Alessandro had gone with her despite his contrariety. Taking her out at that time was so delicate. Jamal was breathing down his neck. Tom made him pressures. Chiara’s memory could recover at any moment. Then, he took her hand and everything was gone. Alessandro was just a man. The long, hot shiver that had wrapped him and warmed his heart had not left any doubt. He was in love with her. He watched her profile: he saw some guys looking at her. She was his, or at least he wanted to pretend that she was. Sooner or later, she would have found out everything.
Chiara was restless. They had to go. He was on duty at five. He had already said that he would have reached the headquarter. They had to go. She had to face a night at his home. She couldn’t resist him. He had come under her skin crawling like a snake. His home was silent. The stairs were empty. She looked at him. Alessandro smiled: a smile that was supposed to calm her. It didn’t.
“What happened?”
He dropped the gun in his belt. He waved to her, putting her against the wall. She dropped instinctively to turn the gun.
“I don’t know yet.”
He opened the door, with the gun in his hand, opening the door. He remained still for a while. Everything was silent and totally dark, apparently quiet; nevertheless, he didn’t move.
He barely moved the gun. He turned the light on. Chiara was holding her breath. He was calm and glacial. He continued to keep a finger on his lip waving her to be quiet. He observed the environment and came back again. His hand was always on the gun. The tension crackled in the air. Then, he breathed and relaxed his shoulders. He motioned for her to come:
“Okay, Chiara. I’m sorry. I got the impression that…” He stopped, looking at the vase on the table. Chiara froze. The vase wasn’t there when they came out. He shook his head and grabbed the phone:
“Mom, I don’t want the flowers in my house! How many times have I said? I told you that your azalea would not live long in my house! Don’t use the keys!”
Chiara heard the shrill voice of a woman answering:
“Son, the azalea was dying in my house! Your brother’s farm is already full of plants! It takes the light that is in you house! I rang the bell… you weren’t home! Why did you give me the keys if I can’t use it?”
He breathed. He tried to respond, but his mother’s voice stood above his:
“Where were you? You’re always working! You came less now than when you worked in Milan! Come visit us the next days.”
Chiara smiled. He stared into her eyes. He pulled her against him: finding herself back against his body was an hot and sweet emotion, like hearing him speak with irritated tone, patient, then angry and funny, a thousand different facets.
She leaned her face to his chest, while he held her against him, while he smelled her perfume. Their bodies were touching. She felt at home.
She didn’t even notice that he had hung up the phone. She barely noticed the silence had fallen in the room. She looked up:
“Are you there, Chiara?”
He approached the door, closing it with a double-locked, disengaging the gun and checking the window. Then he turned around to her:
“Are you hungry?”
“After I ate that ice cream? And the pizza? No, I’m not. Do you mind if I check my email? Maybe I can think of things and remember something”
Alessandro gasped. Did she send reports via email? He had to stop her, but how? He grinned:
“Nope!”
She grabbed the phone. Think, Alessandro, think! The phone ring saved him:
“It’s Carlo! He is here. He asks to go up!”
She snorted: “No email check!”
Chapter 39
A few hours later, they were all three sitting on the couch, watching the videos from the security cameras before the attack.
Carlo was sitting on the couch; his feet were on the coffee table. He was joking. Alessandro replied with a little malice. He sometimes touched Chiara’s shoulders. She clenched her jaw. She was joking with both. She laughed. She played with the words, both with him and with Carlo. His eyes were laughing, watching his lips, his hands.
Carlo had gone there to find out what was going on. He had continuous nightmares in which he repeatedly saw Claudia dying. He had nightmares about Amina being hit and riddled with bullets.
If Alessandro was involved, he would have no pity. He wouldn’t have even if Chiara was, though he was convinced that of them had anything to do with that story. He wanted to believe. He had to believe.
“Guys, I have morning shift, tomorrow. Chiara, you can You can stay and rest in the headquarter. I’m tired. I need bed!”
Alessandro watched them: Carlo put the empty bottle of beer on the table. He leaned toward Chiara, brushing against her cheeks and kissing them. He closed his eyes and stood without a word, his fists clenching on his waist. Then he pushed Carlo away. They faced on the door:
“Okay, Carlo, I don’t know what you want to do or know to think, but…”
Carlo stared at him. He looked furious:
“Nothing. But I will, remember that!” He slammed the door; Chiara approached:
“What happened?” Alessandro turned slowly toward her, staring into her eyes. Though she wasn’t wearing shoes, she was enough tall she could look into his eyes without raising her chin:
“Nothing. Let’s go to bed!”
She raised an eyebrow, blushing. She looked down:
“Sorry, I mean… get ready, I sleep on the couch!”
She rolled up her tongue:
“You can sleep with me. Hard up stage passed away, didn’t it? I won’t pitch into you, if you think that!”
He squinted:
“I don’t!”
He wanted to go on to say:
“Maybe I will,” but he remained silent.
“As you wish!” She turned and moved to the hall. He stood still in the middle of the room, admiring her walk with grace. He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. He approached to the crouch, grabbing the pillow.
“It makes no sense. You are working tomorrow. Go to bed. Let the couch to me!” Chiara stared at him.
“My mother would hit me if I did such a thing!”
“So come to bed with me and sleep!” Her heart was beating frantically, waiting for a response.
He nodded.
They slipped into the bed, under the blanket, apart; however soon they got close, slipping, until they touched. He turned, embracing her. She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulders. She sighed, staring sideways at him. His breath was regular, but she wasn’t sure that he was really asleep. But at the end, it didn’t matter. In his arms, she closed her eyes.
Alessandro realized that he had moved and kept her in his arms. He felt her sweet scent, under his nose. He felt the warmth of her body. He stared sideways at her. She was so beautiful: she looked like a marble. He moved just one hand brushing her pelvis. She moaned. He stopped.
An hour later, he was still looking at the ceiling. How could something so beautiful, natural and spontaneous, so apparently right and sensual, when it should have been so terribly wrong and devastating?”
“Are you sleeping?” she barely whispered.
He swallowed. “I am not. What about you?”
She turned, resting his face to the hand.
“What do you say?”
Everything was silent. She had turned and she had turned again, but she couldn’t sleep with his body pressed against her.
“Chiara, I…”
She was staring at him. Her catlike eyes were shining in the dark.
“You?”
He shook his head, touching her hair:
“Is your memory back?”
She stared at him for a moment before turning her face toward the ceiling. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t even tell him the truth. He had to interpret her silence by himself:
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you or put you under pressure!”
There was a peculiar intimacy in staying
in bed together, talking, an intimacy that it shouldn’t have been there. Chiara moved her hand, bumping his body:
“I’m sorry!” He didn’t answer right away. She turned back towards him, thinking that he was asleep again; instead he was still and silent. She found herself staring at his bright eyes, his mouth ajar, and his full lips:
“We’d better sleep!”
She nodded. She stared at him, while his hand was slipping into her hair. He was looking for her lips, slowly at first, then more passionately. Her lips parted under the onslaught of his. Chiara groaned, while he slipped over her. Her breath was short. She felt her heart beat furiously. She clenched her hands into fists, sinking into the mattress.
It was just a kiss, though it was stealing her soul. He licked her lips with his tongue. She bit his lips, sucking them gently. Her breath slipped along his throat. He touched her neck with one hand:
“You want me, as I want you, Chiara. It’s all wrong, everything!” He murmured. She pretended not to hear, because he was right, but his lips were taking her to the brink of madness. The next day, she would have investigated. Now she wanted to be with him, even the time of another kiss, and enjoy his warmth. She could feel his erection pressing against her belly, but he made no gesture to go further; indeed he jumped up:
“I’m sorry. I have to go the bathroom.”
He disappeared into the hallway. She could imagine where he was going. She thanked his cold blood. She couldn’t get involved any more than she was. She was already well past the point of no return. She ran a trembling hand through her hair. The cryptic phrase of her sister, reappeared in the memory:
“You remind me a lot of me, when I was in love with Simone, before he broke my heart!” No, it wasn’t true. He was just a suspect. It was just work. She closed her eyes, thinking of him, of his hands, of his lips, drifted off to sleep without even realizing it. She opened her eyes at the persistent sound of the alarm. Alessandro had gone to the bathroom, leaning with his back to the door. He breathed slowly. The tension between his legs was explosive, painful. Chiara was there. It wouldn’t take much to have her again, but he was already past the point of no return. She couldn’t and didn’t want to go any further. He had to finish what he had started. He couldn’t afford any mistake. He opened the water tap, letting the cold water to calm down his hot spirits, looking for to the relief, with eyes closed, his back against the cold tiles of the bathroom. He had cursed himself, the situation, and the whole world.
When he returned to the room, her soft breathing made him realize that she was sleeping, and he slipped under the sheets. He sighed; closing his eyes, he fell asleep.
When the alarm sounded, they both jumped and rose up mechanically, as if they were always used to sleep together. He threw Chiara’s shirt to her. She handed his pants to him. They dressed next to each other, eye to eye, and they reached the kitchen, slightly awkward. He looked down, while she was preparing cappuccino. She gave it to him, being careful not touch his fingers:
“Can you drive me to my hotel? I must to take a change!”
“It’s rush our. I would be late at work. Someone of the guys can drive you later.”
Chiara shook her head. Why did he seem angry now? She waited until he was in the bathroom to open the drawer where she had seen him put some folders when she was in the kitchen. She felt dirty, a thief. He had offered his house and she was spying on him. She opened the folder, observing the reports. Why he had them at home? She marked the protocol numbers, murmuring:
“Ale, Ale, what are you doing?”
With her ears tense to catch every little noise, she brought up everything in order and she leaned against the fridge. When he returned, he found her still so. He stared at her, puzzled. She looked away quickly:
“Ok, I’m ready!”
She watched his uniform. It was impeccable. His face was clean-shaven. Gods, those hands, she think… she felt her legs melt like wax. She sat at the kitchen table. Their eyes were flaming, but she averted hers. This time, she was to stop and break the invisible thread that bound them:
“Let’s go, or we’ll be late!”
Chiara was in the office all day. She approached to a computer. No one would have noticed her. She dumped emails. She opened the reports, downloading the files that she had seen in his house. She observed Carlo. He entered at 11:00 a.m. He talked to Torres, staring at her. A shiver went down her spine. What was going on? Torres nodded to her, inviting her to join them.
“Detective, how are you? Do you remember something?”
“Look, I had some flashes, but unfortunately I don’t remember anything. I’m going to the hospital tomorrow. I hope I can be told something sure!”
“Listen, detective. Burying our heads into sand won’t help. The situation is serious. If you could remember how did you know about the bomb, you would be our salvation!”
Chiara lifted her chin, supporting his gaze, unflinchingly nodded:
“Sure, I know. The doctors will help me tomorrow, don’t worry!”
Chiara played her part. She was sorry to lie. It was apparently the most odious part of her work.
When she saw his patrol car back, she descended quickly the stairs. She had missed him. The hell, why? He stepped out of the car, walked over her:
“Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I go back to the hotel. Guys from patrol 24 will ride me.”
Alessandro nodded. She stood still. It was too easy. She had given up… Why?
Chiara was still wondering as she was reaching her room, watching the steps of the hotel, with her hand on the railing. It was shiny and golden. Why she indulged in romantic thoughts for him? It wasn’t romantic. She didn’t even like romance. She loved action movies, about races and shootings. Sure, she loved happy endings, but in her work she was so in touch with malice and with the rotten that she couldn’t actually believe in it.
She entered in her room. She saw that it had really been inspected and controlled. Also, she saw the ticket that communicated to her the positions of the men on guard. That looked like an excessive precaution because, according to her, they wouldn’t do anything against her, now that the meeting had been suspended…
But she held many elements to capture them. Her word was enough to start everything. She had the addresses. She had taken the documents in Alessandro’s house. The circle was closing.
As she walked towards the desk, she wondered why she had not revealed that she remembered everything. She turned back. She looked at her laptop. Alessandro had left her to go. He was serene. If she had opened the computer, she would have resumed the investigation. She would have understood what point she had arrived at. Why had he done that? Why leaving her free?
She walked over to the computer and brushed her fingertips against the keyboard. She remembered Claudia, her terrified eyes, Carlo’s pain, Alessandro’s anger. She grabbed the phone: she wanted to hear a friendly voice. After a long talk with her sister, Mia, she felt more relieved. She came to the door, alerting the policeman on guard. She walked quickly to the park.
A run of an hour and half cleared up her mind, though her heart was still in pain. She couldn’t wait anymore, within a couple of days at most, she would have delivered the report. She would have stopped Jamal and all those who she had identified. Then Alessandro would have had to give a plausible and truthful explanation
When her phone rang, she stood still looking at the name “Alessandro”. She breathed, before answering. Now that she had made a decision, she had to really be careful. She had already put too much at stake her heart.
“Hello?”
“Hi. How are you?”
“Fine. Thank you!”
“How about a walk?”
Alessandro had decided. He had something to tell her. He really wanted to help her to remember, even if that would have resulted in problems for him. He wanted to accompany her to the control.
“Ale, I’m sorry. I’m tired. I have a headache. I’d better rest. I’m waited at the hos
pital for a check up tomorrow. And we have to go to Torres dinner too. I’m sorry, I can’t.”
That was the best thing to do, she told to herself.
He had the same thought. It was a right and correct decision. He had to pass off his mania. He had to stop thinking about her sweet and soft lips, her hot tongue, her passionate hands… He clenched his fists, turning on the television and sitting on the couch.
Chapter 40
The morning after, Chiara jumped when she saw Carlo and Luigi waiting for her. Better they came instead of Alessandro. It was good that they were here to ride her to the hospital; she had expected… she had hoped, she had thought… but Alessandro did not call. On the other hand, she had studied for a good part of the night. He was surely involved. Unfortunately, the evidences she had collected were overwhelming. She thought to the map: had he given it to the terrorists to help them with the attack? Five people had died, including the bomber, and at least forty had been injured. She had studied the photos. Many of the kids involved had no family. She had not been able to identify the others, but Amina knew them. She had to talk to her.
At the hospital, the doctor examined carefully her:
“Detective, congratulations! You recovered very quickly. We didn’t expect it!”
Chiara sighed. Sure she did. She wanted to go operative. She wanted to sort it. She was to put a period to that situation.
Alessandro hung up. Everything was to end in a few days. He stared at the photo. He narrowed his eyes. What to do? How? He was alone. He had never felt so alone. He couldn’t do anything. Yet, he had grabbed the jeans and T-shirt. He looked in the mirror. His look was tired. He ran a hand through his hair. He grabbed the gun. He had chosen not to see or call her. She wanted to keep her distance. He had to respect her choice.
Carlo observed Amina. She was always beautiful, even now that she looked tired, even now that she looked worried; she wore a beige shirt that stood out her amber skin, a pair of tight pants and boots.
He had written a text warning her he was going to pick her up. He wanted to understand. She got in the car. He was inundated by her scent:
UNDER THE CLOAK Page 18