"Thanks." With the heels of her shoes caught by two fingers she stepped away. That was better, further away from him. She couldn't afford to get distracted herself, here. She moved toward the mirror over the dresser.
Vincenzo cleared his throat. "Why are you wearing these clothes, Sabrina?"
Holding onto the dresser with one hand, she lifted a foot behind her and slipped a shoe on with the other. "Gotta date."
In the mirror she could see his stunned reaction. More gratification spilled inside of her. Lord, she hadn't known she owned so many petty female bones.
"A date," Vincenzo repeated. He looked at her in the mirror, brows drawn in consternation. "But how—I mean, who do you have a date with?"
Sabrina pulled on the other shoe while Vincenzo watched in ill-disguised fascination. Pleased, Sabrina shook her loose hair back from her face. "You know how the reporter for the newspaper article about Francesca Miller's donation seemed pissed off at her? Well, I thought of calling him, seeing if he was interested in venting some more."
All this was true. Sabrina had called the number for the newspaper, she'd even been directed to the reporter's extension. He hadn't been in, though, and all she'd been able to do was leave him a message. But now came the lie, with more effort than should have been necessary. "I asked him out."
"I see," Vincenzo grumbled. Rarely good at hiding his feelings, he looked purely miserable.
With her vanity now satisfied, Sabrina began to feel like a crumb. "It's no big deal," she claimed, leaning toward the mirror to check the stud on her rhinestone earring. "I'm only going out with him because I think he may have information that could be helpful to us...you know, about the situation." Francesca Miller. She should have said, 'about Francesca Miller.' Oddly, she hadn't been able to tack on a lie that wasn't absolutely necessary.
"I see," Vincenzo said again. Slowly he got to his feet. "Will you be all right? I mean, you are not going to do anything dangerous, being all alone with this—this person?"
"I'll be fine." Sabrina turned around. Her hips leaned against the dresser. "It's no big deal, Vince."
The dress said otherwise, and so did Vincenzo's eyes. But whatever passion he felt was well banked. That was Carlotta's fault, Sabrina supposed, and then wondered if she didn't harbor a little jealousy of her own.
"Will you be late?" He tried in vain to smooth the rough edge in his tone.
"I doubt it, but don't wait up for me." She'd forget about Carlotta, Sabrina decided. It wasn't as if she wanted to make something of Vincenzo's attraction to her. It was simply satisfying, that was all. Nevertheless, her hand tightened into a fist as she started to turn. "Oh, before I leave, I wanted to ask you something. About the Lady."
The air around him changed, his attention redirected. The damn painting would always come first. "Yes?" he asked.
"Are there any copies?"
"Copies?" He frowned briefly before his brow cleared. "Ah, you mean copies of the Madonna della Montagna?"
"Right." She faced him fully. "I've heard that students and such used to do that. Make copies of famous paintings. But perhaps the Madonna wasn't famous enough— I mean, perhaps she was considered too holy for anyone to have had the guts to copy her."
"There are copies." Shrewdness narrowed his eyes.
"Can you get hold of one?"
"Several." His regard went searching. "What do you have in mind?"
"A switch. Assuming, of course, that we can locate Francesca's house, and figure out an in."
He continued to stare at her. "You think we are close."
"Well," Sabrina hedged. "Closer than we've been before."
"You think that we can find the house and get into it." His eyes continued to hound her. "And you think that, if we do, Francesca Miller will have the painting."
"Now, how can I know that?!" His faith in her was truly wearing. "Nobody could know what's inside that woman's house." And Sabrina hadn't—yet—been in touch with the reporter, the only person they knew who might have the house's location. Add to that, the old lady was some kind of recluse...
"But you have instincts." Vincenzo's voice lowered. "And your instincts say that we are close, no?"
Yes. Yes, of course her instincts said that they were close. They'd been baying at her ever since she'd found that article in the library. But Sabrina was hardly going to admit as much. The idea of actually finding this painting was starting to make her nervous as all get out. "I've got to run," she claimed. "My date's waiting."
"Sabrina." He caught her hand before she managed to step out of reach.
She shivered and raised her chin to look at him.
His eyes had suddenly switched back to a soft expression. "Sabrina," he said, his voice as soft as his eyes. "You will come back, yes?"
He had to ask. He had to make himself vulnerable. Something tightened in her chest. "Yes," she replied. "I'll be back."
With a faint smile, he brought her fingers to his lips. "Va bene," he said, then released her.
It was okay. It would be all right. That's what Vincenzo believed.
And it would be all right, Sabrina told herself, curling her hand around the lingering feel of his kiss. So, she'd made one promise to the man. That meant nothing. Of course she was coming back. She would have come back anyway, even without the promise. It was no big deal, she told herself, going out the door.
~~~
There were two of them, an older one and a younger one. They were waiting for her at a dining table down the end of a long, well-appointed hall in a huge house set on a hill. As she'd gotten out of the limousine in the curved driveway, Sabrina had been able to see the lights of Santa Barbara spread below.
In the dining room the two men were dressed in suits with ties. Dark suits, dark ties. Their expressions were similarly dark and sober. Whatever they'd summoned her here to discuss, they apparently considered a matter of some gravity.
With European civility, they both rose from their seats when she walked in.
"Signora Raven?" the younger one said.
"That's me." She gazed around the room. It was paneled in rich, dark wood with fancy corbels at the ceiling. The beams were painted in the Spanish style with leaves and flowers. A set of bull's horns was affixed to one wall, a colorfully woven serape on another. "Nice place." Actually, it was a gloomy place, but it had obviously cost a bundle and Sabrina could appreciate that.
"It belongs to a friend." It was the younger one again. "He has graciously lent it to us for as long as we are in the area."
"Nice friend," Sabrina said. Meanwhile, she wondered how they'd known to be in the area, or that they'd be staying long enough to borrow a house. But she didn't want to let on like she cared. Without being asked, she took a seat in one of the heavy wood chairs.
The two men exchanged a glance. Clearly, she hadn't been expected to display such sang-froid.
"My name is Luigi Pirrone," the younger one said. Still all somber, he took a seat around a corner of the table. "This is Sylvio Ameri."
The older man grunted as he sat down opposite Sabrina. From the moment she'd come into view, he hadn't taken his gaze, cynical and speculative, from Sabrina and her tight black dress.
"First of all, we would like to thank you for agreeing to come here this evening," the young one continued. His tone was smooth, persuasive. "We are both...very concerned about Vincenzo."
"Are you now?" She crossed one knee over the other. The young one was dark and a looker, though not nearly as handsome as Vincenzo. Sabrina wondered if there were a family resemblance between Luigi and his sister, Carlotta. The thought was not particularly welcome.
A frown crossed Luigi's face. He probably thought the fancy house and those dark suits should have engendered more respect. But he persevered. "Signora Raven, we are aware that you have become...rather close to Vincenzo recently. In fact, you showed up on the scene directly after he decided not to fly home to Milan, after all."
Sabrina allowed herself a half-smile. Lowering
her gaze to the full place setting on the table before her, she ran a finger along the heavy, chased knife. "Well, yes. As a matter of fact I might have had something to do with his decision not to go home."
The older man said something in Italian that was probably not suitable for mixed company.
Luigi's mouth tightened. "I must tell you, we were all very upset—concerned—when Vincenzo did not arrive home as scheduled. After so many delays, he had finally promised. We had hoped that this...strange obsession was over."
"Stoltezza!" the old man expostulated. "Foolishness!"
Luigi shushed the other man and then returned his gaze to Sabrina. "You must understand, signora, Vincenzo has a full, productive life awaiting him in Milan. He has business interests, a family. Why, his mother has barely seen him in the past four years."
Sabrina's finger dug into the dull blade of the table knife. "Vinnie's a big boy. I figure it's up to him to decide how and where he's going to spend his time."
Luigi's eyes didn't have Vincenzo's power, but he tried to pierce her with them nonetheless. "You have been with Vincenzo at least a week now. Please do not pretend that you are unaware of the madness of this quest of his. For four years he has abandoned his family and his business. For four years he has done nothing useful, nothing but search for one painting, one lost piece of art. This is not healthy."
A week ago Sabrina would have said the same. But now she looked the man straight in the eye. "Vincenzo seems to have his reasons."
Her words hit their mark. A muscle clenched in Luigi's jaw. "We all suffered from Carlotta's death. Vincenzo is not alone."
The older man, Sylvio, finally came alive. His watery gray eyes narrowed shrewdly on Sabrina. "So, you know about that story, do you?" He folded gnarled hands on the edge of the table. "You must be even closer to Vincenzo than we had thought, then, Signora Raven. And we had already presumed that you are, just now, the only person Vincenzo will listen to...the only one he will trust."
Unpleasant twinges set off in Sabrina's stomach. Something she wasn't going to like was about to happen.
Luigi chimed in. "Whatever you tell Vincenzo about the painting, whether or not it can be retrieved, he will believe."
"If you tell him the task is impossible, then he will believe it," Sylvio hammered in.
Sabrina looked from one of them to the other. The unpleasant twinges in her stomach got stronger. "You want me to call him off." It was exactly what she'd been thinking of doing herself, on and off, all day. But now it sounded different.
Luigi tried to put it more diplomatically. "We want you to send him home."
"Home." Sabrina frowned at him. "Now, why is it so godawful important that Vincenzo go home?"
Luigi shot Sylvio a questioning look, but Sylvio ignored it, and Sabrina's question. Instead the older man leaned over his clasped hands. "Let us get to business, shall we? How much is Vincenzo paying you to help retrieve the painting?"
The bottom line. In a way, the old man was a creature after her own heart. Sabrina folded her hands on the edge of the table and leaned over them as he did, meeting his canny gaze. "One hundred thousand big ones. A hundred grand."
She had to hand it to him. He didn't blink an eye.
"Two hundred and fifty." His voice was deep and full of authority. "We will give you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to convince him the quest is impossible."
Sabrina stared at him. She hoped her face expressed as little reaction as his had a moment before. Two hundred and fifty! In the only language she recognized that shouted loud and clear. It was more than twice what Vincenzo was offering her, it would give her more than twice the power.
"That's an awful lot of money," Sabrina slowly observed. Actually, it was too much. It sharpened her growing suspicion. "I don't get it, signore." She paused. "How in the world is one silly, eccentric Italian worth that much money?"
Sylvio's gray moustache twitched. Luigi ran a hand over his mouth.
"You'd better tell her," Luigi said.
With a brief nod, Sylvio leaned back in his carved chair. "That 'silly, eccentric' Italian, as you call him, is worth millions."
Sabrina shrugged. This wasn't news. From the moment she'd laid eyes on Vincenzo she'd known he was big money.
"You do not understand." A mild smile played over Sylvio's mouth. "Whatever money Vincenzo has now, he made himself. His father left the business in a mess, nearly bankrupt. But Vincenzo had been quietly waiting, quietly watching, planning out his moves. When he took over, magic happened."
Sabrina's brows drew down.
"Vincenzo's a genius," Sylvio claimed. "A financial genius. He can make gold grow out of stone, you understand?"
A genius? Sabrina thought. Vincenzo?
"In the four years he's been gone," Luigi put in, "things have deteriorated badly. We need him."
Sabrina regarded the younger man. He appeared perfectly sober. She looked back at Sylvio. He, too, looked serious. Vincenzo, a genius? But if he weren't, if he hadn't made all the money they claimed he had, then why would they be so anxious to get him back? It made a certain crazy sense.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," Sylvio repeated, his gray eyes watching her. "To get him back home."
Sabrina raised a brow. "So he's the goose that lays the golden eggs."
Sylvio paused. "We want him home."
He was the goose, all right. Sabrina tilted her head at the older guy. "Maybe I should simply keep him for myself, considering he's King Midas—or hadn't you thought of that angle?"
Sylvio smiled. It was a smile of utter confidence. "Vincenzo won't take up with a woman until he finds that painting. He is safe from you."
Yes, he probably was. Safe from Sabrina, and any other woman. Vincenzo still considered himself firmly married.
Feeling oddly unsteady, Sabrina got to her feet. The two men instantly hopped up as well.
"Do we have your cooperation, then?" Luigi asked, more eager than shrewd. "Will you get Vincenzo home?"
Sabrina picked up her purse. "I doubt I have the kind of influence over Vincenzo you all seem to think."
But she didn't need influence, she knew. All she'd have to do was walk out on him. It wouldn't hurt a bit. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. With that kind of dough, she could easily pacify Lise and still have plenty left over for her revenge against the Castlewrights.
"I beg to differ. He will listen to you," Sylvio claimed, certain.
Sabrina paused in the act of adjusting the purse strap over her shoulder and met the old man's eyes. "He wants that painting in the worst way. I think we both can guess why." Though she wasn't exactly sure, herself. "That means nothing to you?"
Sylvio's gaze didn't waver. "Get him to Milan in one week's time and I'll consider that you've done your job."
One week. So he was giving Vincenzo a chance, though not a very long one. Sabrina knew the complexity of the job she and Vincenzo wanted to attempt, she knew the time the proper research and set-up would take. A week wasn't nearly enough.
"One thing before I go." Sabrina couldn't resist asking, after all. "How did you two manage to tail us all the way from Manhattan?" Especially through her foray among the lost spots of L.A. County.
Sylvio looked surprised, and glanced toward Luigi.
The younger man blinked and then smiled. "Oh, we have not been following you. Vincenzo calls his mother regularly, you see, makes sure she knows his whereabouts."
Good grief, Sabrina thought, staring at him. She should have known.
"Vincenzo is a good boy," Sylvio added heavily. "Except for...this." He raised a hand in farewell. "Good night, Signora Raven. And good luck."
All the old man wanted was money. Sabrina understood that. It was all she wanted, too. At least, that's what she kept telling herself as she walked down the wide corridor back to the front door and the waiting limousine.
CHAPTER NINE
Sabrina stopped for a moment before going into the hotel. Through the large pla
te glass windows in front she could see into the lobby. It was a spacious room, with tasteful clusterings of sofas and tables. Several people had congregated there, visiting. Vincenzo was among them.
Beneath soft lights he was seated at a square table with three smiling older ladies. They were playing cards.
Oblivious to the evening chill working its way under her dress, Sabrina stood outside and watched.
She watched the easy, genuine smiles he threw at the old women, watched him frown in deep concentration over his next play. She watched the patience, the kindness that she'd found to be an integral part of his nature.
A rich man, Sabrina had thought, must be a cold and self-serving individual. A rich man who'd made his own money she'd have assumed was a ruthless shark.
At that moment the lady to his left played a card that made Vincenzo throw up his hands in mock distress. There was laughter all about the table.
Sabrina pushed through the glass door into the lobby.
The smile faded from Vincenzo's face. His gaze settled on Sabrina with a dark and deep intensity. He showed more in his face than he probably knew that he felt.
Without taking his eyes from her, Vincenzo got to his feet.
"Oh, don't let me stop you." Sabrina smiled as she laid a hand on his forearm. He was wearing one of those expensive, ridiculously soft sweaters, the kind that emphasized by contrast the hard masculinity of his build. "There's no reason to stop your game."
The three ladies looked up at her with bright curiosity. They had identical hairstyles of curled gray. Two wore soft cardigans. The third had a handful of knitting.
Vincenzo finally seemed to remember they weren't alone. "Ah, ladies, I would very much like you to meet—"
"Sara Redmon," Sabrina supplied. It would be like Vincenzo to give her real name to these busybodies.
"My business partner," Vincenzo explained. Then he looked at Sabrina in a way that made a joke out of this job title.
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