Deadly Memories

by Susan Vaughan

  He hadn’t seen it either. He’d been too busy. Too driven.

  As he’d been doing since they left Mestre, he checked behind them. None of the same boats. Vadim’s informants must have told him Sophie had left the hospital and gone to the villa. He must have something planned. But what?

  There was no rush to get to the safe house. He cut the boat’s speed further. Hell, he wanted to play tourist, too. If he were truthful, savoring Sophie’s joy was half the reason. Checking out the side canals as they drifted along—in case he needed an escape route—didn’t hurt either.

  Jack pointed to an ornate building coming up on the right. “Venice seems to have palaces in every conceivable ornate architectural style.”

  “Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance, they’re all here. Venice was the link to both the East and the West.” Her lips curved in an apologetic smile. “But I’m probably telling you things you already know.”

  “I had no time for sightseeing. Be my guide.”

  She emitted another breathy exclamation. “Oh, look, over there on the left. That’s the Ca’ d’Oro, House of Gold. Ca’ is short for casa. When Venice was a republic, only the duke’s palace could be called a palazzo. When the Ca’ d’Oro was built, it was decorated with gold leaf and lapis lazuli.”

  They bobbed in the chop to admire the pointed arches and elaborate stone decorations.

  Jack scanned the three stories of white-stone facade. “Where’s the gold?”

  “Gone in centuries of decay or stolen, I suppose. The book doesn’t say.”

  “Like everywhere, restoration costs don’t include replacing gold leaf. I’d like to have seen that.” On both sides of the Ca’d’Oro rose church steeples. Bells resounded from one. On their side of the canal, vendors in the fish market displayed their freshly caught wares. “From the sublime to the smelly. What’s next?”

  “So you are interested in Venice.” Grinning, Sophie turned the page in her guide.

  He shrugged and pushed the throttle forward. The boat’s pointed prow cut through the waves as they headed toward the next palace. “Who would not be amazed by this unreal place built on a hundred-plus marshy islands? Even if the city’s sinking, it’s mysterious and ingenious.”

  “It says here there are about two hundred canals and four hundred bridges.”

  “I must’ve crossed half of them the other night. Dead ends, odd corners, twists as intricate as the city’s history.”

  “When you chased the man who attacked me?” A shadow of fear crossed her eyes, but she seemed to shake it off.

  “And when I tried to find my way back. The two people I asked who spoke English told me to just go straight, but there is no straight in Venice.”

  “A nurse told me that on foot you can’t get lost. If you keep walking, you eventually arrive at Piazza San Marco.”

  “All roads lead to St. Mark’s? Maybe.” He slanted her a skeptical glance. “I didn’t have ‘eventually.’ I needed to get to the hospital fast to see that you were all right.”

  Her brow clouded again. “You’re sure this apartment you’re taking me to is secret enough to be safe?”

  Jack reached across her injured arm to squeeze her right hand where it rested on her lap. Even that brief touch coursed heat through his blood.

  He gripped the steering wheel with determination to keep his mind on the job. “Commissario De Carlo set it up through Venice police headquarters, the Questura. You’ll be fine.”

  She seemed to accept his reassurance and turned her gaze to the next building, oddly Oriental with arched arcades. “Ca’ da Mosto is the oldest on the Grand Canal. Byzantine, from the thirteenth century.”

  Jack hardly listened as he checked around them. Her worries had brought him down. Back to reality, where he ought to stay, not sucked in by her flowery scent, her ingenuousness and the scenery. Still no sign of trouble, but he wouldn’t relax again until they reached the San Polo apartment.

  “Here we are at the Ponte di Rialto.” Disappointment that their tourist break was at an end laced her words.

  The Rialto was a building in itself, a stone span over the wide canal. Arcades with arched openings and carved cornices rose above the walkway to strengthen the structure.

  As they passed beneath the bridge, a chill raked down Jack’s spine. His hand went instinctively to his sidearm, but he shook off his nerves. Probably just cold radiating from the massive stone arch.

  He pushed the boat’s throttle forward as they left the bridge behind them.

  When Sophie directed him to their turnoff on the right, Jack steered into the smaller canal and slowed again.

  Not palaces but graceful town houses rose on both sides, houses in pastel shades, some with iron balconies and red-tile roofs. They were set back from the canal and interspersed with walkways and small squares.

  Sophie tucked her guidebook in her handbag and traced their route on the map. “San Polo is a residential and merchant section.” She pointed to a bar where people sat at tiny tables beneath striped umbrellas. “People come from all over Venice to the produce market and the fish market we saw earlier. The ground is higher, safer for banks and other businesses from the acqua alta, the high tide that sometimes floods the streets.”

  “Is all that in your guidebook?”

  Sophie’s soft mouth rounded and her dark eyebrows winged skyward in shock. “No. I…I don’t know how I know that. It just popped out.”

  “The doctors said your memory might return gradually.”

  She laughed. “Does that mean you believe me?”

  Her low chuckle, although with a bitter edge, resonated in Jack’s very bones, but he wasn’t ready to concede the amnesia. “Just conversation.”

  “Wish I remembered something more helpful, like what secrets Sebastian Vadim might have told me.”

  He couldn’t reply. The old grief and anger clawed inside him and stole his power of speech. His hatred had acquired a new dimension, one that included Sophie. The mere thought of Vadim’s hands on her, of his involving her in dirty business, fired rage that could boil over without firm control.

  “Are you all right, Jack?”

  Sophie’s gentle question freed him from his funk. One by one he relaxed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Fine. Just fine. Anxious to get you to the safe house.”

  She nodded, but her pleated brow said she didn’t buy it.

  Following Sophie’s directions, he turned left, then right, then another left to an even smaller canal.

  “There it is, Fondamenta Mariani.” Sophie indicated the street that ran alongside the canal. The yellowish brick house at the end on the left was their destination.

  Jack maneuvered the craft toward the finger docks in front of the house. He eased it into an open slip. A set of stone steps from the docks led up to the fondamenta.

  “Wait here while I check on the house.” Jack gathered up the bow line.

  As he stood up, he heard a familiar ominous noise. Thunk, thunk, thunk of bullets slamming into the boat’s port side. His pulse kicked into high gear.

  He dived back into the cockpit.

  “Sophie, get down!”

  She turned white as paper but complied. She scooted down onto the cockpit floor. “Jack, what was that?”

  No loud reports had shattered the neighborhood peace. The shots had come in rapid succession. His mind flipped through the possibilities. “Gunshots. A submachine gun equipped with a suppressor. Either an AK74 or an H&K MP-10.”

  Professionals? Doubtful. Their aim wasn’t so hot. Or maybe Vadim’s regular muscle with shiny new weapons.

  More silenced shots zinged into the water beside the boat. Tiny fountains sprayed up at the lethal impact.

  Where were they coming from? He couldn’t take time to search. The safe house had been compromised. Without more caliber than his Glock, he couldn’t risk a firefight.

  Protecting Sophie was his priority.

  “We have to get out of here fast.”

  He saw pain etc
h her brow and tighten her mouth. The contorted movement needed to hide below the console did that. If he’d accepted the escort, could he have spared her this danger? Probably not, but damn it, they’d have had backup. No time for recriminations. He had to deal with it.

  Jack turned the key in the ignition to start the engine. He threw the boat into reverse.

  Farther down the canal, another boat motor revved up.

  The attackers?

  A sleek black powerboat with silver lightning bolts streaming back from the prow surged toward them.

  Jack straightened the wheel and shifted to forward. As he jammed the throttle ahead, the motor coughed.

  Damn it, don’t die.

  He eased back slightly. The motor caught and evened out. Slowly he pushed the throttle forward. The powerboat sliced through the water back the way they’d come.

  Jack kept an eye on their pursuers as he flipped open his cellular phone. Familiar profiles in the cockpit. It figured.

  He punched the speed dial. When he heard Leoni’s voice, he barked, “Safe house blown. Bad guys shooting and in pursuit. Vadim’s boys Guido and Petar. Do you copy?”

  He zigged and zagged at each turn of canal and rio.

  Other boat drivers cursed and waved fists at them as they sped by. The wake from the chase boat sent a gondolier scrambling for footing.

  “I copy,” Leoni said. “Got your position on the screen.”

  The black boat wasn’t gaining, but Jack wasn’t widening the gap between them. More bullets riddled the boat’s stern, but none hit the gas tank. Yet.

  He described the black boat to Leoni. Its distinctive markings ought to make it easy to spot. “They know these damn canals a hell of a lot better than I do. I can’t shake them.”

  “If you can make it back to the Grand Canal, you can lose them in traffic.” Leoni paused as if consulting the computer map. “Head south. I’m sending official boats to intercept.”

  “Roger that,” Jack said and disconnected.

  He glanced down at Sophie, still huddled on the cockpit floor. “You okay?” He had to yell over the roar of the motor.

  Her face was a pale oval tilted up to him, but she nodded.

  Jack gave terse directions, slid the map to her.

  “What canal are we on?” she yelled back.

  At the next turn Jack spotted a sign. “Rio dei Megio.”

  “Take the next left. Rio di San Polo leads back to the Grand Canal.”

  “Worth a try.” He sped ahead and swerved around a water taxi. The boat’s spray soaked the driver and his passengers. The man’s fluent curses filled the air.

  “Don’t enter any side canals,” Sophie called up to him. “Some of them are dead ends.”

  Jack sped along on the wider canal.

  More shots hit from the stern. Fiberglass cracked and light covers shattered.

  The thugs hadn’t fallen back, and the heavier traffic wasn’t inhibiting them. But the shots came from a pistol, not a submachine gun. Less obvious to witnesses.

  Jack and Sophie’s boat burst onto the Grand Canal.

  A ferry-sized tour boat churning by forced Jack to wait.

  On their other side, flower-decorated gondolas clustered at a palazzo blocked their turn. Formally dressed people in the slender boats hoisted wineglasses. A white veil floated in the breeze, and the bride wearing it blew Jack a kiss.

  The black boat pulled up behind.

  Guido stood up in the cockpit. He leveled a silencer-equipped pistol at Jack.

  The bride screamed.

  Chapter 5

  From beneath the console Sophie couldn’t see much of what was going on. When she heard a scream, she craned her neck to see. A woman in a bridal gown was pointing behind them in wide-eyed and openmouthed fear.

  Sophie jumped at the thunk, thunk of bullets slamming into the teak decking behind the console.

  Jack hit the deck between the two seats. He crouched low beside the driver’s seat. His lanky body was almost folded in half. “I’m going to try something. Pray there’s enough room.”

  Her shoulder throbbed and her head swam. Fear of Vadim’s men so close dried her mouth. She struggled to focus.

  Jack would save her. She had to believe that.

  Save them. Vadim’s men were shooting at him, too. She had made him a target. Guilt twisted inside her, but she reminded herself that protecting her was his job.

  She had a clear view behind them as Jack propelled the powerboat ahead. Their boat grazed the dock on one side and the tour boat on the other. Sparks shot up from either side, and wood against fiberglass screamed in protest. The wedding party shouted at them, but Sophie couldn’t understand them over the motors’ roar.

  Seconds later they surged ahead of the tour boat. Jack had threaded the needle. Sophie could see the tourists and their guide, microphone in hand, gaping at them.

  But she could no longer see the black boat.

  “They’re gone!” she shouted. Navigating from the floor was flying blind, so she started to push up into her seat.

  Jack sat up and eased back on the throttle. “No, here they come around the other side!”

  Sophie’s head bumped the seat back as the boat surged ahead. Black spots bounced before her eyes, but she blinked them away. She’d be no good to Jack if she didn’t stay alert. Staying low, she slipped into the seat for a better view.

  “Still on our tail,” Jack shouted, half standing, half sitting so as not to be a target, “but not shooting.”

  “Too much traffic,” she said. Vaporetti, tour boats and every conceivable type of private and commercial boat crowded the Grand Canal and lined the docks. “Can you dodge around and duck into a side canal?”

  Jack shook his head. “Got to lead them to the task-force roadblock, er, canal block.”

  Up ahead, on both sides of the broad canal, she spotted the distinctive blue-and-white launches of the Venice polizia. Task-force men and women in vests with Polizia on the back appeared to be monitoring the passing traffic.

  “I’ll get us out of the way. Hope the shooters keep going and don’t see us.”

  Sophie crossed mental fingers as she gripped her seat with her free hand.

  She watched as Jack zoomed around a slow barge. He hung a sharp left just behind a vaporetto traveling the opposite way and hugged its right side. They were then hidden by the water bus, three times as big a craft.

  “Can you tell what they’re doing?” Jack said as he fought the wash from the vaporetto.

  Sophie winced as she twisted in her seat, but she ignored the pain. She spotted the sleek black boat continuing its same course. The fast reversal of direction must’ve confused their pursuers. “They don’t see us. They’re slowing and idling. Oh, Jack, if they look this way, they’ll find us!”

  He pulled back on the throttle and steered into a slip at a finger dock. With a taller boat in the next slip as cover, they could observe their pursuers by peering around the stern.

  “They shouldn’t see us here,” he said.

  Sophie watched, her breath backed up in her throat, and prayed the men wouldn’t spot them.

  The two thugs in the lightning-striped black boat apparently didn’t notice that other traffic had been cleared from that swath of the canal. They stood and searched for their targets.

  Official launches with blue lights flashing converged on them. Loudspeakers blared warnings and guns were drawn.

  The gunman hesitated only a second before he fired at the police. Sophie could see smoke and sparks spitting from the silenced submachine gun.

  Then the boat swung around. At the helm, the other thug made for a hole in the police circle.

  The police fired back. The volley echoed off the surrounding buildings in a deafening barrage, and the stench of cordite filled the air.

  Flames shot up from the black boat’s stern. The two men turned around, terror on their faces.

  Sophie recoiled in horror as she grasped what was about to happen, but she couldn
’t look away.

  A volcano of fire and debris obliterated the black boat. Smoking fiberglass shards and other flaming debris rained over a wide arc.

  An hour later Jack stood on the dock at the Palazzo Balbi. A plaque on its painted-brick facade announced that Napoleon had witnessed regattas from the balcony. Since the Balbi was now the seat of the Veneto regional government, officials readily allowed the task force access. Sophie was resting in an employee lounge inside the government building, a secure area.

  He stared across the water to where the task force and salvage divers still worked. Their maneuvers barely registered in his brain. Instead he pictured Sophie’s face.

  She intrigued him. Hell, she drove him nuts.

  The face of a Renaissance angel and a body built for sin. Wide mouth, lush curves and skin like wild honey. Not for the first time heat pooled in his groin. He sucked in a breath. Yeah, she was an erotic dream, but she was more.

  Her injuries and her artless demeanor gave the impression of fragility, but today she’d remained cool under fire. She hadn’t panicked at the flying bullets but read the map and shouted directions. She hadn’t fallen apart after the explosion either.

  She had to be exhausted and aching. She’d swallowed one of her pain pills when he’d found her a place to rest. Not once did she complain or berate him for leading them into a trap. Strength lay beneath the delicate exterior.

  Exotic beauty, strength, fragility. Just thinking about her triggered potent heat he hadn’t experienced since Miami. Not since—

  Not in a long time.

  The beast of hatred and guilt that prowled inside him left no room for softer feelings. Sometimes the pain was more than he could bear, but he couldn’t let it go until he had Sebastian Vadim by the short hairs.

  Justice depended on staying on track. He owed it to them. He owed it to himself.

  Sophie was temptation he could ignore. Temptation he had to ignore.

  In a secure safe house he would have other officers there as buffers. He wouldn’t be alone with her.

  If Sophie was faking amnesia, after the chase would’ve been the time to admit it, to pretend recovered memory. She did neither. Maybe the doctors were right. She really didn’t remember.