by Cara Marsi
Anna was at the counter when Lexie exited the elevator and passed the front desk. The pretty clerk held a newspaper, studying it with concentration. A frown creased her brow. When she saw Lexie, her eyes widened.
She dropped the paper onto the counter. “Signorina Cortese. Another terrible tragedy. I am sorry.”
Lexie stopped. “What are you talking about?”
“Your friend, he is dead. It is in today’s paper.”
Dominic dead? Lexie stumbled as if she’d been dealt a sharp blow to her heart. She pressed a hand to her midriff to stop her stomach’s quake. With her other hand, she grasped the edge of the wooden counter.
“Signorina, you didn’t know? I am so sorry for your loss,” Anna said. “Please, I help you.” She ducked through the opening cut in the counter and reached for Lexie. “Please to sit.”
Unable to think, barely able to breathe, Lexie let Anna lead her to a chair. Several guests came in and gave them startled looks, but didn’t stop.
Dominic. That vibrant man. Dead? It couldn’t be. His wound had looked like a superficial cut. She should have insisted he go to the hospital.
“The paper,” Lexie managed to say, holding out her hand.
Anna grabbed the newspaper and handed it to Lexie, pointing to a grainy picture. “See, here is where they found the body, by the Tiber, and here is a picture of him from when he was alive. They say he had a police record. And he seemed so nice.”
Lexie perused the picture. A nervous laugh, filled with relief, bubbled up in her. She let the paper drop to the floor. Anna watched her with mingled pity and confusion.
“I don’t know that man,” Lexie said.
“But, signorina, he is the man I told you about. The man who came in the other day to return something you left at Trevi.”
Inhaling calming breaths, Lexie stood. “I don’t know the man in the picture. What’s his name?”
Anna picked up the paper and read, “Giovanni Giampietro. Thief, with a long police record.” She tapped the paper and looked up. “He told me his name was Angelo, but I’m sure this was the man looking for you.” She lifted her shoulders. “Of course, someone like you couldn’t know a criminal like him. But he seemed very simpatico that day he was here.”
A fragment of memory nudged Lexie. “Let me see that again, please.”
She took the paper from Anna and studied it. Despite the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the windows, chills skimmed Lexie. She’d seen this man before. The recollection washed over her like water through an aqueduct. Her knees weakened and she sank onto the chair again.
“I get you a drink,” Anna said.
Lexie’s mind raced—who was that man and why had he been looking for her?
Anna went into the office and came out a few minutes later with a bottle of mineral water.
Lexie drank the water greedily as if it could rinse away her questions and give her the answers. It couldn’t be, yet she was sure the man in the paper was the middle-aged man who’d bumped into her in the leather shop. The man with the flat black eyes. The same dead eyes that had stared from behind the ski mask in the alley last night.
Stay calm, Lexie. Stay calm. She didn’t understand any of it, but she knew her feeling of being watched and followed wasn’t her imagination. Who would help? Who would believe her? Dominic.
Digging into her purse, she pulled out her phone, and with shaking fingers, punched in Dominic’s number. After several rings, his voicemail answered.
“Dominic, it’s Lexie. Something’s happened here. I need your help.”
Anna stood wringing her hands. “What is wrong, signorina? You said you didn’t know him.”
“I don’t.” She wouldn’t stand around here wringing her hands like Anna. “Where’s the nearest police station?”
****
“But you don’t understand,” Lexie said to the short, stubby police officer, the only one in the stationhouse who spoke good English. She stood in front of his desk, shifting from one foot to the other. He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head, the picture of studied unconcern.
She wanted to jump across the desk and shake him till he believed her. With an effort, she tamped down her annoyance. “I’ll go over it again.”
She began counting off on her fingers. “First, the feeling I’m being followed started the day I went into the leather shop and bought this purse.” She held up the green bag, then dropped it back on the desk. “Someone tried to steal my shopping bag with the purse, but I got it back.”
Letting out a sigh, she continued. “Then my hotel maid is killed after I gave her my old purse. My hotel room is broken into and trashed and there was the attempted mugging last night. And, in today’s paper, there’s a picture of a man they found dead by the Tiber. I’m sure I saw him in the leather shop the other day.”
She leaned over the desk, staring into the cop’s watery blue eyes, trying not to flinch from the odor of his stale sweat. “This same man was at my hotel asking for me the night the maid was killed. I think it’s obvious I’m being targeted for some reason.” Stepping back, she glared at the policeman, who rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to disguise his grin.
“Look,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “There has to be a connection with all these things. One mugging, maybe. It happens. But with everything else that’s happened? These are not coincidences.”
The cop straightened his squat body. “Signorina, I fail to see the connection. Because you have a feeling of being followed, doesn’t mean you are. You must give us proof. Many men look alike. You must be mistaken about the man in the leather shop and the man at your hotel.” Smiling at her the way a person would a silly child, he settled back in his chair.
“Don’t patronize me.”
He frowned. “Patronize? What does this mean?”
“Damn it! Will you listen to me?” She looked over the crowded squad room, or whatever they called it here. The other policemen, who’d been straining to hear her, quickly turned away, pretending to be busy.
God, these Italian men could be so infuriating. She wasn’t hysterical, damn it. Her friends would laugh at that description of the usually levelheaded, organized, responsible Lexie.
She could understand how she must sound to this cop. But a feeling or an instinct told her all these events were linked. Why anyone would target her she had no idea. But there were too many coincidences to ignore.
“Signorina, please if that is all, I have much work to do.”
She whirled on him. “Isn’t there anyone else here I can talk to? I know what I feel.”
He shook his head.
A thought jumped into her mind. Dominic would have reported last night’s mugging attempt. She leaned over the policeman’s desk, resting her palms on a pile of papers. “You should have a report here of the attempted mugging last night. The man I was with said he’d report it. Check for me. You’ll see I didn’t make that up.”
He started to roll his eyes, but at her glare, apparently thought better of it. Punching in a few keys on his computer, he studied the screen. Finally, he looked up. “I see the report about the incident at Trevi, but nothing else. Sorry, signorina, there is no report about last night.”
Lexie froze. “No report? Check again. It has to be there.”
Muttering what she suspected were curse words, he punched in more keys, then shaking his head, he said, “Nothing, signorina.”
Dominic hadn’t reported the attempted mugging. Maybe he hadn’t had a chance. He’d been hurt. He was probably sleeping in and would report it later. That had to be the answer.
Dread rose in her again, an unexplained fear.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When they’d finally let her see a minor official at the American Consulate, he’d been of no help, telling her in bored tones the attempted mugging and the hotel break-in were problems for the local police. Giving her the same condescending attitude as the policeman, he’d added that she had no proof of anyt
hing.
He was right. She had no tangible proof. Lexie walked out of the consulate and headed to the nearby piazza, thoughts leaping through her head. The police and the official at the consulate had dismissed her as another hysterical female. And Dominic hadn’t returned her call.
Dominic. He hadn’t reported the attempted mugging either. Was he in more pain from his injuries than he’d let on? Or could he be involved in this mess? Whatever this mess was. She knew next to nothing about him.
Hoping to outpace her thoughts, she picked up her stride. Dominic had acted strangely yesterday when she’d told him about Maria’s murder and the break-in at her hotel room. His whole attitude had hardened, reminding her of a predator stalking prey.
Then there’d been the mugging on the way home. But Dominic had pushed her out of the way of the scooter. If he’d been part of whatever was going on, he wouldn’t have tried to save her. Or would he?
She stopped. What the hell was she thinking? Motor scooters out to kill her? Thugs out to rob her? Dominic part of some evil plot against her? Maybe she’d been on vacation too long. Or maybe she watched too much CSI on TV. She was losing it. Nothing made any sense. She squeezed fingers over her temples, fighting a full-blown headache. Noticing a gelato shop across the piazza, she decided a kiwi melon gelato would settle her nerves. She hurried to the shop, her high heels clattering on the cobblestones.
“A flower for the pretty lady?” The sing-song voice halted Lexie in mid-stride. She turned to see a skinny, deeply tanned teenage boy holding out a red rose.
She shook her head and continued walking. He followed, and so did the smell of sweat clinging to his body. The quicker she moved, the closer he got. She wrinkled her nose and tried to ignore the fear that began to blossom in her mind.
“But the lady is so pretty. She needs a rose.” His voice grated on her already overcharged nerves.
“Look,” she said, whirling to face him. He almost plowed into her. “If you don’t quit harassing me, I’m calling the police.” Fat lot of good they’d do.
His gaze went to her purse, her new, expensive purse. She clutched it closer. “Leave me alone.”
With a shrug, he walked away. A breeze, like a whisper, feathered her face and the hairs on her nape prickled against the collar of her denim jacket. Something made her look across the piazza. The young boy who’d been harassing her was engaged in animated discussion with an older man, a short, bullish man. They seemed to be arguing. The boy held out his hand as if asking for money, but the man knocked his hand away and stalked off.
Warnings rang in Lexie’s head. She’d been sure the young boy was after her purse. Had he been working with the ominous-looking older man? Rome was plagued by pickpockets and muggers, but this was ridiculous. Everywhere she went, it seemed someone wanted to rob her.
She looked around the piazza, crowded with tourists and natives enjoying the sunny spring day. But she felt alone, cold, as if she had her own personal black cloud sprinkling her with rain. She’d lost her appetite for gelato. Pulling her jacket tight and holding her purse against her chest, she strode away.
****
Dominic was waiting for her at the hotel, pacing in front like an agitated tiger. Across the congested street, she felt his power. He was unlike any banker she’d ever known.
Dressed in black tailored pants and white, impeccably styled linen shirt, he could have stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. But Dominic possessed a sexual magnetism and vibrancy no mere picture could capture.
He hadn’t seen her yet. She stayed rooted to the spot and drank in the sight of him, noticing he was walking normally. The cut on his leg apparently wasn’t serious, thank God.
As if he felt her staring, he turned slowly, lifting his gaze to lock with hers. Pleasure and heat flared in her. She had to be careful. He hadn’t gone to the police about the mugging attempt. And if her feelings were right about being followed, he could be involved. He had hidden facets. Shoulders squared, and smiling despite the churn of unanswered questions, she crossed the street. Dominic rushed to meet her, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the curb as a motor scooter bore down on them.
“What is it with these scooters?” she asked, smoothing her jacket and hair as she watched the bright red scooter with the helmeted woman driver, her filmy dress fluttering, disappear up the street.
“They’re like pesky bugs. You must know how to evade them.” He smiled. “It takes practice.”
Still holding her hand, he led her to the hotel, moving aside to let others through the door. Drawing her away from the busy entrance, he turned to her and cupped her shoulders. His smile faded. “Lexie, what’s happened?”
The concern in his warm chocolate eyes began to melt her doubts. Of course he had nothing to do with the strange events of the last few days. Her imagination was as out of control as those bothersome motor scooters.
And yet, she really didn’t know him.
She flattened her palm on his chest. His shirt was soft and smooth and warm to the touch. His muscles flexed under her fingers. “Are you okay after last night?” She looked down at his leg and back to him. “How is your leg?”
He stepped away from her and waved a hand. “See? I walk fine. No problem. It was a cut. Nothing more.”
Lexie curled her hands at her sides, resisting the urge to draw him close again. Concentrate, Lexie.
“I went to the police,” she said. “You didn’t report the attempted mugging last night.”
His head snapped back. “You went to the police?”
“Yes, I did,” she said in a tight voice. “And that’s more than you did.”
He reached for her. His fingers, warm and gentle, pressed into her arm. His eyes softened. “I slept later than I’d intended. I’d planned to report the mugging first thing this morning, but we had an emergency at work. I’ll report it today.”
She held his gaze. Could she believe him? He looked sincere. Lexie didn’t know what the hell, or who the hell, to believe any more.
“I tried calling you,” he said. “But I got your voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. I would have come here sooner, but I couldn’t get away from work until now.”
“I didn’t hear the phone ring.” She pulled her phone from her purse and flipped it open. “The battery is dead again,” she said. “This damn global phone has the weakest battery.”
“I am here now,” he said. “What is wrong?”
She stuffed the phone into her bag and glanced down the street, mustering her thoughts. Would Dominic dismiss her like the cop and the consulate worker? She’d have to find out. She swung her gaze back to him. “There was something in the paper this morning.”
He moved closer. “What was in the paper?”
Suddenly, that prickly feeling was sweeping over her again. Looking nervously around, she saw only the usual crowds of tourists and office workers scurrying past. “Can we talk somewhere else?”
“Your room?” he asked.
Did she imagine the huskiness of his voice? Probably. After the way she’d acted last night, practically begging him to kiss her, she didn’t want to set herself up for a repeat. She shook her head. “Somewhere more public.”
He laughed softly, then took her hand. “Come with me.”
Walking hand-in-hand with Dominic, she forced herself to relax. A voice in her brain urged caution. But she had no fears when she was with him. Later, she’d try to figure out why.
They walked past a newsstand and a shop selling ceramic clocks and turned down a narrow side street. Her first week in Rome she’d decided she’d buy one of the quirky clocks before she left. Her time to leave was fast approaching. She wouldn’t see Dominic again. Pushing aside her strange sadness at the thought, she quickened her pace.
Her favorite gelato stand, where she’d bought way too many cups of kiwi melon, was nearby. But they didn’t stop. The sweet scents of sugar and fruit that wafted over the street made her stomach rumble. They soon entered the Piazza della R
otonda where the Pantheon stood.
“Come,” he said, “into the Pantheon.”
They walked through the opened massive bronze doors into the coolness of the ancient building. Familiar scents of incense and wax permeated the marble columns and drifted over them. Lexie immediately felt calmer. A few tourists milled around, studying the marble statues and tombs and admiring the beautiful lines of the building that had once housed pagan gods and now was a Catholic church. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the spectacular open dome in the roof, shooting beams of light over the colorful marble floor.
Dominic led her to an altar where an icon of the Madonna and Child looked down on them. The Madonna seemed to be staring directly at Lexie, as if she could see into her soul. Maybe she could, Lexie thought, vowing to attend church more often. She needed all the prayers she could get.
“What has happened?” Dominic asked.
Not sure how much to tell him, she hesitated, choosing her words. Taking a breath, she plunged in. “They found a body today by the Tiber, a middle-aged man.”
A harsh gleam lit Dominic’s eyes. “Why are you concerned about that? It was probably a mob hit. Nothing to do with you.”
She studied him. Despite his offhand words, his body had tensed when she’d mentioned the slain man. The dark cloud of doubt hovered over her again.
“I’m worried. I’m afraid it might concern me.”
Frowning, he cupped her elbows, pulling her closer, then released her. His gaze scanned the room, as if he expected someone to jump out from behind one of the marble pillars. “Why would it concern you?” His eyes cut into hers like chips of ice.
She tilted her head toward his. His strange attitude wouldn’t intimidate her. “I think I’ve seen the dead guy before, at the leather shop when I bought my purse. And I think he was the same man who tried to mug me last night.” Tightening her shoulders, she drew a deep breath. “And he was at my hotel asking questions about me the day my bag was snatched at Trevi.” There, she’d said it. Let Dominic dismiss her as the others had. It didn’t matter.