by Nora Roberts
“That’s what they all say.” The slow, goofy grin he gave her told Sophia the medication was doing the job. “Your mother can’t keep her hands off me.”
“Good drugs, huh?”
“Really good. Maybe if I could lie down for a minute.”
“Sure. Why don’t you try it on a large flat surface?” She levered him up.
“Sophie? Pilar’s not all twisted up about this, is she?”
“Of course she is. But she’ll get untwisted when you get home where she can fuss over you.”
“I’m okay, just a little fuzzy in the head now.” He chuckled, leaning heavily on her as she led him to the bedroom. And would’ve sworn he was floating. “Better living through chemistry.”
“You bet. Almost there.”
“I wanna go home. How’m I gonna pack one-handed?”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll pack for you.”
“You will? Really?” He turned his head to give her a kiss on the cheek and missed by three inches. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Here we go. All the way down. Easy. I don’t want to hurt—Oh! I’m sorry,” she said when he yelped.
“No, it’s not the arm. It’s—in my pocket. The box. Rolled on it.” He groped for it, swore and felt only mildly embarrassed when she reached in to retrieve it herself.
“Buying baubles, are we?” She flipped the box open, blinked. “Oh my.”
“I guess I should tell you, I bought it for your mother. Gonna ask her to marry me.” He pulled himself up a bit on the pillow and slid straight down again. “Got a problem with that?”
“I might, seeing as you proposed to me five minutes ago, you fickle bastard.” A little teary-eyed, she sat on the side of the bed. “It’s beautiful, David. She’ll love it. She loves you.”
“She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Beautiful, beautiful Pilar. Inside and out. Second chances all around. I’ll be careful with her.”
“I know you will. I know it. The year’s not half over,” she said quietly. “Everything’s moving so fast. But some things,” she added, “some things are moving in the right direction.” She leaned over, kissed his cheek. “Close your eyes for a while. Papa.”
When Tyler got back, she was making minestrone. It always knocked him back a step to see her working in the kitchen.
“He’s here,” she said without looking around. “Sleeping.”
“I told you he could take care of himself.”
“Yes, he did a wonderful job of that by getting shot, didn’t he? Stay away from that soup,” she added as he leaned over the pot. “It’s for David.”
“There’s enough here for everybody.”
“It’s not done yet. You should drive up to the vineyard. You can stay at the castello tonight. I’m having files messengered over. I can work on the computer here.”
“Well, you worked all that out, didn’t you?”
“We’re not here to sightsee.” She walked out of the kitchen.
He took a moment to make sure his temper was on a leash, then followed her into the small office. “Why don’t we just have this out?”
“Nothing to have out, Ty. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“I know why you didn’t want me to come.”
“Really?” She booted up the computer. “Could it be that I have a great deal of work to do in a short amount of time?”
“It could be that you’re pissed off, betrayed, hurt. Those things slice at you. And when you’re hurt, you’re vulnerable. Defenses go down. You’re afraid I’ll get too close. Don’t want me too close, do you, Sophia?” He took her chin so that she had no choice but to look at him. “You never did.”
“I’d say we’ve been as close as it gets. And it was my idea.”
“Sex is easy. Stand up.”
“I’m busy, Ty, and just not in the mood for a quick office fuck.”
He hauled her up fast enough, violently enough, to upend her chair. “Don’t try to boil everything down to that.”
Moving too fast, she thought again. Too many things with too much speed. If she wasn’t at the wheel, how could she maintain the right direction?
“I don’t want any more than that. Anything else is too much trouble. I said I’ve got a lot on my mind. And you’re hurting me.”
“I’ve never hurt you.” He eased his grip. “Maybe that’s part of the problem. You ever ask yourself why you end up with the kind of guy you usually end up with?”
“No.” She tossed her chin up.
“Older guys. Slick guys. The kind who slide right out the door when you give them the boot. I’m not slick, Sophie, and I won’t slide.”
“Then you’ll just end up with rug burn on your ass.”
“Like hell.” His smile was lethal as he lifted her onto her toes. “I don’t slide, Sophie. I stick. You better take some time and think about that.” He let her go, strode to the door. “I’ll be back.”
Frowning after him, she rubbed her arms. Big son of a bitch had probably left bruises, she thought. “Don’t rush on my account.”
She started to drop back down in the chair, changed her mind and kicked the desk. The petty gesture made her feel marginally better.
Why didn’t the man ever do what she expected him to do? She figured he’d make a show at the public relations deal, then slither away, bored brainless. But he’d stuck, and that thought made her kick the desk again.
They’d acted on some pure, healthy animal lust, she thought and picked up the chair. Had some stupendous sex. She’d expected him to cool off in that area, too. But no.
And what if it was true that she was a little worried because she didn’t show any signs of cooling off, either? She was used to certain patterns in her life. Who wasn’t? She’d never had any intention of developing serious feelings for Tyler MacMillan.
God, it was infuriating to know she had.
Worse, he’d been exactly and perfectly right in his rundown of her. She was pissed off, she did feel betrayed, she was feeling hurt and vulnerable and she wished Tyler was six thousand miles away in California. Because she wanted, so desperately, for him to be right here. Within easy leaning distance.
She wasn’t going to lean. Her family was a mess. The company she’d been raised to run was in trouble. And the man who would very likely become her stepfather was lying in the next room with a bullet hole in his shoulder.
Wasn’t that enough to worry about without thinking about her fear of commitment?
Not that she had a fear of commitment. Exactly. And if she did, Sophia decided and sat down again, she’d just have to think about it later.
. . .
He slept for two hours and woke feeling like a man who’d been shot, David supposed. But one who’d lived through it. Now that he was sitting up and being fed minestrone, he decided he could start thinking again.
“You’ve got your color back,” Sophia told him.
“Most of my brain, too.” Enough to realize she was playing with her soup rather than eating it. “Feel like filling me in?”
“I can tell you what’s been done, or what I know. I don’t imagine I can fill in all the gaps. They’re looking for Donato, not only the police but a private investigator hired by my grandparents. They’ve interviewed Gina. I’m told she’s hysterical and claims not to know anything. I believe her. If she did know something, and Don dumped her and the kids in the middle of this mess, she’d scramble to make trouble for him. They haven’t been able to identify the woman he’s been seeing. If he’s in love with her, as he told me, I imagine Don took her along for company, so to speak.”
“Rough on Gina.”
“Yeah.” She pushed away from the table, tired of pretending to eat. “Yeah. I was mildly fond of Don. Could barely tolerate Gina and felt even less warmly toward her progeny. Now she’s deserted by her cheating, stealing, possibly murderous husband. And . . . damn it, I can’t feel for her. I just can’t.”
“It’s not impossible she pushed Don financially so he started to d
ip.”
“Even if she did, he’s responsible for his own choices, his own actions. Anyway, it’s not that. I just can’t stand her. Just can’t. I’m a horrible person. But enough about me.”
She waved that away, picked up a small hunk of bread to nibble and tear at while she paced. “It’s assumed that Don had funds stashed, funds he bled from the company. Enough to run on for a while, I suppose, but to be frank with you, he’s just not smart enough to stay underground.”
“I agree with you. He had help in all of this.”
“My father.”
“To a point,” David said, watching her. “And after he died, maybe Margaret. Their take in this, if they had one, was minimal. Not enough to convince me that either of them had a starring role.”
She paused. “You think they were used, rather than users?”
“I think your father might have simply looked the other way. As for Margaret, she was just finding her rhythm.”
“Then she was killed,” Sophia said quietly. “My father was killed. It could all circle back to this. Somehow.”
“Possibly. Still, Don isn’t coolheaded enough, isn’t long-thinking enough to have set up the kind of scam that slipped by the Giambelli accountants for several years. He was the inside man, with the connections. But somebody drew the blueprint. Maybe the mistress,” he added with a shrug.
“Maybe. They’ll find him. Either sunning himself by the surf on some tropical beach or floating facedown in it. While they look, we put the pieces back together.”
She came back, sat. “Donato could have tampered with or hired someone to tamper with the wine.”
“I know.”
“I’m having trouble with the reason. Revenge? Why damage the reputation, and thereby the fiscal security, of the company that feeds you? And kill to do it?”
She paused, studied his bandaged arm. “Well, I guess he’s shown he has no real problem with that area. He could have done it all.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Killed my father. Rene’s a high-maintenance woman, and Dad needed plenty of money. He knew he was being phased out of Giambelli. He’d burned his bridges with Mama, and I’d let him know he’d set the ones between us smoldering.”
“He was responsible for his own choices, Sophia.” David used her words. “His own actions.”
“I’m resigned to that. Or very nearly. And I can imagine what those choices might have been. He could have pressured Don for more, a bigger cut, whatever. It wouldn’t have been out of character for him to have threatened blackmail, in a civilized way, of course. He might have known about the tampering, about poor Signore Baptista. Then Margaret because she wanted more, or because he was afraid she’d find out about the embezzlement. You because he realized there was no way out.”
“Why steal the paperwork?”
“I don’t know, David. He couldn’t have been thinking rationally. I suppose he thought you’d be dead, he’d have the files and that would be that. But you weren’t dead, and it must have gotten through his head the files weren’t going to hang him. He’d already hanged himself. Meanwhile, we have another public relations nightmare to get through. Ever think about ditching us and running back to La Coeur?”
“Nope. Sophia, why don’t you try eating that bread instead of shredding it?”
“Yes, Daddy.” She winced at the petulant sound in her own voice. “Sorry. Jet lag and general nastiness. Why don’t I go deal with that packing for you? Since you insist on leaving rather than staying in my sparkling company, you’ve got a very early flight tomorrow.”
He was sweating like a pig. The terrace doors were wide open, and the cool air rising off Lake Como swept into the room. It didn’t stop the sweat. Only turned it to ice.
He’d waited until his lover was asleep before he’d crept out of bed and into the adjoining parlor. He hadn’t been able to perform, but she’d pretended it hadn’t mattered. How could a man maintain an erection at such a time?
Perhaps it didn’t matter, really. She’d been thrilled with the trip, with his sweeping her away to the elegant resort on the lake, something he’d promised dozens of times in the past and had never fulfilled. He’d made a game of it, given her a ridiculous amount of cash so she could charge the room to her card. He wasn’t known there, he told her. He wanted it to stay that way. What would he do if someone mentioned seeing him there with a woman other than his wife?
He thought that had been clever. Very clever. He had almost believed it a game himself. Until he’d seen the news report. Seen his own face. He could only be grateful his mistress had been in the salon. He could easily keep her away from newspapers, from the television.
But they couldn’t stay. Someone would see him, recognize him.
He needed help, and knew only one source.
His hands shook horribly as he dialed New York. “It’s Donato.”
“I expected it would be.” Jerry glanced at his watch, calculated. Giambelli had the three A.M. sweats, he thought. “You’ve been a very busy boy, Don.”
“They think I shot David Cutter.”
“Yes, I know. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t— I didn’t.” His English was failing him. “Dio. You told me to get out of Venice right away when I told you what Cutter said. I did. I never even went home to my family. I can prove it,” he whispered desperately. “I can prove I wasn’t in Venice when he was shot.”
“Can you? I don’t know what good that’s going to do you, Don. The story I get is you hired a trigger.”
“Hired a . . . what is this? They say I hired someone to shoot him? For what reason? The damage was done. You said so yourself.”
“Here’s how I look at it.” Oh, it was getting better, Jerry thought. Better, sweeter than he’d ever imagined. “You killed two people, probably three with Avano. David Cutter,” he continued, amused by Donato’s panicked sputter. “What’s one more? You’re royally fucked, pal.”
“I need help. I have to get out of the country. I have money, but not enough. I need a—a—a passport. A new name, a change of my face.”
“That all sounds very reasonable, Don, but why tell me?”
“You can get these things.”
“You overestimate my reach and my interest in you. Let’s consider this conversation a severing of our business association.”
“You can’t do this. If they take me, they take you.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. There’s no way to connect me to you. I’ve made sure of that. In fact, when I hang up the phone, I intend to call the police and tell them you contacted me, that I tried to convince you to turn yourself in. It shouldn’t take them too long to trace this call back to you. That’s fair warning, given our previous relationship. I’d hit the road and hit it fast.”
“None of this would’ve happened— It was your idea.”
“I’m just full of ideas.” Serenely, Jerry examined his manicure. “But you’ll note, I never killed anyone. Be smart, Don, if you can manage it. Keep running.”
He hung up, poured himself a glass of wine, lit a cigar for good measure. Then he picked up the phone and called the police.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
With a mixture of regret and relief, David watched Venice recede.
“There’s no reason for you to haul yourself out of bed and tag along to the airport this way,” he told Tyler as the water taxi plowed its way through early-morning traffic. “I don’t need a baby-sitter.”
“Yeah, I’m getting a lot of that lately.” Tyler sipped his coffee and hunched his shoulders against the cool, damp air. “It’s starting to piss me off.”
“I know how to get on a plane.”
“Here’s the deal. I put you on at this end, they pick you up on the other end. Live with it.”
David took a closer look. Tyler’s face was unshaven, his expression foul. For some reason it perked David up. “Rough night?”
“I’ve had better.”
“You going to be able to get back okay? Your
Italian’s pretty limited, isn’t it?”
“Kiss ass.”
David laughed, gently shifted his shoulder. “There, I feel better now. Sophia giving you a hard time?”
“She’s been giving me a hard time for twenty years. It’s stopped spoiling my day.”
“If I offer you some advice, are you going to pitch me overboard? Remember, I’m wounded.”
“I don’t need any advice where Sophia’s concerned.” Despite himself, Tyler frowned over at David. “What is it?”
“Keep pushing. I don’t think anyone’s ever kept pushing her. Not the male of the species, anyway. If she doesn’t kill you for it, she’s yours.”
“Thanks, but maybe I don’t want her.”
David settled back to enjoy the ride. “Oh yeah.” He chuckled. “You do.”
Yeah, Tyler admitted. He did. Which was why he was risking her considerable wrath. She didn’t like anyone touching her things. Didn’t like being told what to do, even—no, he corrected as he packed up her little portable office, especially— when it was what was best.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He glanced up, and there she was. Still damp from the shower and sending off sparks of temper. “Packing your saddlebags, partner. We’re riding out.”
“Get your hands off my stuff.” She rushed in, snatched back her laptop, pressing it against her like a beloved child. “I’m not going anywhere. I just got here.”
“I’m going back to the castello. Where I go, you go. Any reason you can’t work there?”
“Yes. Several.”
“And they are?”
She hugged the computer tighter. “I’ll think of them.”
“While you’re thinking, pack the rest of your gear.”
“I just unpacked.”
“Then you should remember where everything goes.” With this indisputable logic, he strolled out.
It irritated her. He’d caught her off guard and when her brain was still mushy from a sleepless night. It annoyed because she’d been planning on making the drive north and spending at least a day or two working out of the castello.