He lifted the gold anklet out of the case and was back in Lazio the night he’d confronted Rosa Gisela Bareschi at her parent’s palazzo.
“Carlo, you are back!” Rosa jumped on him. “Oh! Now you can help me decide.” She hurried to the sofa strewn with silks. “For the celebration at the palace, royal green hangings?” She wrapped her curves in silk. “Or imperial red?”
He hadn’t moved from the doorway. Her smile slipped by degrees as she waited for his answer. He turned and closed the salon’s double doors. By the time he turned back to her, she’d dropped both bolts of silk at her feet.
He advanced on her and she sat down heavily on the silks covering the sofa. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything is the way it should be.”
Rosa started to rise from the sofa, but he put a hand on her shoulder.
“Carlo, you are scaring me.” She took his hand, and held it to her cheek. “Tell me what has happened. We can…”
“We cannot.” He wrenched his hand from hers. He had never hit a woman, but his fist flexed. He moved to a chair, he would not let her control his actions any longer.
Placing the ring on a low table in front of them, he waited for her reaction.
Rosa’s golden skin turned a sickly yellow. She stared at the symbol of il Dragone. “What is this?”
“Don’t you remember? I told you I would return with a gift.”
“Wh-where did you get it?”
“The same place you received your anklet. For services rendered?”
Rosa’s eyes filled with tears, but he was not feeling any mercy.
He stood. “This is not all I have returned with. You will soon hear that il Dragone has been captured. They are here, in Rome. Luciano is dead, but you can give him back his ring when you are reunited in Hell.”
Falcon dropped the anklet back in the travel case.
Her features were a bit more refined and her skin not as dark as in eighteenth century Lazio, but the gypsy princess was back.
He walked out of the bathroom and through Miles’s suite.
Tara was here to kill two birds with one stone. She had not only come for the Stradivarius, but for her rival as well.
“Angel!” One glance around her bedroom told him it was vacant. He checked the sitting room, and on the way out turned off the wall stereo playing the classical music he’d thought was Angel playing earlier.
The maid came through the bedroom door, holding an armful of linens.
“Caroline, where’s Angel?”
Caroline made up her face as if there were a bitter taste in her mouth. “She’s gone horseback riding with that American girl.”
“When did they leave?”
“Oh, about a half hour ago,” Caroline said, and went into the bathroom.
Falcon retrieved his gun from his room, and headed to the stables. They couldn’t have gotten far.
Chapter Seventeen
Weary of Tara’s bald comments, Sacha had almost kept her word to cancel today’s tour. But that might have been a warning to the Jeweler.
Armand had said that they must go on as before. That meant she had to befriend Tara. If all went well, the Jeweler was not going to leave the Cardiff estate a free woman.
Sacha glanced at Tara as they trotted along the winding path of the River Wharfe. “Do you love him?”
Tara did not pretend she didn’t know whom Sacha referred to. She laughed. “Of course not.” Tara smiled apologetically. “Well, maybe not as much as you do.”
Sacha nodded, pleased that Tara had come clean. For all of Tara’s public make-out sessions with Miles, the woman still wanted Armand-Todd. She had to be careful which name she used around the jewel thief.
“But he’s made his choice, hasn’t he? He never looked at me that way.”
Sacha turned her face toward their destination before she flushed with the insane pleasure filling her at Tara’s words.
Tara nudged the gray mare Penelope up close beside her. “Don’t feel too badly for me. Your brother is just as qualified to fill the void our Todd left within me. But maybe you already know that. Brothers and sisters living together, doors left ajar. You must have been curious about each other. Accidents do happen, don’t they? I mean, I never wore much to bed when I lived at home.”
“And do you wear much now? I mean, anywhere?” She mimicked Tara’s California Girl accent and couldn’t help eyeing the short shorts the thief wore for the ride. The bitch couldn’t help being seductive even when there were no men around.
Tara chuckled, low and throaty. “Oh, he must love your temper.”
She manufactured an apologetic smile much like the one Tara had given her a moment ago, and decided to call a truce.
Sacha took the lead over the cobblestone bridge. “So, Miles found you on the slopes. What a stroke of luck.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Mum’s the word,” Sacha said.
“I’d seen him at dinner a few nights earlier and overheard him talking about the slopes. I bribed the instructor to put me on his team.”
“You naughty girl,” Sacha murmured as they reached the lookout.
Her chestnut mare Ella knew the way up and she gave the horse full rein. She climbed down off Ella and walked across the rock shelf to the edge.
“I’ve always believed that you have to go after what you want, if you really want it,” Tara said behind her. “To hell with convention, don’t you agree?”
Sacha turned and took a step back. “I suppose.”
Tara hadn’t made a sound getting off Penny to come and stand behind her. She was so close that Sacha could feel the jewel thief’s body heat.
Tara looked down at the River Wharfe. “Otherwise, it’s like dying a virgin.” She moved to stand closer to the edge. “If you were to die right now, what would you regret having never had the opportunity to do?”
Sacha watched Tara, who didn’t seem to want an answer as she went on, staring at the craggy banks on the opposite side of the river.
“I would regret not doing everything in my power for love.” Tara turned, smiling. “So, what’s this?”
“Our lookout. Well, it isn’t actually a lookout. The overhang makes a hidden space under the waterfall below. My brothers and I used to climb down those steps. They lead into the rock nook.” Sacha pointed to the other side of the ledge where the rocks were shaped into crude steps, probably by some fisherman ancestor. “We’d bring flashlights and pretend we were in an underwater cave.”
Tara leaned over the edge. “Good girl.” Her voice was filled with praise. “It must have been very claustrophobic in there.”
“What did you say?”
Tara was watching her closely. “Well, I imagine it must be.”
Tara couldn’t know about her claustrophobia, unless Muddy told her. But, why would he? No, it was just a coincidence.
Penelope had stopped munching on grass shoots between the rocks and was stamping her hoof where she stood side by side with Ella.
Sacha moved away from the edge. “Let’s get down from here. Penny likes to keep moving.”
“Look there, a huge fish!” Tara called, leaning further over the edge. Her riding boots were almost in the flowing water.
“Brown trout,” Sacha said. “Careful. It’s a long way down.”
“Blast! My earring came loose,” Tara said in a British accent that made Sacha want to push her over the edge. Giggling, Tara got down on all fours.
Sacha put a hand on Tara’s shoulder. “Wait.”
“It’s right here between these rocks. I can just reach it.”
Sacha turned at the sound of a galloping horse. Horse and rider were too far away to see who approached. They hadn’t yet crossed the cobblestone bridge.
“Help! Help me!”
Sacha swung around.
Tara was gone.
Penny bolted from the ledge, but Sacha couldn’t spare a moment to contemplate the horse’s strange reaction. She ran to the e
dge.
Tara was holding on to the rocks below, water rushing over her. She had fallen over the edge of the waterfall and was half in-half out of the onslaught that poured over the side. Tara would fall thirty feet to her death on the rocks below if she didn’t drown first.
Tara turned her head away from the water. “Please! Don’t let me fall!” The fake British accent was gone as she fought to keep her grip on the water-slick rocks.
“Hold on!” Sacha took off her jacket and wrapped one end around her fist. She bent to her knees at the edge of the waterfall. “Grab on to this!”
Tara’s hand slipped and water gushed over her head. She came back up, sputtering. “I-I can’t reach it! Come closer!” Bits of soil came away from the rocks Tara held onto each time she swung her legs.
Sacha extended her arm further. “Give me your hand!”
“Closer!” Tara cried. “Please!”
“Hang on!” Sacha held onto a rock sticking up out of the water and leaned over the edge.
“That’s perfect,” Tara said, grabbing onto her wrist.
Sacha went headfirst over the edge, arms flailing towards the jagged rocks glistening in the River Wharfe. She screamed and put her hands out to ward off the approaching rocks below.
* * * *
Armand was leaning over the edge. “Angel! Grab my hand!”
She had stopped falling. She must have reached the ledge.
“Don’t look down, Angel. Just keep looking at me, baby. Take my hand.”
Sacha grabbed a handful of earth in front of her. She pulled herself up beside Tara’s dangling legs and grabbed Armand’s hand.
Tara’s dangling legs?
The jewel thief was nowhere near the ledge, which meant neither was she.
Sacha looked down. The ledge was far below them.
She was not standing on anything at all. She was hovering in the air.
Sacha screamed, and started to fall.
Armand hoisted her up and her chest slammed against the rock edge. He pulled her back onto the rock shelf on top of him.
With the wind knocked out of her, soaked to the skin, she hugged Armand hard until it registered that she hadn’t fallen to her death and was not lying broken against the rocks below.
Sacha lifted her head from Armand’s chest. His jaw was working in anger, or relief, or maybe a bit of both. “I stopped the fall. I wasn’t on the ledge.”
“You lied to me,” he said underneath her.
“Tara is going to fall…”
“She will not,” he said through clenched teeth.
Sacha got up. “No! She’s…”
Tara was climbing over the edge of the rock shelf with hand over hand precision, finding small depressions that Sacha knew weren’t there, like a professional rock climber. With hair plastered to her head, Tara wasn’t even breathing hard.
Armand grabbed Sacha’s arm and pulled her to face him. “You leave her to me. Get out of here.”
Sacha could only nod her head. Tara’s blood-chilling screams still sounded in her ears. She glanced at the woman who deserved an award for her performance.
The jewel thief was fretting over the moss stains on her soaked short shorts. Water ran down her shapely legs.
“That was close, eh, what?” Tara grinned at Sacha, the awful British accent back in place.
Armand cursed and started toward Tara.
Sacha had seen enough. The violinist would leave the jewel thief to the assassin, a much fairer fight. She needed time to think about what she’d done, just now and in the past.
Sacha grabbed Ella’s reins, jumped up into the saddle and rode home, remembering.
* * * *
A light passed by under Sacha’s bedroom door.
She’d wanted to talk to Armand alone about what had happened this afternoon at the River Wharfe, but after dinner at the pub he’d disappeared somewhere. She had gone to his room before turning in, but he wasn’t there. Maybe he was in the hallway now.
She opened the door and nearly collided with Miles clad in a terry cloth robe.
Miles motioned for her to keep silent when she joined him in the hall. “Tara’s gone,” he whispered.
“Did they come for her already? Good riddance to bad rubbish…”
“Keep your voice down. I mean she’s not in my bed.” Miles grinned.
“Only a day ago, you vowed to see Tara in prison, but why not have a little fun before they shackle her wrists and cart her off?” Sacha grumbled. “I’m not sure I ever want to go back to the pub. My memory of the place is ruined with visions of Tara all over my dear brother, who is just a man after all, and quite the actor.”
“I only gave as good as I got. Did you hear anything?”
“No, I just saw your flashlight under my door.”
“Call Armand out here, will you?”
“Muddy! He is not in my room! And wipe that look off your face.”
“What look?”
“That ‘you’ll come around’ look. Men. Not even a jewel thief in your midst stops baser instincts from rising to the occasion.”
“Sacha, you’re going to wake up the entire household.”
She stuck her tongue out at him before whispering, “And here I am with my stomach tied in knots. It must have taken me hours to get to sleep.”
“Why are you up now?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Miles gave her a knowing look. “There’s a lot of that going on in Armand’s room, too. Maybe you should compare notes and see if you can figure out why.” She pushed past him down the drafty hall. “Where are you going?”
“To find your American Beauty.” She did not knock on Armand’s door, but flung it wide.
The bed had been turned down, but not slept in. The room was empty as it had been all night.
Guilt assailed her. What had I been about to accuse Armand of? Something that she knew she had nothing to worry about. Armand would never be unfaithful. There was just something about the thought of Armand and Tara together that made her want to fight.
“The vault,” Miles said.
Sacha hurried after him.
Chapter Eighteen
Falcon was accustomed to the dark.
Years of surveillance operations instilled in him a sphinx-like patience. He had turned off the sensor lights illuminating every six feet of walkway through the stone corridors, and now waited in a pitch-black arch that led to more darkness on the other side of the vault entrance.
He’d been waiting an hour in the bowels of St. Clair Manor. The wind whipping through the labyrinth of storage areas and wine cellars reminded him of his search for Angel in the catacombs under La Verità, and his hand flexed over the gun holster.
A beam of light speared the cavernous gloom. No sound of footfalls echoed against the stone floor to give away the nighttime visitor’s intent while the disembodied light approached.
Falcon backed into the murk when Tara stopped before the huge metal door of the safe. She set the halogen lamp down. Her dark brown hair screened the lamp so that fiery light filtered through, reminding him of Rosa Bareschi’s red curls.
Tara took something out of a satchel slung over her shoulder. She placed the device over the electronic keypad on the wall. Within minutes, the instrument decoded the correct combination of numbers, which came up one by one on the display to activate the mechanism within the door.
The door whirred open onto a modern day Aladdin’s cave. There were compartments faced with metal and more electronic keypads were carved into the stone walls. Priceless antiques gleamed in lit wall cases. Gold, bronze and jade were fashioned in shapes spanning several periods of world history. The master thief walked past this bounty to the large glass-topped casements lining the floor in rows. She was looking for something.
Falcon waited until she set her leather bag down on top of a casement before joining her. “Well done.”
Tara swung around to face him. Her shrewd perusal was followed by a regretful sigh. “T
odd isn’t really your name, is it?”
Falcon took her hand out of the bag.
Tara made a deft motion towards his throat but he grabbed her wrist, pressing until the glasscutter fell from her fingers. He twisted her arm behind her back.
“How did you know?” Tara said, struggling against him.
He let her wait for an answer as he checked her for concealed weapons. There was a small pistol she’d somehow managed to tuck into the front of her skintight black pants. He placed the gun on the glass case behind him, and then released her.
Tara eyed the vault door while rubbing her hands together to get the blood circulating.
He leaned back against the glass. “Why don’t you try and make a run for it?”
“You would enjoy that,” she chuckled mirthlessly.
“If you hadn’t gotten greedy you might have made it out of North Yorkshire unescorted.” He took the dragon anklet out of his pocket and held it up. “On second thought, maybe not.”
Tara’s cool façade fell away and her hands dropped to her sides. Whatever her name was, this was no act.
Her stunned, brown eyes looked up into his. “You know who you are.”
Placing the anklet in his palm, he fingered the ruby dragon. “And you are il Dragone.”
She held out her hand for the anklet and he shook his head.
“Here is what I don’t know; how is it possible that these rubies contain blood? How does it give you power?”
“Do you know what you did to me?” she whispered. “My father sent me to a convent. I died there.”
Falcon couldn’t muster any interest in her words. “Answer me.”
Although she couldn’t disguise the hurt in her eyes, her confidence was back. She shrugged. “His blood is our blood.”
“Dragon’s blood?”
Tara quirked her lips and his temper flared.
“Who gave you the order to come here? Was it Ruggiero?”
“There are many Ruggieros. You will never see them coming. And they will come for her.”
Before he knew it, his gun was pressing into her forehead. She didn’t even blink. It’s what she wanted.
Falcon's Angel Page 29