by Lisa Harris
“What are you looking for?”
His question caught her off guard. How many times had she sat around eating her favorite triple-fudge ice cream with extra fudge sauce and whipped cream while her sister asked her the same question?
What was she looking for?
She looked up at Joe and caught his gaze. Her heart tripped, something that was becoming a far too common response to being around him.
“I know we’ve only known each other a short time,” he said, not waiting for an answer. “But I’d like to get to know you better, Talia. See if it’s possible for something to continue between us. Have you thought about that at all?”
She felt a blush cross her cheeks. “You told me you learned not to mix business with pleasure.”
“That was before I met you.”
“I live in Italy,” she said. “You live in the States.”
“There is Skype, email and frequent flyer points.”
She was throwing out excuses and she knew it, but there was something else. Something she was really afraid to look at.
“What is it?” he asked.
“There is something else.” She hesitated while darkness began to settle over the city. “Everything that happened—your getting shot, me being kidnapped by Anna—that is your life. Not mine. You’re used to chasing down the bad guys, having your adrenaline pumping, but that’s not my life. And I don’t want that to be my life.”
“What do you mean?”
“Believing Thomas wasn’t the person I thought he was for all these years isn’t my only hesitation for not moving into another relationship.”
“Then what is?”
“I was married to a police officer. He went out risking his life every day for his community. I never knew if he was going to come home to me at night. Could never completely relax until he walked through that door after his shift, and I knew for sure he was okay.”
Talia paused. Was that the real issue? The fact that she’d been afraid of losing Thomas and when she did…
“One day, all my fears were realized when he didn’t walk through that door. I don’t want to go through that again.”
Joe shifted beside her while their gondola sliced across the water. “Do you regret your life with Thomas?”
She shook her head. “Now that I know he really was the man I thought he was I don’t regret it. I wish there had been a happier ending, but no.”
“If you had known what was going to happen when you’d married him, would you have still gone through with it, or tried to avoid the pain that comes with loss?”
She stared at the lights reflecting across the water and up the walls of the city, wishing he wouldn’t ask such probing questions. Water lapped against the sides of the boat. The dark waters were now lit from the lights lining the canal. Everyone knew the saying that it was better to have loved and lost then to have never have loved at all. And it was true. Or at least she thought it was true. But was she willing to make that same decision again?
Their boat passed an open window, where a couple stood on their balcony drinking from fluted glasses. A brightly lit chandelier glowed inside the background of the apartment.
“I don’t know,” she said finally.
“Fair enough, but none of us know the future. We don’t know what’s going to happen to us tomorrow, let alone today. Just don’t base your decisions on fear. You don’t know what you might miss out on in the meantime.”
He knew she was right. But did she have enough strength to step out and try love again?
Water lapped against the sides of the boat as Bruno pushed them down the canal. It was a place that had brought her to the point of feeling happy again. A place where she’d finally found peace.
“Talia?”
“Sorry. I was just lost in thought.”
“You once told me that your stint in Rome was temporary. If you could do anything you wanted career-wise moving forward, what would you do?”
He was changing the subject. Trying to diminish any awkwardness that had settled between them. “I’d like to teach art again. I stepped away from it after Thomas died.”
“I’ve said it before, but I’d still like to see some of your paintings.”
“You have, actually.”
“I have? Where?”
“At my in-laws’ place. Do you remember the painting of Venice at sunrise hanging next to the bookshelf in their living room?”
“That was yours?”
She nodded.
“You’re good, Talia. Good enough to have your paintings in a gallery.”
“I don’t ever plan on selling them, but it’s something I enjoy.”
She caught his gaze, wondering how long she’d gone without really living. He’d reminded her of things that had once brought her joy. And with it there was something steady and solid about him that left her feeling safe and secure. As if a part of her was coming back to life again.
The boat bobbed beneath them as they glided back toward the dock and a long line of gondolas. While she still wasn’t ready for her heart to make a decision, tonight had helped to bring things back into perspective for her. To remind her what it was like to live again. And to maybe let her heart feel again.
She took his hand and laced their fingers together. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And I hope this won’t be your last gondola ride.”
“Somehow I don’t think it will be.” Bruno eased the sleek boat next to the dock. “Can you imagine that two hundred years ago, there were ten thousand gondolas navigating the shifting sandbars of the canals?”
“Ten thousand? And today?”
“Today there are only four hundred, and while everyone uses boats for their mode of transportation, the gondolas are only for the tourists. The locals typically have their own recreational boats.”
A memory snapped to the forefront.
Most weekends, when Marco wasn’t working, he headed to the surrounding islands that most tourists had yet to discover. Once he’d invited her and Thomas along on a friend’s boat to a long stretch of quiet beaches. Before the sun set, they’d visited a small fisherman’s village, with their brightly painted cottages and fishing boats, where they’d stuffed themselves on seafood and crepes filled with baby artichokes.
She ran her fingers across the edge of the gondola. Marco used a boat to transport goods to local shops throughout the week, and she knew that the police had searched that boat. But no one had found the paintings. Not there, or in Marco’s apartment, or in the Morello home.
But they knew that Marco had the paintings and that Anna hadn’t found them. And a boat, on an island filled with thousands of them, would be the perfect hiding place.
“Joe…”
“What is it?”
She glanced up at him. “I think I might know where the paintings are.”
SEVENTEEN
Talia waited until they’d left the gondola behind, bobbing in the darkened waters of the canal, before she said anything else. “You know, I might be simply grasping at straws with this.”
“So what are you thinking?” Joe asked.
“We both know that Marco spent his days working here in Venice, but on the weekends, he normally headed out with friends. One of them has a boat they take out to hang out on some of the quieter islands. A lot of the locals do the same thing.”
They headed back through a maze of narrow streets toward the Morellos’ apartment. Maybe she was way off, but on the other hand, maybe it was worth looking at.
“When I spoke to him last,” she continued, “he mentioned he was going out with one of his friends on his boat.”
“Whose boat?”
“A guy by the name of Celso. I’m not sure about his last name, I only met him a couple times. And I know it’s a long shot, but we know Marco had the paintings. We know Anna didn’t find them. The police have searched and haven’t been able to find them, either, but they have to be somewhere.”
“I think it
’s worth looking at. But at this point it seems like they could be anywhere.”
“It’s funny,” she said as they kept walking. “I didn’t think I cared about finding them. In fact I didn’t want anything to do with those paintings, but now—but now they seem like one of the final pieces of the puzzle that need to be put into place, I think because if they’re found, no one will attempt linking them back to me.”
She breathed in a deep breath and felt herself relaxing again. Feeling safe again with him beside her. The hot July temperatures had cooled significantly, partly thanks to the breezes of the lagoon. The city was also quieter after the sunset. After the throngs of tourists had left the city to go back to their cruise ships, beachside resorts and the cheaper hotels on the mainland. In their place, she could hear the melodic strains of an orchestra playing beneath the full moon somewhere near St. Mark’s Square.
She glanced up at Joe’s solid profile. She knew he was still waiting for answers about his brother. With Anna now in police custody, they were expecting answers from her. But for the moment, she realized all she really wanted to do was prolong their evening together. Before Joe left Italy and her world went back to normal.
If life ever could really be normal again.
*
At six the next morning, with the sun barely up above the horizon, Talia stepped onto Celso Amato’s boat, which was docked along a quiet vein of the city’s canal. After a few phone calls last night, she’d been able to contact Marco’s friend, who’d quickly passed on his condolences, then agreed to let them come get Marco’s things, as she’d put it.
She was glad Celso had agreed to meet them early. In a few more hours, the heat would feel relentless again. She stood at the stern and studied the forty-foot boat, wondering if she was off with her conclusion. There weren’t a lot of places to hide things beyond the cabin and the limited storage areas. She’d spoken to Marco’s parents again last night. They had told Marco she was coming to look for a collection of paintings. The last message they’d received from him was that he’d found them and planned to have them appraised.
They’d never heard from him again.
“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Celso said.
Talia turned to Marco’s friend, who stood in the middle of the deck. “I can’t, either.”
“We hung out this past weekend. Spent all of Saturday away from the crowds. Went to dinner with friends Monday night.” Celso shoved his hands into his front pockets while Joe started looking through the cabin. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but Marco was always leaving stuff on the boat. Sunglasses, hats, his keys—you name it.”
“We’re looking for some paintings Marco had.”
“Can’t say that I ever saw anything like that.” Celso shrugged. “But I’ll leave you to your search. I’m supposed to meet someone in a few minutes.”
Talia glanced at Joe, then decided to start at the helm. There were two things she didn’t want to think about as she searched. One was the fact that Joe was leaving in a few hours to return to the US. Two was what if they didn’t find the paintings? Somehow both mattered.
“Anything?” Joe asked a few minutes later.
“Not yet.”
“I’d hoped your idea would come through, but I don’t think they’re here, Talia”
“I’m afraid I might have to agree with you.” She finished searching a small storage space near the bow. Nothing. “Wait a minute.”
“What have you got?”
Something was taped beneath the bench. She pulled out a yellow envelope from inside a sealed plastic bag.
Talia sat down on the bench and slid out the contents.
The three paintings.
“You were right,” he said, picking up one of them.
She took in the even strokes and pastel colors. “I remember them. They’re beautiful. I just never imagined they would be worth so much or cause so many problems.”
“This case was a bit like opening Pandora’s box, but it’s over now.”
Relief swept through her. Having Joe with her made her feel safe again. She glanced up to where he stood with the Grand Canal behind him. He made her feel as if she could actually start over again with someone else.
Which was what she wanted. Wasn’t it? But was Joe the right person? Or had everything that had happened between them been nothing more than a reaction to what they’d been through over the past week?
“While they are beautiful, I don’t want anything to do with them.” She handed them to Joe. “Not after all the trouble they’ve caused.”
“I don’t blame you, but somehow I don’t think the artist who drew these could ever have imagined the lives they were going to affect one day.”
“Which is why we’re going to ensure that they go back to the museum, where they belong—”
“Not so fast.” An armed man stepped onto the boat and aimed his gun at Talia and the paintings. “I’ll take those off your hands now.”
*
Joe quickly moved between Talia and the gunman. “What do you want?”
“Those paintings Ms. Morello’s holding, for starters.”
“Why? Who are you?” Joe stood his ground.
“Captain Blythe,” Talia said, standing up behind him. “I’m guessing you were in on this cover-up with Anna all along. Stealing evidence from the raids…my husband’s murder.”
“I had nothing to do with the death of your husband.”
“But you knew Anna killed him, and I’m assuming you were also happy to keep your take of the spoils while keeping your mouth shut. Is that how it worked? It’s the only explanation that makes sense to me as to why you’re here wanting these paintings.”
“Which must mean that Anna double-crossed you,” Joe added.
The tension in the air was palpable. The boat bobbed beneath them. Joe steadied himself in front of the other man.
“She came to Italy to ensure you didn’t start asking another slew of questions now that the case has been reopened,” Blythe finally answered. “The last thing we needed was for you and now Mr. FBI here to start poking around and discover the holes in your husband’s case. Anything that could point to me. I couldn’t exactly let you get a hold of that type of evidence.”
“Looks like you trusted the wrong person when it came to Anna. Especially since she’s probably telling the local police all about you.”
“It doesn’t matter now. I’ll take those paintings and be the one to live out the rest of my life on some tropical island. Beats prison.” Blythe shook his head. “I knew I should have taken you out back then. I was always worried you’d find out the truth.”
“Which she has,” Joe said. “We both have.”
“So what happens now?” Talia asked.
“Start the motor. We’ll be going for a bit of a ride. You’ll be the driver, Talia. I’m assuming you learned something about boats from all your time here in Venice, and don’t try anything or your boyfriend here will be the first one overboard.”
“You really think this plan will work?” Joe asked.
“We’re pretty isolated here, and I don’t see anyone stopping us. Talia, hand me the paintings. Just in case you get any bright ideas.”
She tossed them toward the captain and they landed on the deck a foot from his feet.
Joe took the distraction to grab the man’s wrist with his good arm, then spun the barrel away from them in one fluid motion. With the gun out of play, he quickly flipped the man onto the deck. Blythe came down hard against a metal post.
“He’s out cold. For now,” Joe said, feeling a jolt of pain shoot through his injured arm. “Why don’t you give the police a call while I tie him up with that rope?”
She nodded, then grabbed her phone.
“I trusted him,” she said, once she’d finished the call.
“You okay?”
She nodded, but he could tell she was trembling. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he had no idea how she would react.
No idea where things stood between the two of them.
“You had no way of knowing he was dirty.”
“I should have known that Anna couldn’t have buried the case on her own. She needed someone higher up to bury the evidence and ensure Thomas was framed.”
“It’s over now, Talia.”
“I hope so. I keep waiting for the next crisis to hit.”
“And there will be another crisis at some point, because this is life. But I meant what I said on the boat. I think there’s a chance for something between you and me and I’d like to find out. But it’s up to you.”
Sirens sounded in the background. In a few minutes, they’d arrest Blythe and it really would be over.
“I just need some time,” she said, standing in the middle of the boat, clutching the paintings against her. “Not forever, but some time.”
“I can give all the time you need.” When she didn’t respond, he asked another question. “What are your plans after this? Going back to Rome?”
“For now. First I’ve got to figure out everything that happened this week and how it affects me.”
“Okay.” He wanted to say he understood, but he didn’t. Not completely. He wanted to say that they could find a way to sort out living in two continents and figure out ways to get to know each other, but he knew that for the moment, the past still lay between them. “I’m leaving tonight unless you need me to stay.”
The police boat turned into the narrow waterway behind them as Blythe started to stir. The loneliness he hadn’t even realized he’d been feeling before he met her began to seep in.
She pressed her lips together. “Thank you. For everything.”
“You’re welcome. Just promise me one thing. That you’ll keep in touch.”
She smiled up at him, but he didn’t miss the tears pooling in her eyes. “I will. I promise.”
EIGHTEEN
Rome, six weeks later
Talia fell back onto the couch in her apartment, propped her feet up on the coffee table, then let out a sharp sigh of relief.
Carla, her Italian friend and coworker for the last three years, stood over her. “Oh, no, you don’t. This is not how you’re going to spend your evening off. Because when I suggested we hang out tonight, I didn’t mean here in your living room.”