“If not for the people who rescued me, my heart would be beating inside another woman’s body,” she concluded. “My corneas would be on another person’s eyes. My kidneys filtering someone else’s blood. I have to pay it forward. The Illuxit Foundation Victim’s Fund will be an even bigger, wider net, to catch the ones who fall. Let’s spread that net of hope and healing together.”
The applause was loud and prolonged. Everyone stood. Several hands reached up to help her down from the stage, but she stepped straight into Sam’s arms. He hugged her, tightly. “Crushed it,” he whispered. “Beauty, brains, and a heart of gold. What a huge turn-on.”
That approval from him gave her a sweet little rush, before Hazlett scooped her up and flung her to the crowd again. She was passed from hand to hand, hugged and squeezed by tearful ladies who told her how moved they were, how brave she was. Checked out by keenly interested men, all of whom swiftly retreated from Sam’s menacing stare.
All except for Hazlett. His hand came to rest against the skin of her shoulder, left bare by the plunging back of her gown. It fixed there, hot and damp, as if it were stuck to her. She wanted to shrug it off.
It took hours to work through them all, but finally she stood at the dessert buffet, sipping an espresso and wobbling on those treacherous spike heels Nadine had sent. Hazlett kissed her hand, with a courtly flourish. “Excellent,” he whispered.
“Your mother would have been so proud,” Renato said, beaming. “You played that crowd. Completely in control, and yet completely open at the same time. I was more moved than I can express.”
She stuffed a sharp comment behind a tight nod and smile. Sam spread her wrap over her shoulders.
“The crowd is starting to thin,” he said.
“Thank God,” she replied. “I’m dog tired.”
Sam passed her a small plate piled with lemon cream profiterole and tiny, chilled cannoli. The sugar gave her a welcome jolt.
“So, my dear,” Renato said. “Not to pressure you, but have you given some thought to my invitation to Villa Rosalba?”
“I haven’t had a second to think. Could I come the following day?”
Renato looked regretful. “Actually, no. I’m closing up the Villa Rosalba and going back to Milano the day after tomorrow, and Michael, too, has pressing business in London. I hope you can come tomorrow.”
Shit. “I would love to see the Villa Rosalba,” Sveti said. “Mama talked about it so much in her letter. Especially her last one.”
Renato looked out at the sea, dabbing beneath his eyes with his finger. “Ah, did she,” he said, voice muffled. “What did she say?”
“She described the sculpture garden in the atrium,” Sveti said.
Renato smiled wistfully. “Yes, she loved the sculpture garden, and the views. And the maze. We spent hours strolling in it sometimes.”
Her hairs prickled up, a chilly shudder. “A maze? Really?”
“Yes, planned in the eighteenth century, by my great-great-great grandfather. The maze amused her. Do you still have her last letter?”
Sveti hesitated, jealous of her treasured letter. The only thing remaining of her mother that was exclusively hers. “I have it somewhere, in my things,” she hedged. “It’s not the kind of thing you throw away.”
“Certainly not. I know it is presumptuous, but do you suppose, if you find that letter, that you might let me read it?”
She hesitated, suddenly speechless. Mind blank. Her mouth opened and closed, no words forming. “Ah . . .”
“Don’t answer.” Renato waved his hand. “It’s just . . . forgive me. I miss her. Even seeing a letter she wrote. It would mean so much to me.”
“Do you read Ukrainian?” Sveti asked.
He blinked at her, as if the question made no sense. “Ah, no.”
Sveti swallowed, to calm her throat. “I understand your desire to see it,” she said. “But I don’t have it with me here in Italy. I’m sorry.”
Sam shifted closer, leaning on the railing. He was staring out at the moonlight on the sea, but she felt the focused quality of his attention. He knew that she had Mama’s letter. That she was lying.
“Ah, there he is,” Renato said sourly to Sam. “Mr. Petrie. The faithful pit bull.”
Sam lifted his espresso cup in salute. “Woof, woof.”
“You never left her side the entire evening,” Renato commented.
“Guilty as charged,” Sam said.
“I suppose the size of your gift to the foundation gives you a feeling of entitlement to the young lady’s attentions?”
Sveti caught her breath at the guy’s blatant, needless rudeness. She braced herself for an unpleasant scene, but Sam kept his cool.
“Not at all.” The gaze he gave the conte was very direct. “The bullet graze I got on my back when those guys tried to kill her gives me that feeling. I bought that feeling of entitlement with blood, not money.”
“Ah, beh,” Renato muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just so.”
“May I ask you something, Renato?” Sveti hastened to change the subject. “And excuse me if this causes you any pain.”
“Of course,” he said. “Ask away.”
“The night that Mama died,” Sveti said. “What was she doing?”
Renato’s mouth tightened, and his gaze slid away. “There was a reception, at the Villa Rosalba. We were celebrating the launch of Milandra, our new cancer care drug line. She went out into the grounds, and never came back.” He passed his hand over his eyes. “There is a footbridge that leads over a gully between one ridge and the next. She was found on the beach below it the next morning.”
Sveti gulped. “What . . . what was she wearing?”
Renato frowned thoughtfully. “It was red,” he said finally. “A long evening gown. Low cut, crystal beading. She looked stunning in it.”
A cold thrill shook her. Sam’s arm slid around her waist.
Hazlett turned from a conversation with someone else to them. “So when shall we expect you tomorrow? Breakfast, lunch? After the ice-cream jaunt that simply can’t wait? Dinner’s fine, too, right, Renato?”
“Of course,” Renato said. “Anytime is fine.”
“We’ll call you tomorrow with the timing,” Sam said calmly.
Hazlett bent over her hand and pressed a long and lingering kiss against it, looking soulfully up into her eyes. “You have destroyed me.”
Sveti tugged vainly on her hand. “Michael. Please. Don’t.”
He let go. “Excuse me. I was overcome. Til tomorrow, then.”
“Or not,” Sam ground out.
She struggled not to stumble over her feet as he towed her away.
CHAPTER 18
The minute they were on the road, Sam let out the throttle, window open. He needed air, after hours of suppressing the urge to crush that groping motherfucker into the slime that he was.
Sveti’s eyes were closed, avoiding the issue. He didn’t blame her. She’d just delivered a piece of emotionally wrenching performance art, followed by hours of hardcore public relations. He’d be catatonic if he’d been called upon to do what she had just done. And brilliantly, too.
But Hazlett felt entitled to place his hand on Sveti’s shoulder and leave it, as if Sam weren’t watching. Under any other circumstances, Sam would have simply removed the guy’s hand. As in, permanently separated it from his body at the shoulder. But fucking up this gig for Sveti would not help his cause.
So he’d swallowed it. He’d felt it burn, like a hot coal, all the way down, and it kept on burning deep inside him. Hazlett saw him staring, and left his hand right where it was, eyes glittering. Arrogant prick.
“Sam?” Sveti said, her voice small. “I’m, ah, sorry about the—”
“Don’t,” he said.
She glanced at him. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t touch it,” he said. “Not tonight. I’m on a hair trigger, and you’re tired, after doing your thing all evening. We’ll save it.”
She was
silent for a while. “Okay,” she whispered. “If you’d rather.”
“Believe me, it’ll keep. I’m not going to forget one second of it.”
She stifled a giggle. “I never thought you would. But I want to know what you thought of everything. Except for, ah . . .”
“Except for your future boss fondling you right in front of me?”
She sucked in air, eyes closing. “Oh, Sam—”
“Sorry, sorry. That just slipped out. I’ll start with the good news.”
She glanced over, surprised. “There’s good news?”
“Yeah,” he said. “The good news is you. You’re fucking amazing, Sveti. You could sell ashes to the demons of hell and have them put their e-mail addresses down on the mailing list for more.”
“Oh.” She sounded startled. “Wow.”
“It’s not like I’m surprised. I saw your TED talk.”
“You did?” She gaped at him. “Really?”
He tried not to laugh. Only about a hundred times. “Of course. But seeing you do your thing, in real time, in that dress? I’m in awe.”
“Don’t overdo it,” she said. “So? What’s the bad news?”
“You asked me for it, okay? Let the record show.”
“Recorded,” she assured him. “Let ’er rip.”
“Okay,” he said. “This whole thing stinks.”
Sveti stared out into the night for a minute. “That assessment doesn’t astonish me anywhere near as much as you might expect.”
“I hate it,” he said. “More than before. In Portland, the idea of leaving Helen Wong’s snakehead thugs thousands of miles behind us made some kind of sense. After today, it no longer does.”
“So you did think I was hallucinating,” she said. “About the guy asking me about Mama, in Ukrainian. About The Sword of Cain.”
She didn’t sound pissed, but he still felt defensive. “We all thought it,” he said. “You can’t blame us. Anyone who’s experienced violent trauma knows how it fucks with your head for years afterward. There’s no shame in it, no reflection on your worth. Is that clear?”
“Sure,” she said. “But you still should have listened to me.”
“I do nothing but listen to you!” he exploded. “I’ve been chasing you around like a fucking idiot for years, trying to listen to you! You should have started talking to me sooner!”
“That, Sam, is an argument for another day.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice.
“Besides, if you’d convinced us, you would not be here now!” he went on. “We would all be sitting on you, at Cray’s Cove! The selling point of this Europe trip was that you were safer thousands of miles away from the snakeheads, and that it would be healthier for you to be distracted by conferences, prizes, parties. A fancy new job.”
“And you,” she said.
“Sure. I’m the Great Distractor. But things look different now. The guy who, unbeknownst to you, hooked you up with your new boss and would-be sugar daddy is the very guy your mom was sleeping with and partying with the night she parted company with a bridge. That’s bad.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about sugar daddies, Sam.”
He clenched his teeth. “Can we stay on topic?”
“I’m not the one who strayed from it,” she said crisply. “There’s the dress, too. Renato says she really did wear a red dress that night.”
“Are you going to show Renato your mom’s letter?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
Sveti lifted her chin angrily. “It’s mine,” she said. “She sent it to me. He already had his piece of her, and it was more than I got. I’ll keep my pathetic crumbs for myself, thanks very much.”
“So you’re keeping it from him out of spite?”
“I am not spiteful!”
“Don’t get mad,” he soothed. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t show it to him either, but that’s just because I think he’s a dickhead. But if you’re not being spiteful, then letting him see it takes nothing from you. So what’s the real reason you’re not showing it?”
She could not answer. He waited for a moment.
“It’s fear, right?” he prompted. “You’re afraid.”
“Of course I’m afraid,” she snapped. “I’d be a fool not to be!”
“Then listen to your fear,” he said fiercely. “I’m afraid, too, and I’m listening to mine. This whole thing, Sasha, Misha, Hazlett, Renato? It smells like a huge, festering clusterfuck in the making. The smart thing to do now is to back away, very slowly.”
Sveti let out a slow sigh and shook her head.
“I think we should just keep driving,” he said. “Straight to the airport. I think you should disappear. Now. And for a long time.”
“Disappear to where?”
“Hell, I don’t know. A cabin on a lake somewhere in the ass end of nowhere, in British Columbia, maybe. They say Ecuador’s nice.”
She choked on a giggle. “Oh, please. Doing what?”
“Playing house,” he proposed, rashly. “With me.”
She shot him one of those scared, big-eyed glances.
“Come on,” he urged. “It would be fun. Can you cook?”
She shook her head. “Cornbread, from a box. I’m terrible.”
“We’re set, then. I love cornbread.”
She shook her head, laughing. That silly Sam and his romantic notions. But he was alarmed at how quickly the fantasy of the cabin on the lake took him over. He could practically feel the wind off the lake, ruffling the water. Mountains soaring up, aching mountain greens stark against a vivid blue sky. Cup of coffee in one hand, the other clamped around Sveti, all soft and relaxed in her bathrobe, as they sat on the steps, watching hawks wheel in the sky in the morning. Oh, hell yeah.
“I can’t back away from this, Sam,” she said.
The fantasy shattered. He tried to exhale his frustration, but it filled right back up again. “What a surprise,” he muttered.
Sveti rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. “Try to understand,” she pleaded. “I need to find Sasha. He’s in trouble, and I want to talk to him, and hold his hand. Before something horrible happens to him, too.” Her voice began to wobble. “Something horrible always happens.” She shot him a wet-eyed, blazing glance. “Not you, Sam. Don’t you dare let anything happen to you! Understand?”
“Perfectly,” he said. “I’m tough. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not leaving until I see my friend. And my mother’s grave.”
Sam swallowed his reply. If she wanted to bring out the big guns, there was nothing to do but shut the fuck up and be good.
They drove back to the hotel in silence. Once in their suite, he shed the tux and pulled on sweatpants, without turning on the lights. Moonlight streamed through the windows, shining on the sea, lighting up the swirling patterns of mosaic tile. He sat on the bed and waited while she did her interminable girl stuff in the bathroom.
The door finally opened. Light spilled in. Sveti was silhouetted in the door, just long enough for him to get slammed by the heart-stopping effect of her body in the brief nightgown of cream silk. The swell of her breasts tented it out, the jut of her nipples barely denting the fine fabric. Lots of smooth, perfect leg extended below the lacy trim.
Then she turned the light off and stepped into the room. She paused until her eyes adjusted. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he didn’t need to. He felt her breath. Was tuned to the frequency of her every cell.
She moved across the geometrical blocks of moonlight that slanted across the floor, glowing like a ghostly angel. She wafted through shadow, then through light, then shadow, then light again. He stopped breathing when she was about ten feet away, but jarred his lungs back into movement by sheer force, so that he could smell her.
That sweet cloud of warmth and mystery, moving inexorably toward him. So momentous, so desirable. So fucking dangerous.
She stopped, close enough to him to touch. “I�
�m sorry, to be such a big problem for you,” she said.
He grunted. “Not sorry enough,” he muttered. “Don’t sweat it. I’m not a victim. I volunteered for this crazy shit. I could leave at any time.”
“But you don’t. Because you’re a good guy.” She laid her hand on his chest. Right over the bullet scar.
He stifled the bark of laughter. No, I don’t go because you finally let me touch you. Nah, that wouldn’t fly. He’d score more points letting her think he was a righteous dude rather than a sex-crazed lug with hormonal brain melt. He seized the hand that lay on his chest, kissed it, and rubbed it against his cheek. He’d shaved, for the sake of the gala, but he already had a bristly rasp on his cheek mere hours later.
“I couldn’t have gotten through that speech if you hadn’t been there,” she said. “The state I was in, after meeting the conte. I was a mess. You held me together.”
He kissed her hand again. “I’m glad if I helped, but it was all you,” he said. “You rocked it. You were amazing.”
She laughed, bitterly. “Yeah, people love it when you rip out your heart and throw it to them as a blood offering.”
He laid his hand over her heart, fingers splayed over the thin silk. The steady throb of her heart pulsed against his palm. “It’s still going strong in there,” he said. “Plenty of heart. You could fling it to the hungry masses all day long and never use it up. The more you throw, the more you’ll have. It’s as big as the sky. If you trust it. Just . . . trust it.” He kissed her hand again. “Please, Sveti.”
Moonlight glinted on a tear that flashed down her cheek and dropped on her breast, blistering the flawless satin.
Christ, he never learned. He just kept hammering at her.
“Sam,” she whispered. “Just take this for what it is. Don’t ask it to be something else, something more. Because I just . . . I can’t.”
“Why not ask for more?” he asked. “You’re brave, talented, brilliant. You’ve done amazing things. You could learn this. To be with me, to trust me. To let me love you. A person can learn anything.”
In For the Kill Page 27