Another man cursed in French. “All in?”
“Come on! Come on!” yelled the British man.
They heard the car engine gun.
The reception went fuzzy. Voices clear or not so as the men of different nationalities spoke to each other.
Lane ran out into her living area and came back with a notepad and pen. We’re listening to him being abducted?
She nodded in agreement.
Lane wrote, He left his phone on?
Again she agreed silently.
Wonder if he has a GPS on it? Lane wrote.
He’d better, she scribbled on the pad.
Lane motioned to himself and then that he was going out. To find help. To find another phone.
Meanwhile, Isabella sat in growing fear as she listened to the men of Octo abduct Arturo Franzoni.
Chapter Six
“He’s gone,” she told Lane, frozen in shock. And fear for her friend. “I heard the engine of the car as it drove away.”
Wild to comfort her, he came to her and took her cold hands in his warm ones. “We’ll get him, Bella. Do not worry. I promise we’ll get him back.”
“I must go to Rome to investigate this.” She pushed away the covers and swung her slim legs over the side of the bed.
At that moment Lane’s own cell phone rang. He picked it up and flipped it open. “Yes?”
“Have you discussed this with Isabella?” Maddie’s familiar voice all business even though Lane had wakened them around two a.m. Texas time. No hello. Just straight to the point.
“No. Yes.” He gritted his teeth. “Isabella’s close family friend, Arturo Franzoni, a member of the cabinet here, was abducted from his doorway and she heard the whole thing. He’s the head of La Guardia di Finanza, responsible for customs, art theft, and banking for Italy.”
“Holy hell.” Maddie sounded grim.
“Also, there was a purse at his front door just like the ones left at the museums. I think they planned to snatch him and blow up his house as a warning to others.”
“Well, that certainly fits right into the rest of this.”
Lane watched Isabella carefully push herself off the bed, pull a robe from the closet and belt the sash tightly at her waist. She was pale but steadier than she’d been a minute ago, and listening to his end of the conversation.
“Listen.” He walked out of the room to continue the call. “Isabella’s insisting on going to Rome to look into this and the bomb threat there.”
“But the G8 ministers are already assembling in Paris,” Maddie protested.
“There isn’t going to be an attack until they’re all in the same room,” Lane pointed out logically. “If we get there tomorrow we’ll still have plenty of time. And we may pick up more information in Rome.”
“All right,” Maddie told him with reluctance. “I’m going to tell myself you’re using good judgment here, Lane. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Maddie, for what we’re paying her we need to believe in her instincts. And you need to believe in mine.”
He snapped his phone shut and turned to find Isabella looking at him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For believing that I know what I’m doing and standing up for me to Maddie.”
Lane shoved his cell phone in his pocket and pulled Bella into his arms. God, she was so soft against him, those lush breasts like clouds of cotton against his chest. He leaned his cheek against her hair and inhaled her scent. Lane Hallowell had been with more than his share of women in his lifetime but none of them had affected him with such cataclysmic impact. None had seared themselves into his soul the way Isabella Sebastiani did.
“From the moment I met you,” he murmured, “I knew you were what Nemesis needed and what I needed. Nothing’s happened to change that.”
“We need to get moving, then. We have a lot of territory to cover if we’re going to be in Paris by tomorrow.”
He cupped her cheeks. “And we’ll get it done.” He took her mouth in a scorching kiss, his cock hardening and pressing against his fly, his balls tingling. With great effort he pulled himself away. “Okay. Now we can get ready.”
* * * * *
Lane leaned against the wall of the Italian government office and watched Isabella in yet another heated discussion with Emilio Umberto, Arturo Franzoni’s vice minister for finance.
“I assure you,” she told him, “the agency I work for is treating this with the utmost priority. And Signore Franzoni is an old family friend, as well. Trust me, we are doing everything we can.”
The man looked from her to Lane, panic still flashing in his eyes, his plump little body vibrating with tension. Because Arturo Franzoni was now not attending the G8 conference, Umberto would take his place. “I want him found. Very quickly.”
She and Lane nodded. In the hours since she and Lane had arrived in Rome, they has been to Arturo’s house, questioned his wife and the maid, questioned everyone at his office, and Isabella had disarmed the explosives in the purse left at the Franzoni doorstep. She’d also neutralized the one at the Villa Borghese and Lane worried she was running on the edge of nervous energy.
It had been a long, stressful day for everyone, waiting for word from the kidnappers and trying to find any clues to who they were. Lane had been on the phone constantly to Nemesis headquarters in Texas, Dan working his international contacts and Maddie searching on the computer. Now Lane and Isabella were in Umberto’s office, waiting for preliminary results of forensics reports from the scene of the kidnapping. Fortifying themselves with cups of rich Italian coffee, they were listening once more to the tape of the phone call that had come in just moments before, exactly at ten a.m. local time.
Minister Franzoni is safe. For the moment. But his continued good health depends on your ability to act quickly. The G8 countries must move immediately to freeze all assets of the immoral Kopf Industries. If you are too weak to prosecute these criminals then we must take action. They must be stopped. When this is announced on international television the minister will be released. You have forty-eight hours to act. Octo has spoken.
They all stared at each other.
Lane frowned. “If Octo is giving the G8 forty-eight hours to freeze the Kopf assets, that means they want it done before the meeting begins.”
“And that voice is the same voice as the message we listened to in Florence,” Isabella said. “If they don’t even bother to disguise the voice then they don’t care if we catch them. Are they crazy? They could kill Arturo at any moment.”
“They’re not going to kill him,” Lane said quietly, setting his cup and saucer on the desk.
“And you know this how?” Umberto asked.
“He’s their ace in the hole. They need him alive or they have no bargaining chip. But if we don’t at least give the appearance we are acting, then I’m afraid not just Franzoni but all the G8 ministers will be killed when they gather in Paris.”
“Just who is this Octo?” Umberto asked. “I have never heard of them.”
“Nemesis is working at warp speed to discover the identities.” At that moment his cell phone rang. Looking at the readout, he excused himself and walked to the corner to take the call. When he finished he sat down again, his heart very grim.
“What is it?” Bella asked. Then she clenched her hands. “Not about Arturo.”
“No.” Lane shook his head. “That was Dan. He’s found out a little information on Octo from one of his former contacts.”
“Well?” she asked impatiently.
“They are brand new,” he told her. “Rumor has it they are young hotheads fed up with the fiscal manipulations of Kopf Industries. The theory is each of them has faced financial ruin in some form because of that. One of the suspected members of Octo is a Frenchman by the name of Liebermann. His family was robbed by the Nazis of their family art treasures during the Occupation in the forties. Liebermann is an activist to get all that art back from current owners
, who are, by his view, illegally retaining the works. So this may be a connection to the story that the heads of Kopf own many pieces of art stolen by the Nazis during World War II.”
“Dios mio!” Umberto exclaimed.
“Indeed.” This from Isabella. “If that is true, then they have an emotional desire for revenge as well as a practical one. For generations many families have tried to obtain proof that the art these people display—and often lend to museums—is actually stolen and should be returned.”
“Yeah,” Lane agreed, “but governments have been reluctant to rattle the cages of people with enormous wealth who wield tremendous power. If that’s what these people want, you’ve got generations of anger that has built up to this point. The manipulation of the subprime mortgage market that precipitated the ruin of many banks and businesses is just the launching pad for this attack.”
Emilio Umberto spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Then what can we possibly do? My government will never agree to these demands. And I don’t think the other G8 countries will, either.”
“But fortunately they’ve united to engage Nemesis to act for them,” Lane told him. “I think Signorina Sebastiani and I need to check in to our hotel so we can make some phone calls. Nemesis will work with the G8 representatives to craft some kind of statement that will hold these people off until we can find Minister Franzoni and also neutralize any threat to the upcoming conference.” He looked at Isabella. “Because of high security, Dan is certain members of Octo cannot get into the building where the meeting will be. But he also seems to think any other members of Octo will be hidden somewhere along the arrival route of the ministers to the conference. Hotheads like this will want to view the results of their handiwork.”
“Let’s hope for lots of them,” she agreed. “If we can get our hands on any of them we can find the others. But right now we need to do whatever we can to secure Arturo’s release.”
He rose from his chair and held out his hand to Umberto. “You know where we’re staying if you need to reach us. And we have your phone numbers.” He slid a Nemesis business card across the smooth wooden surface of the table. “If you get any more telephone calls, report it to this number. Ask for Dan Foreman. He and his wife, Madison, are coordinating everything from the home office.”
The man looked at the card. “I shouldn’t call you?”
Isabella shook her head. “They’ll have information we might not have yet. Call them. They’ll get in touch with us.” Bella stood quickly. “You know we must be in Paris tomorrow.”
“Sì. La Guardia di Finanza has authorized one of its jets for your transportation,” Umberto told them. “All we need is your required departure time.”
“We’ll call you.” Isabella held out her hand. “We will get Arturo back,” she assured him. “I promise.”
* * * * *
Isabella stood at the window, looking out at the streets of Rome, nightlights twinkling against the velvet sky. They’d chosen a quiet little place called The Mediterraneo. Isabella usually stayed there whenever she was in Rome, favoring the easy walk to the train station, the Coliseum and the Forum as well as several consulates. She loved its old-world charm and the deep, dark mahogany furnishings. They had a magnificent breakfast buffet served in a room surrounded by Italian cut glass windows, but regretfully she knew she’d have to pass on it this time. Their early departure would only give them enough time for flaky pastries and strong coffee.
On any other occasion she’d be ecstatic to be here in this seductive hotel in the city of romance. Now, however, she was consumed with worry for her friend and the foreboding of impending disaster.
Lane came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “That was Dan on the phone. Umberto contacted him. There’s been another phone call, but this one was from Franzoni.”
Isabella turned quickly. “Is he free? Is he safe?”
“No, sweetheart, but he says he’s not being mistreated. He just repeated what we heard in the first call. Dan said it sounded as if he was reading from a script.”
“He probably was. I hope you’re right thinking they can’t afford to kill him.”
“He’s just a bargaining chip to let us know they mean business. Remember one of the last things he said on his call with you was they wore balaclavas. That means he can’t identify them, so if we comply with their wishes they have no reason to kill him.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.” Lane turned her so she faced the window again. “He thinks they have a lead to someone in Octo. He’s still working his contacts and he’s been talking to Adam. He and Nicole will meet us in Paris tomorrow.”
“I’m so worried about Arturo.” She leaned back against him, loving the hard warmth of his body.
“Everyone knows he’s a priority,” Lane assured her. “We’ll get it taken care of.”
“And there’s still the matter of Kopf Industries,” she reminded him. “Just because Octo has decided to use terrorist means to attack them doesn’t mean there isn’t something there to investigate.”
“But none of the G8 governments wanted to rattle that powerful cage,” Lane reminded her. “I think when this particular crisis is resolved Nemesis may be contracted to dig into the three men who own it. We can do it quietly, out of the spotlight and without worrying about diplomatic breaches of etiquette.”
“I know. But right now I just feel so helpless and I hate it.” She laughed and there was a touch of hysteria in the sound. “Give me a good bomb to dismantle any day.”
“Not this day.” Lane nibbled her earlobe and traced a line along the column of her neck with the tip of his tongue. “No new reports of any bombs since the one at the Franzoni residence, thank god.”
“Waiting is the worst of it. I just wish I could remember where I’d seen a bomb like these before. I think it’s very important.”
“Quit trying so hard and it’ll come to you.”
“I want to be doing something but there’s nothing to do until we get to Paris. Maybe we should have left tonight.”
“Tonight you decompress,” he told her. “The conference isn’t for forty-eight hours yet and not all the ministers have arrived. You need to be at your sharpest in case they manage to plant any explosive devices.”
She sighed. “You’re right. I know you are. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off.
“Maybe I can help you work off some of that nervous energy.”
His hands slid down to her breasts, fingers tweaking her nipples through the silk of her blouse while his tongue continued to dance along the sensitive skin of her neck. He cupped the weight of her breasts in his palms while his fingers continued to play with the stiff peaks.
Isabella closed her eyes and sighed, letting the warmth of his touch seep through her. As he worked her taut nipples and rubbed her breasts she felt the anxiety slowly easing from her body to be replaced with a different kind of tension. He continued to pay attention to her neck and the spot behind each ear that sent shivers through her. Deftly, he opened the buttons on her blouse, tugged the garment from her skirt and eased it from her body.
His body tightened against her back when he disposed of her bra and her breasts stood free in the lamplight. His cock was a thick ridge pressing against her buttocks through the fabric of his trousers while he rubbed and kneaded and pinched and teased.
She was getting wetter by the minute, a deep throbbing resonating through her body from her womb, the walls of her pussy fluttering with hunger and need. A hum of satisfaction sighed from her mouth and Lane’s deep chuckle vibrated against her shoulder.
“You are so damn responsive, Bella. It’s a wonder I can ever keep my hands off you.”
Swiftly he unzipped her skirt and let the fabric pool at her feet on the floor, leaving her in just the whisper of material that was her lacy thong.
“What you do to lingerie should be considered illegal,” he murmured. “I look at you and I want to throw you on the bed and fuck
you senseless.”
“Not a bad idea,” she said, breathless as one hand slid down her tummy over her mound to find her wet, swollen folds and her aching clit.
“But then I wouldn’t get to do this.” He took her clit between two fingers and squeezed gently. “Or this.” One long finger slid the length of her slit, rubbing the slick flesh. “Or this.”
Abruptly he moved his hand, turned her to face him and held her gaze while he slowly licked her cream from his fingers. The sight of it was so arousing a fresh surge of liquid drenched her and the throbbing in her womb increased in intensity.
“Taste yourself on me, Bella,” he growled, and captured her mouth with his.
His kiss was hungry, demanding, dominating. His tongue lapped at the seam of her lips and they parted for him, allowing him to thrust inside. Every flick of his tongue on her inner surfaces was like the touch of a live wire, leaving licks of flame heating her.
With his mouth still fused to hers, he placed his hands beneath the globes of her ass and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. He positioned her on the edge with her legs hanging over and eased the thong down and off. Then spread her thighs wide and bent her legs so her feet were planted on the edge of the mattress, his hungry gaze on her exposed pussy.
Tremors raced through her as the heat of his gaze swept over her.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, and reached down to trace the line of her slit from end to end. Again he licked his finger, slowly, teasingly, before reaching down to touch her again. “And delicious.”
He dropped to his knees, spread the lips of her pussy and closed his mouth over her clit.
Isabella nearly rose off the bed at the jolt of electricity that raced through her.
“Lane!” she gasped, and fisted her hands in the coverlet to anchor herself.
He ignored her whimper of pleasure and pulled at her clit with his lips, sucking it into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue. His fingers held the lips of her pussy wide for his pleasure as he ate at her clit and drew hard on the throbbing bundle of nerves.
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