. You will see.”
Vadim flopped into an armchair. There were too many shadows in this gloomy room. He turned on the table lamp. “Tell him they must split up and canvass every small town that has an inn or even one or two rooms for tourists.”
“Sì, signore.” Ugo started to leave, but turned back. “There is one more item, signore. A man came to the door. He said his name was Pucetti.”
Vadim sat at attention. Pucetti was the artisan who had secured the uranium tube inside the statuette. Did he want more money, the greedy bastard? “What did he want?”
Ugo frowned, the effort required to remember the visitor’s purpose apparently monumental. Then his thin seam of a mouth widened in a grin. “Ah, he left a message. Un minuto.”
Vadim tapped all ten fingers on the chair arms while he watched this worthless man search the pockets of his scarred leather vest, the pockets of his yellowing dress shirt and the pockets of his shapeless brown trousers.
Ugo held up a white sheet of paper folded in quarters. “See?” He crossed to hand the paper to his employer. “He did not trust me to relay the message. You were not here, so he wrote it down.”
Vadim laid the paper on his lap. This man should not witness any reaction he might have to the message. He would read it in private. “You are dismissed. Take the bread and cheese to the kitchen as you go.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the shopping bag.
After Ugo departed, Vadim unfolded Pucetti’s note.
I beg your pardon, but I must convey bad news. I entrusted some of the
work on your package to my assistant. He is my nephew, my sister’s son,
and you know how that is. He mixed the wrong sealant for the base.
And I am not certain about the lead casing. It may not hold such heavy—
He crushed the paper in his hands. He leaped to his feet. “The seal will not hold?” Various scenarios played in his head, all of them disastrous.
Ah, but perhaps he’d read the words too hastily or Pucetti’s poor handwriting misled him. He smoothed out the paper and peered at the inked scrawl. He sank into the chair again. No mistake. A weak seal on the lead casing could permit contamination. The rest of the note rambled on with apologies and an offer of a refund.
He crumpled the note again. Refund? Dak, Ugo would bring a refund in person. But not the refund Pucetti had in mind.
What should he do about the weak seal? He couldn’t tell the men searching for the marble figure or they would quit. How long would the seal hold? Had it already loosened?
Since this quest began, he’d read about radiation. Without direct contact, the danger was less. But handle the deadly genie, let it out of the bottle, and… He shuddered, remembering all too well what befell Dobrich. If the genie remained in the bottle, all might be well.
Perhaps not for the others. He smiled. Not for that irritant Thorne. And not for poor Sophie. Ah, such a waste.
But he, Sebastian Vadim, would be ready with protection.
***
“This better be good. I was about to break for lunch. Hey, Thorne, too much vino and rigatoni send you home early from your task-force junket?”
Jack closed his eyes in relief that he’d reached someone he could trust. “I’m still in Italy. I need your help, Byrne.”
During the long pause, Jack pictured the officer picking himself up off the floor. He and DARK Officer Simon Byrne weren’t friends. Jack barely tolerated the other man’s iconoclastic and cocky demeanor, and he figured Byrne felt the same about him. On the recent mission Jack had headed in the Caribbean, Byrne had proved invaluable. Jack knew him to be scrupulously honest and straightforward.
Finally Byrne spoke. “Shoot.”
As Jack explained the situation, Byrne emitted only grunts of acknowledgment. “If I rent another car or find us a safe house, I risk exposure again. Vadim could track us by my credit card.” Which was nearly maxed out. “I can’t contact anyone in the task force until the damn leak is plugged. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Sophie safe.”
A long, low whistle pierced Jack’s ear. “Sophie, huh? Sounds like this deal’s not just professional.”
He gritted his teeth. Yeah, in more ways than one. “Will you help me or not?”
“Man, when you need help, you don’t mess around. Roger. The car and the safe house are as good as done.”
“Can you reach the AD or get on the leak somehow?”
“Not the AD. The mystery man is underground on some top-secret op. I got the task force on my screen. Their files are encrypted, need-to-know basis only.”
“So I’m sunk.”
“Not yet, ol’ buddy. My personal tech goddess is right here. I might have to sweet-talk her into cracking their code. I’m putting you on hold.”
The phone hummed, and Jack thrust tense fingers
through his hair. He hated counting on long-distance help, but had no choice. If anybody could penetrate the task force computers, Byrne’s tech-officer fiancée was the one.
Jack couldn’t see the two making it, Janna the straight arrow and Byrne the rebel, but they seemed happy. Opposites attract, like him and Sophie. But that was sure going nowhere.
“Okay, Thorne, I had to promise — hell, you don’t want to know what I had to promise — but Janna’s gotten us in. Recent report here says Vadim’s still at large, but they’ve narrowed the search to northern Italy.”
Thank God the bastard hadn’t left the country. “Copy that. What else?”
“Figuring out who’s shipping info to Vadim will take time. I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Negative on that. I’m disabling the phone ASAP. If you find out, it’s better if you inform Matt Leoni. He’ll clean house. Search for mention of my name, maybe on the road protecting our witness. That might lead you to the leak.”
Another pause, then muffled sounds like a hand over the receiver. “Um, Thorne, is there something you haven’t told me?”
Suspicion grabbed Jack in the gut. What was going on? “Negative. What’s up?”
“They’ve alerted the Italian police to bring you in, by force if necessary.” Byrne’s tone had shifted from jovial to suspicious. “Report says you’ve gone rogue.”
Jagged-edges raked his chest and squeezed his throat. He wanted to toss the phone into the bushes and Byrne with it. “What the hell? Just because I haven’t checked in?”
“In three days. Yeah, that’s part of it. Wait a minute. Here’s more. De Carlo dug into your background. Who’s he?”
“The task-force CO, an Italian commissario.” Jack’s chest ached. The control officer hadn’t wanted Jack on the team from the day he’d saved Sophie. “Go on.”
“Seems he found a connection between you and Vadim, only our boy was calling himself Renzo Adrik at the time. De Carlo asserts you’ve gone after an old enemy on your own. What did Vadim do to you, Thorne?”
The name Renzo Adrik slugged Jack hard. He’d chased that will-o’-the-wisp for a year before he’d realized the name was an alias. “I’m no rogue. I’m not going after Vadim alone.” And wouldn’t unless he had no choice. Gripping the phone, he dug deep for control. “I’m protecting Sophie and helping her regain her memory. Byrne, I’m still asking for your help.”
When Jack’s call ended, Sophie watched him stalk off into the woods. Judging from his rigid shoulders and clenched fists, the purpose wasn’t a call of nature. What terrible news had the colleague told him?
She fretted, running over possibilities in her mind until he returned a few minutes later. His scarred hands hung loose at his sides, but he wore his official mask.
“Will your friend help us?” She forced herself to sound upbeat and not anxious. She’d spread their food on napkins on the blanket and gestured to him to join her.
He nodded, grabbing the wine bottle and opener. “I could use a drink.”
“Can you tell me what he said?”
He remained silent until he’d opened the bottle and poured the dark red wine into plastic cups. He handed her one and gulped down his own. He poured more.
“Byrne’s arranging for another car and a safe house. We can go there tomorrow. He’ll see if he can trace the leak in the task force.”
The vise clamping all her muscles released its grip. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”
“Yeah, wonderful.” But his tone and expression belied his words. He peered at the supper displayed between them. “This that Tuscan grilled chicken?”
So he wanted to change topics, did he? Okay, for now. “Yes, and there’s salad and bread. I bought plastic utensils but forgot plates. I’m afraid it’s a communal spread, like in medieval times.”
She placed the salad container and the loaf of crusty bread beside the chicken. The mingled aromas of herbs and garlic tantalized. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Small creatures scurried in the underbrush, stirring the scent of wild mint.
Jack tore at the chicken, a poor substitute for Vadim. His amber brow beetled, a sign he was working out something in his mind.
Finally she could stand it no longer. The chicken was delicious, but she could eat no more until they’d talked. She had to make him trust her enough to tell the rest. “That Swiss cheese I told you about? I’ve filled in some more holes.”
He regarded her over a chicken leg. “You remembered? What?”
“Maybe the day’s excitement shocked my system so that memories popped up. I was washing in the spring when images that are more than mirages came back. Kind of film clips. Not everything. I remember Rome and some sights in Florence.”
“Any Rinaldis or … what was the other family?”
“Pinelli.” A sigh escaped her. “No, that’s still a mystery. But I also remember some of my time with Vadim.”
At that, he dropped his food and wiped his mouth. His blue eyes bored into her like lasers. “If anything critical filled those holes, you wouldn’t dole it out piece by piece. Tell me anyway.”
“I remember the lost luggage and having my credit card cut up in the restaurant. I had Vadim’s number and called him. You know the rest. He took me in. We went shopping in Venice and to the lido, the beach.”
“At Jesolo.” He scrutinized her as though searching her mind. “What about … him?”
She desperately wanted Jack to believe her. She wanted his trust. And more. “Vadim was generous, courteous and kind. Yes, he kissed my hand a few times, and I kissed him on the mouth. Once. That was merely a thank-you. That’s all. He never hit on me. He was my host, not my lover, and I know nothing about his business.”
Relief and something else flashed in Jack’s eyes before he shuttered his expression to skepticism. “You filled most of the holes. What’s still empty?” He picked up his wine again.
“Memories are coming back to me in chunks, but they don’t include the day I was to fly home.”
“The day he tried to kill you.”
She sagged, wishing she could give him what he wanted. What he needed. “Yes.”
To her surprise and relief, Jack reached across the blanket serving as their picnic table and laced his fingers with hers. “Remembering that much is a good sign. The doctor said you might never remember the actual attack. If you’ve recovered this much, more of that day will return too.”
“Thanks for that. I can’t prove I wasn’t part of what Vadim was doing or that he wasn’t my lover, but I know.” That great burden, heavy as the stones in one of the tombs behind them, fell from her shoulders and smashed into dust.
“I began believing in the amnesia a few days ago. Mostly because of your distress about what you might’ve done. I believe you now.”
The warmth in his clear gaze sent her heart tumbling. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.” Emotion clogged her throat. She slipped her hand from his and reached for the foil to cover the leftover chicken.
Wordlessly Jack took care of the salad and bread. When they finished putting away the food, he poured them both more wine. He reclined on the blanket, propped himself on one elbow and gazed up at the stars. “This hide-and-seek with Vadim’s thugs, there’s something odd about it.”
“What do you mean?” Pleased that he was sharing his thoughts with her, Sophie sipped her wine.
“I don’t want to scare you.”
“Get real, Jack. It’s way too late to avoid that.”
“Roger. No whitewashing. Vadim could’ve had his men blow us away at any time. Today Slick and his thugs shot at the car but not in the windows. Not to kill. It’s like Vadim wants you kidnapped, not killed.”
“He tried to kill me before. Why is it different now?”
“An excellent question. I’m working on it.”
Before he drifted away from her in his thoughts, she had more to tell him too.
“There’s one m
ore thing you should know about.” She reached behind her for her tote. Tipping the bag on its side allowed her to roll out the statuette. “This figure is Santa Elisabetta Rinaldi. She appears to be the only family I’ve found in Italy.”
His eyebrows rose. “This was in your bedroom.”
“A card from an antique shop was with it. I probably bought her with my new bank card.” She levered the little saint upright. She sucked in a breath. “Oh, no, a bullet must’ve struck her. I saw the hole in the tote but didn’t think anything was damaged.” She turned the marble icon so Jack could see the chip.
He pushed on the base. It slid sideways. “The base is loose. You can get that fixed in the States. Looks like it’s been repaired before. She’s old.”
She surveyed all sides of the little saint before she nodded. “No harm done to the sculpture at least.”
One side of his mouth twitched toward a smile. “Why did you keep this from me?”
She sighed as she slipped the saint back into the tote. “I was afraid you’d think I stole it from the villa.”
A laugh sputtered out, spraying wine onto his shirt. He mopped at the droplets as he sat up. Mirth crinkled his eyes and softened his harsh features. “This is what you’ve hidden in that tote? Your family saint?”
She straightened, tilted up her chin. “She’s precious to me, all I have of my ancestry. And my nonna’s letters, they’re in the tote.”
“Sophie, Sophie, I should’ve known.” He scooted closer and cupped her chin. “I was seeing everything through my own lens, a glass that distorts even the innocent.”
She felt the wine-scented puff of his breath on her face and gazed into his eyes. If he kissed her, she’d forget what planet she was on, let alone ask what she wanted to know. She pulled back, breaking the spell. “So now you trust me?”
His index finger traced the shape of her jaw, lighting tiny fires as it went. “There aren’t too many people I trust. But yes, Sophie, you I trust. Why?”
She drew a deep breath, then dived in. “Do you trust me enough to tell me what else you learned from your phone call?”
Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4) Page 13