The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 3

by Nora Roberts

  He felt heat more than pain, as if someone held him over the licking flames of a fire. And he thought, quite clearly: I’ve been shot.

  Someone tugged at him, stirred his body so that pain woke and cut through the fire like a silver sword. He tried to speak, to protest, to defend himself, but managed little more than a moan as his vision grayed.

  When it cleared again, he found himself staring up into the face of the young woman he’d watched pulling in her wash.

  “You must’ve worked late tonight.” The words came clear in his head, slurred through his lips.

  “Signore, per piacere. Sta zitto. Riposta. L’aiuto sta venendo.”

  He listened solemnly, translating the Italian as slowly, as painstakingly as a first-year student. She wanted him to be quiet, to rest. That was nice of her, he thought dimly. Help was coming. Help for what?

  Oh, that’s right. He’d been shot.

  He told her so, first in English, then in Italian. “I need to call my children. I need to tell them I’m all right. Do you have a phone?”

  And with his head cradled in her lap, he went back under.

  “You’ re a very lucky man, Mr. Cutter.”

  David tried to focus on the man’s face. Whatever drugs the doctors had pumped into him were high-test. He wasn’t feeling any pain, but he was hard-pressed to feel anything. “It’s hard to agree with you at the moment. I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “DeMarco. I’m Lieutenant DeMarco. Your doctor says you need rest, of course. But I have just a few questions. Perhaps if you tell me what you remember?”

  He remembered a pretty woman drawing in the wash, and the way the lights glimmered on the water, on the stones. “I was walking,” he began, then struggled to sit up. “Pilar’s ring. I’d just bought a ring.”

  “I have it. Calm yourself. I have the ring, your wallet, your watch. They’ll be safe.”

  The police, David remembered. People called the police when someone got shot on the street. This one looked like a cop, not as slick as the detective back in San Francisco. DeMarco was a little dumpy, a little bald. He made up for both with a luxurious black moustache that flowed over his upper lip. His English was precise and correct.

  “I was walking back to my apartment—wandering a little. I’d done some shopping—the ring—after work. Had some dinner. It was a nice evening and I’d been shut up in an office all day. I saw a woman in a window. She was pulling in her wash. She made a picture. She was singing. I stopped to look up. Then I hit the street. I felt . . .” Gingerly, he lifted an arm to his shoulder. “I knew I’d been shot.”

  “You’ve been shot before?”

  “No.” David grimaced. “It felt just like you think it would. I must’ve passed out. The woman was there with me when I came to. She ran down, I guess, when she saw what happened.”

  “And did you see who shot you?”

  “I didn’t see anything but the cobbles rushing up at me.”

  “Why do you think, Mr. Cutter, that someone would shoot you?” “I don’t know. Robbery, I guess.”

  “Yet your valuables were not taken. What is your business in Venice?” “I’m chief operating officer for Giambelli-MacMillan. I had meetings.” “Ah. You work for La Signora.”

  “I do.”

  “There is some trouble, yes, for La Signora in America?”

  “There has been, but I don’t see what it has to do with my getting mugged in Venice. I need to call my children.”

  “Yes, yes, this will be arranged. Do you know anyone in Venice who might wish you harm, Mr. Cutter?”

  “No.” As soon as he denied it, he thought of Donato. “No,” he repeated. “I don’t know anyone who’d shoot me down on the street. You said you had my valuables, Lieutenant. The ring I bought, my wallet, my watch. My briefcase.”

  “No briefcase was found.” DeMarco sat back. The woman who’d witnessed the shooting had claimed the victim was carrying a briefcase. She had described him very well. “What were the contents of this briefcase?”

  “Papers from the office,” David said. “Just paperwork.”

  It was difficult, Tereza thought, to stand up under so many blows. Under such constant assault, the spirit began to wilt. She kept her spine straight as she walked with Eli into the family parlor. She knew the children were there, waiting for the call from their father.

  Innocence, she mused as she looked in to see Maddy sprawled on the sofa with her nose in a book, Theo banging away on the piano. Why did innocence have to be stolen this way, and so quickly?

  She gave Eli’s arm a squeeze. To reassure him, to brace herself, then stepped inside.

  Pilar glanced up from her needlework. One look at her mother and her heart froze. The embroidery hoop slid out of her hands as she got slowly to her feet. “Mama?”

  “Please sit. Theo.” She gestured to quiet him. “Maddy. First I must tell you, your father is all right.”

  “What happened?” Maddy rolled off the couch. “Something happened to him. That’s why he hasn’t called. He’s never late calling.”

  “He was hurt, but he’s all right. He’s in the hospital.”

  “An accident?” Pilar stepped up, laid a hand on Maddy’s shoulder. When previously the girl would have shrugged her off, she merely clung tighter.

  “No, not an accident. He was shot.”

  “Shot?” Theo shoved away from the piano. Terror coated his throat like bile. “That’s wrong, that’s a mistake. Dad doesn’t go around getting shot.”

  “He was taken right away to the hospital,” Tereza continued. “I’ve spoken with the doctor who treated him. Your father’s doing very well. He’s already listed in good condition.”

  “Listen to me.” Eli moved forward, took Maddy’s hand, then Theo’s. “We wouldn’t tell you he’s all right if he wasn’t. I know you’re scared, and you’re worried, and so are we. But the doctor was very clear. Your father’s healthy and strong. He’s going to make a full recovery.”

  “I want him to come home.” Maddy’s lip trembled. “I want him to come home now.”

  “He’ll come home as soon as they release him from the hospital,” Tereza told her. “I’m going to make the arrangements. Does your father love you, Madeline?”

  “Sure he does.”

  “Do you know how worried he is about you right now? About you and your brother, and how this worry makes it harder for him to rest, to heal? He needs you to be strong for him.”

  When the phone rang, Maddy whirled away, leaped on it. “Hello? Hello? Daddy!” Tears gushed out of her eyes, shook her body down to the toes. Still, she slapped at Theo when he tried to grab the phone. “It’s okay.” Her voice broke, and she turned to Tereza. “It’s okay,” she repeated, swiping a hand under her nose, breathing deep. “So, hey. Do you get to keep the bullet?”

  She listened to her father’s voice, and watched La Signora nod at her.

  “Yeah, Theo’s right here, shoving at me. Can I hit him? Too late,” she responded. “I already did. Yeah, here he is.”

  She passed the phone to her brother.

  “You’re a strong young woman,” Tereza told her. “Your father should be very proud.”

  “Make him come home, okay? Just make him come home.” She walked into Pilar’s arms and felt better for crying there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Her head throbbed like an open wound, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. She ignored both and took her place behind her desk.

  Over Eli’s and Pilar’s objections, Tereza allowed the children to attend this emergency meeting. She was still head of the Giambelli family, and they had a right to know why she believed their father had been hurt.

  They had a right to know it fell to her blood.

  “I’ve spoken with David,” she began, and smiled at his children. “Before his doctor came in and forced him to rest.”

  “It’s a good sign.” Sophia ranged herself beside Theo. He looked so young, so defenseless. �
��Guys are such babies when they’re hurt. They just can’t stop talking about it.”

  “Get out. We’re like, stoic.” Theo was trying to be, but his stomach kept pitching on him.

  “Be that as it may,” Tereza continued. “With his doctor’s approval, he’ll fly home in just a few days. Meanwhile the police are investigating the incident. I’ve also talked to the man in charge of the investigation.”

  And had, in short and ruthless order, researched his record. DeMarco would do. Tereza folded her hands on the lieutenant’s file. “There were a number of witnesses. They have a description, though not a particularly good one, of the assailant. I don’t know that they’ll find him, or that he particularly matters.”

  “How can you say that?” Maddy jerked up in her chair. “He shot my father.”

  Approving the reaction, Tereza spoke to her as she would to an equal. “Because I believe he was hired to do so, as one buys and uses any tool. To take away papers in your father’s possession. A misguided and despicable act of self-protection. There have been . . . discrepancies in a number of accounts. The details of that can wait. It became clear earlier today, through David’s work, that my nephew has been funneling money from the company into a dummy account.”

  “Donato.” Sophia felt a sharp pinch in the heart. “Stealing from you?”

  “From us.” That Tereza had already accepted and absorbed. “He met with David, on my orders, this afternoon in Venice and would have realized his actions would soon be uncovered. This was his response. My family’s caused your pain,” she said to Theo and Maddy. “I’m head of the family and responsible for that pain.”

  “Dad works for you. He was doing his job.” As his stomach continued to shudder, Theo clenched his teeth. “It’s that bastard’s fault, not yours. Is he in jail?”

  “No. They’ve yet to find him. It appears he’s run.” Disdain edged her voice. “Left his wife, his children and has run. I promise you he will be found; he will be punished. I’ll see to it.”

  “He’ll need money. Resources,” Ty put in.

  “You’ll need someone in Venice to clear this up.” Sophia rose. “I’ll leave tonight.”

  “I won’t put another of mine in danger.”

  “Nonna, if Donato was using an account to skim funds, he had help. My father. It’s my blood,” she continued in Italian, “as much as yours. My honor, as much as yours. You can’t deny me my right to make amends.” She took another breath, switched to English. “I’ll leave tonight.”

  “Hell.” Tyler scowled. “We’ll leave tonight.”

  “I don’t need a baby-sitter.”

  “Yeah, right.” He lifted his gaze now, met hers with chilled steel. “We’ve got an equal stake in this, Giambelli. You go, I go. I’ll check out the vineyards, the winery,” he said to Tereza. “If anything’s off there, I’ll spot it. I’ll leave the paper trail to the paper pusher.”

  So, Tereza thought as she looked at Eli across the room. The next step in the cycle. We pass the burdens to the young.

  “Agreed.” Tereza ignored Sophia’s hissing breath. “Your mother will worry less if you’re not alone.”

  “No, I’ll just spread the worry out over two people. Mama, Gina and her children?”

  “They’ll be provided for. I don’t believe in the sins of the father.” Tereza shifted her gaze to Sophia’s, held it. “I believe in the child.”

  The first thing David did when he was released from the hospital, or more accurately, when he released himself from the hospital, was buy flowers.

  When the first bouquet seemed inadequate, he bought another, then a third.

  It wasn’t easy carrying a huge load of flowers, one arm in a sling, through the crowded streets of Venice, but he managed it. Just as he managed to find the spot where he’d been shot.

  He’d prepared himself for the jolt, but hadn’t realized there’d be fury along with it. Someone had thought him dispensable, had pierced his flesh with steel, spilled his blood. And had come very close to making his children orphans.

  Someone, David promised himself as he stood on the stains of his own blood with his good arm full of flowers, was going to pay for thinking it. Whatever, and however long, it took.

  He glanced up. Though there was no wash hanging out today, the window was open. He shifted his flowers, turned away from the street and entered the building. It amazed him how exhausted he was after the climb. Limbs weak, skin slicked with sweat. It pissed him off to find himself gasping for air and leaning limply on the wall outside the apartment door.

  How the hell was he supposed to get back to the Giambelli apartment, pack, book a flight when he could barely make it up these stairs? The fact that the doctor had said essentially that before David had signed himself out only annoyed him.

  So much so that, still puffing, he straightened and knocked.

  He didn’t expect her to be home, intended to leave the flowers on her doorstep or hunt up a cooperative neighbor who’d take them for her. But the door opened, and there she was.

  “Signorina.”

  “Sì?” She stared at him blankly, then her pretty face lit up. “Signore! Come sta? Oh, oh, che bellezza! ” She gathered the flowers and gestured him in. “I called the hospital this morning,” she continued in rapid Italian. “They said you were resting. I’ve been so frightened. I couldn’t believe such a thing could happen right outside . . . Oh.” She tapped her head with her hand. “You’re American,” she said in careful English. “Scusami. Sorry. I don’t have good English.”

  “I speak Italian. I wanted to thank you.”

  “Me? I did nothing. Please come in, sit. You look so pale.”

  “You were there.” He glanced around her apartment. Small, simple, with pretty little touches. “If you hadn’t been, and if I hadn’t looked up because you were late bringing in your wash and made such a lovely picture doing it, I might not be standing here now. Signorina.” He took her hand, lifted it to his lips. “Mille grazie.”

  “Prego.” She angled her head. “A romantic story. Come, I’ll make you coffee.”

  “You don’t need to trouble.”

  “Please, if I’ve saved your life, I have to tend to it.” She carried the flowers to the kitchen.

  “Ah . . . one of the reasons I was walking by so late was that I’d done some shopping before dinner. I’d just bought a ring, an engagement ring for the woman I love.”

  “Oh.” She sighed, laid the flowers on the counter. She took another long look at him. “Pity for me. Lucky for her. I’ll still make you coffee.”

  “I could use some. Signorina, I don’t know your name.”

  “Elana.”

  “Elana, I hope you’ll take this as intended. I think you’re the second most beautiful woman in the world.”

  She laughed and began to fill a vase with his flowers. “Yes, very lucky for her.”

  David was fed up with pain, fatigue, doctors and the pedestrian jumble that was Venice by the time he made it back to his rooms. He’d already come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t be heading back home that evening. He’d be lucky to undress himself and get into bed, much less stay on his feet long enough to pack.

  His shoulder was screaming, his legs unsteady, and he cursed as he fought to work the key into the lock left-handed. Still that left hand came up, fisted to fight, when the door jerked open.

  “There you are!” Sophia jammed her hands on her hips. “Are you out of your mind? Checking yourself out of the hospital, wandering around Venice by yourself. Look at you, pale as a sheet. Men are such morons.”

  “Thanks, thanks a lot. Mind if I come in? I think this is still my room.”

  “Ty’s out hunting for you right now.” She took his good arm as she spoke and helped him inside. “We’ve been worried to death since we went by the hospital and found out you’d left, over doctor’s orders.”

  “Even in Italy they can’t seem to make hospital food palatable.” Giving in, he sank into a chair. “A man could st
arve to death in there. Besides, I wasn’t expecting anyone this soon. What did you do, beam yourselves here?”

  “We left last night. I’ve been traveling a very long time, on very little sleep, and have spent entirely too long pacing these rooms worried about you. So don’t mess with me.” She uncapped a bottle, handed him a pill.

  “What is this?”

  “Pain medication. You left the hospital without your prescription.”

  “Drugs. You brought me drugs. Will you marry me?”

  “Morons,” she repeated, and stalked to the mini-fridge for a bottle of water. “David, where have you been?”

  “Taking a beautiful woman flowers.” He sat back, reaching for the bottle, then sighing when Sophia jerked it out of reach. “Come on, don’t tease a man about his pharmaceuticals.”

  “You’ve been with a woman?”

  “Having coffee,” he said, “with the woman who saved my life. I took her some flowers to thank her.”

  Considering, Sophia cocked her head. He looked exhausted, a little sweaty and very romantic with his arm in a sling and the shadows under those deep blue eyes.

  “I suppose that’s all right. Is she pretty?”

  “I told her she was the second most beautiful woman in the world, but I’ll happily bump her down to third place if you give me that damn water. Don’t make me chew this pill, I’m begging you.”

  She handed over the bottle, then crouched in front of him. “David, I’m so sorry about this.”

  “Yeah, me too. The kids are okay, right?”

  “They’re fine. Worried about you, but reassured enough that Theo’s starting to think it’s pretty cool that you got shot. Not everybody’s father . . .”

  “Honey, don’t do that to yourself.”

  “I won’t. I’m not.” She drew a deep breath. “Anyway, Maddy was kidding about the bullet last night. She said something to you about keeping it? But she’s into it now, according to my mother. Wants to study it.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “They’re great kids, David. Probably comes from having a father who’d think of buying flowers for a woman when he felt like something recently scraped off the sidewalk. Come on, let’s get you into bed.”