Once they’ve left, Lindsay starts picking up all the pieces of broken clay. At least she only had two masks here, three if you count the one she was working on. She gets a broom, but then puts it down and sits in the wooden chair next to her sculpting table, surveying the mess. There’s a lump in the back of her throat, making it difficult to swallow. Her instincts had been right about Werner when she wedged that piece of wood in her door last night, only she didn’t realize it was her money he was after. I should have known. How could I be so stupid? She looks up at Giovanni. “I have to go find that bastard.”
He’s leaning against the back table, contemplating one of her broken masks.
“I have to get my money back,” she tells him.
“And how do you plan to do that?”
She grits her teeth as she imagines getting her hands on the rat. “Squeeze his nuts until he screams and tells me where it is.” She looks up at him. “Listen, you don’t have to come with me. I understand if you don’t want to get involved in any of this.”
A grin pulls on the corner of his mouth. “It’s never a dull moment with you, is it?”
“Hey, I didn’t ask to get robbed! But I can’t just sit here when I know very well who fucking did it.”
“I know. That’s not what I’m talking about.” He moves closer and puts his hand out to help her up. “Come on, let’s go find that scumbag.”
They take another taxi while she tries Dagmar’s number. “She’s probably playing cards,” she says. “We turn our phones off when we’re at the tables.”
He doesn’t say anything, only watches her as she makes more phone calls. She has Varik’s number, the pit boss at Spielbank Europa. He gave it to her a while ago. She’s never used it, but she calls him now.
He sounds surprised to hear from her. “What can I do for you?”
“Something’s happened tonight. Are Werner and Dagmar there?”
“Dagmar is here,” he tells her. “I have not seen Werner. What is going on, Lindsay?”
She tells how someone robbed her and wrecked her studio.
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I am very sorry to hear this.”
She explains to him how she’s headed over there now to speak to Dagmar and that she’s already reported it to the police. She senses Varik is hesitant to get involved, which she totally understands.
When Lindsay and Giovanni arrive at Spielbank, they immediately head for the poker floor, keeping an eye out for Werner.
She finds Dagmar playing poker and goes over to stand behind her.
“We need to talk,” she tells her in a low voice.
Dagmar looks over her shoulder and smiles. “I am so glad you came tonight!” She leans closer. “Though I have to admit it has been very slow.”
“Where’s Werner?”
“He is not here.” Dagmar turns back to the table and throws in a twenty-euro chip to call. “Why?”
“Did you get my message?”
“No.” Dagmar looks at her with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone broke into my studio and robbed me. Broke all my masks.”
Dagmar’s eyes widen in shock. “I can’t believe it! When did this happen?”
“Today. I think Werner did it.”
“What are you saying?” Dagmar shakes her head vehemently. “No, he would never do that!”
Lindsay motions over to the side of the room. “I’m here with Giovanni. We’ve already spoken to the police. Come over when you finish this hand.”
Giovanni is at one of the back tables waiting for her, studying his phone. He looks up when Lindsay joins him. “What did she say?”
“She thinks Werner is innocent, of course. She has a blind spot for him.”
He shakes his head. “What exactly does she see in that guy?”
Lindsay chews on her bottom lip. She thinks about how some women don’t want to see the truth about the man they’re involved with. Her own mother was that way.
A few minutes later, Dagmar comes rushing over. “Tell me everything that’s happened!”
Lindsay explains what they found earlier—her place trashed, her money gone, the masks broken.
“I am so sorry!” Dagmar’s face looks especially pained at the mention of the broken sculptures. She reaches out to hold Lindsay’s hand. “Thank God your other masks are at the gallery!”
“Where’s Werner? I need his address.”
Dagmar gives her a reassuring look. “He is not here. He went to stay with his brother in Frankfurt and left this morning. That is why I know he could not have robbed you.”
“You saw him get on a train to Frankfurt?”
“No, but I know he is there. I spoke to him only a couple of hours ago.”
“Where does he live?” Lindsay asks. “I want to see for myself.”
“Werner was kicked out of his apartment two days ago and had to stay with me.” Dagmar’s expression turns sad. “Poor guy, he cannot seem to catch a break, but that is why he has gone to Frankfurt.”
Lindsay stares at Dagmar amazed at her continued faith in Werner. She’ll never understand why some women are so attracted to losers. “Can you call him?”
“Of course! I will call him and you can speak to him yourself.” She pulls her phone out of the small leather purse she carries as Lindsay and Giovanni watch her call the rat. “Werner, Liebchen!” She starts talking into her phone in German, but Giovanni interrupts and puts his hand out.
“Give me the phone. I want to speak to him.”
“No!” Lindsay puts her hand out. “Give me the phone.” She looks over at him with irritation. “I’m the one who got robbed here!”
“Yes, but I’m more intimidating than you are.”
She scoffs. “Says who?”
Dagmar watches them bicker while still talking to Werner. She lowers the phone to her chin. “He says he is sorry you were robbed, but he did not do it.”
“He’s lying. Give me that phone!” Dagmar finally hands it over to her. “Listen to me, you sleazy fuckwad,” Lindsay snarls. “I know what you did, and I want my fucking money back!”
Werner’s smug nasal voice responds. “I am very sorry you feel this way, but you are wrong. I am staying with my brother in Frankfurt, so I could not have robbed you.”
“I haven’t told the police about you yet,” she lies. “And if you give me back my money I won’t, but if you don’t, I’m sending them right the fuck to you.”
There’s a pause. “Dagmar told me you had a mercenary beside you during a poker game a couple nights ago. Maybe he is the one who robbed you.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“It sounds plausible to me.”
Lindsay’s fury takes over. “You lying piece of shit! You slimy rat fuck-stain! Urine gargling, cocksucking, motherfuck—”
Giovanni rips the phone from her hand.
“Hey!” She gapes at him. “I’m not done!”
He ignores her and puts it to his ear, his voice hard. “Werner, you made a big mistake today, and you better pray you didn’t leave a single fingerprint or piece of hair behind. You also better pray you aren’t stupid enough to talk on a cell phone claiming to be in Frankfurt while you’re still in Berlin.”
Giovanni is silent for a moment, listening, then hands the phone back to Dagmar. “He hung up.”
“Of course he hung up!” Lindsay shakes her head in disgust. “He’s probably sitting at a bar right around the corner. His pockets stuffed with my money!”
“No,” Dagmar insists. “He is in Frankfurt. I helped him pack his bag this morning.” Her eyes go back and forth from Lindsay to Giovanni. Lindsay sees how unsettled she’s become and feels a little sorry for her, despite everything. “He would not lie. And he would not rob someone who is such a good friend to me!”
Lindsay sighs with exhaustion, weary beyond belief. “Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he did.”
The three of them leave the casino together and share a cab home, taking Dagmar to h
er apartment in East Berlin first. “Do you want to stay over?” she asks Lindsay. “It is probably not safe in your studio.”
Lindsay has stayed over at Dagmar’s apartment a few times, drinking wine and talking into the late hours after a dinner party. From the outside, her building looks sterile and utilitarian, like the former communist barracks it is, but inside it’s all modern German gemütlichkeit—cozy and welcoming.
“No, I’ll be okay.”
Dagmar’s blue eyes go to Giovanni then back to Lindsay, assessing. She nods, and then smiles a little at Lindsay, who knows what she’s thinking.
She thinks I’ve hooked up with Giovanni.
When she leans in to hug her goodbye, Dagmar whispers in her ear. “I’m at least glad the doctor is taking care of you.”
After dropping her off, they head to Lindsay’s studio. There are people in front, and she runs into a couple of artist friends in the hallway. Apparently, since the police questioned everyone, the whole building knows what happened. They tell Lindsay how sorry they are.
She and Giovanni swing open her studio door with the broken lock on it, and nothing has changed. Her heart hurts for a moment, but then her anger eclipses it as she looks around at the damage she’ll have to clean up.
Everything’s turned to shit in one day.
“Listen, Dagmar’s right about one thing,” He says, surveying the mess. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here tonight.”
“I’ll be fine. I can just wedge the door shut. Hopefully, the landlord will fix the lock tomorrow.”
“No, that’s unacceptable. I want you to come back with me to my hotel.”
She shifts uncomfortably. “I know we had a moment back there, and if I hadn’t been robbed we’d be in bed right now, but everything’s changed, okay? After what happened, I’m just not feeling it anymore.”
He moves closer but doesn’t touch her. “That’s not why I want you to come back with me.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
“And I’m not asking you to. I just want you to be safe. You can even get your own room.”
She laughs. “I can’t afford a room at The Regent!” But then she goes quiet. “The truth is I can’t afford a room anywhere now.”
“Do you have any money left at all?”
“A little over a thousand. That’s basically it.” She has a few hundred in a savings account back in the States.
He studies her, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then looks away.
“What is it?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
She wonders if she should stay with him. It probably is safer. She tries to imagine herself alone here tonight and doubts she’ll get any sleep.
“What if I offered to give you the money that was stolen?” he says, watching her closely. “The whole twenty thousand.”
She’s taken aback. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I’d like you to do me a favor in return.”
“What favor would that be?” But then it dawns on her. “I can’t believe it. Are you fucking kidding me with this?”
“I’d like you to marry me.”
“Fuck off!”
“Think about it for a minute,” Giovanni says. “It would solve both of our problems.”
“There’s nothing like taking advantage of a person when they’re down, is there?” Lindsay glares at him. “And you call me a shark.”
His expression turns fierce. “I’m not taking advantage of you! I’m only trying to help a couple of kids.”
“And what am I supposed to say to that? I sound like an asshole because I don’t want to risk going to jail.”
“Sometimes, doing the right thing means sticking your neck out, thinking about someone besides yourself for a change.”
She moves briskly away from him toward the long wooden table where she keeps her tools. There’s a broken mask on it, and she feels like throwing it against the wall. Instead she closes her eyes for a long moment, thinks about how much work went into creating it. “So, you think I’m selfish, is that it?”
“To be honest, after seeing how you live—yes, I do.”
She whirls around on him. “So, the saint is going to kick me when I’m down and then tell me how to live? God, you really are an arrogant prick.”
“The last thing I want to do is kick you when you’re down.” He comes over to her and rests his hand on the table. “And I’m definitely not a saint. Trust me, I’m far from it.”
She starts shoving the broken pieces of the mask together like a jigsaw puzzle. She’s able to make a lopsided face that should be laughing but looks more like it’s pissed off. Exactly how I feel.
“It sounds to me like your whole life is about duty,” she mutters. “That and telling people what to do.”
“That’s not true.” He lowers his voice. “Believe me, duty was the furthest thing from my mind when you were pressed against me earlier.”
“I had a weak moment, that’s all. We both know it’s a terrible idea.”
Giovanni doesn’t say anything.
She continues trying to fit the pieces together the best she can. “Believe it or not, this mask used to be smiling.”
“I remember.” He tilts his head. “Now it looks constipated.”
“God, you’re right.” She laughs a little, forcing one of the pieces in a bit more. She reaches for some paste and a brush.
“The grimace of constipation. First in a new series by Lindsay West.”
She glances at him. “Careful, you’re in danger of getting a sense of humor.” She starts gluing the polymer clay pieces together the best she can.
“I don’t know why you keep saying that. There’s nothing wrong with my sense of humor.”
“It’s strange,” she muses, still working on the mask. “But I always thought Norwegians were a jolly people.”
“I happen to have a great sense of humor,” he growls, his eyes roaming her studio. “Unfortunately, not everyone appreciates it.”
She wipes the excess paste and touches the mask gently to make sure it’s stable enough to bake later. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you have other good qualities that are hidden. Deeply hidden.”
“I can’t remember if I’ve ever met anyone who gives me shit as much as you do.”
She snorts. “And you want to marry me.”
His eyes flash to her. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”
Satisfied her mask is stable, Lindsay puts the paste back and wipes the brush, taking it with her to the small kitchen sink. There’s a torn box of cookies on the floor, and she picks it up to throw in the garbage. There’s a bag of granola scattered too, but she leaves it, figuring she’ll deal with it all later. She opens the freezer, seeing the bottle of vodka is still there. Thank God for small mercies. She grabs a coffee mug and pours a healthy splash, drinks it like medicine, then pours herself another.
Giovanni is still watching her from across the room. She turns around to face him and leans against the counter with her mug. “I always swore I’d never get married again, but I guess everyone has their price.” She stares over at her bed with the sheets torn off, the mattress askew. “Including me.”
“You’ve been married before?”
“Yes.” She takes another swallow and shivers. “Twice, actually.”
He comes over to stand beside her. “You never do anything by half measures, do you?”
She doesn’t reply to that. “What about you? Have you ever been married?”
“No.” He takes the mug from her hands. She thinks he’s going to drink from it, but instead he puts it down.
He brushes her hair back and slips his hand to the back of her neck. Right away, she’s soothed as his fingers begin kneading her tense muscles. Her eyes drift shut. Somehow, his touch is drawing away all the stress of what’s happened today, if only for a few moments.
When she opens them, he’s looking down at her in a way that sparks her butterfl
ies. He doesn’t try to kiss her, and instead, they gaze at each other. The depth of strength in his blue eyes astonishes her.
This isn’t a man who merely talks about changing people’s lives. He changes them.
“Go pack a bag,” he tells her, his hand gently stroking her skin. “You’re coming with me.”
Giovanni stands in the kitchen, waiting patiently while Lindsay packs her things. He can tell the anger she’s been using as fuel is starting to run low, as her movements are jerky and stiff. He has to admit she’s tough though, tougher than he expected. Most people would have fallen apart long before now. He doesn’t blame her for going after Werner either. She’s action-oriented, the same way he is himself.
It’s too bad they didn’t find that scumbag.
She’s pulling clothes off the floor and from her dresser, but then stops and glances at him. The expression on her face is so upset he walks over.
“What’s wrong?”
“That rat fuck went through my underwear drawer.” Her voice shakes. “He touched everything.”
His anger flares as he stares at the colorful bras and panties strewn about. I’d definitely like to get my hands on that slimy son of a bitch.
“I can’t wear it knowing he’s touched it with his rat fingers.”
“We’ll have the hotel wash everything for you. I’ll tell them to use extra-hot water and bleach.”
She nods. “Okay.”
He wishes he could take her in his arms. He doesn’t want to risk changing her mind about coming to his hotel though. If she does change her mind, he’s already decided he’s camping out here—even if he has to sleep in the hallway.
Once she’s gathered all her things into a black suitcase, he takes it from her.
“Just so you know, I’m only staying one night with you,” she says. “I packed everything because I want to wash it.”
“I understand.” He already has her landlord’s number and plans to call tomorrow and make sure her front door lock is replaced.
They don’t say much to each other on the ride over, though he notices the way she’s careful not to touch him in the taxi. He feels guilty about the way he finally convinced her to marry him, but he’s glad nevertheless. Soon, Paul’s kids will be safe in the States, and this will all be behind them. And it’s not like Lindsay isn’t benefiting—twenty grand is no small amount, after all.
Some Like It Hotter (Sweet Life in Seattle #3) Page 10