Nasar nodded, his lower lip thinned in distress. “Of course. His Highness is very eager for me to sign both of your contracts.” He looked at Coco and Grant in turn.
Ba da bing. Well, there’s the other shoe dropping. She’s hired by them, too.
“And therefore, I will do so today. As planned. But only immediately after you hear our problem and after you both agree to help us in spite of it.”
Coco fell back in her chair and turned to Nasar. In profile, she still looked like a young girl to Grant. Up-turned nose, full mouth, high cheek bones, lovely chin. Except at this news, she was frowning at Nasar. “Please, describe what troubles you.”
Grant shifted his attention to the emir’s cousin.
The man who had appeared so congenial before, now let his features fall to raw despair. “The day before yesterday my house in Qunitar, the old one which we are replacing with the new facility, was broken into. The security alarms were cut.” He glanced at Grant. “We knew they were old and outmoded, but this…this theft we had not anticipated.”
Grant shook his head. “Regrettable. Everyone thinks they are safe, until they learn how vulnerable they really are.”
Nasar sighed. “So true, Mr. Warwick. We knew—my cousin, Jamal and I—that this particular item would need the protection of modern security procedures and technology. That is why we endeavored to hire you and your company, Mr. Warwick. That is why we wanted you, Ms. Dalton, to aid us in photographing all the treasures in our collection. For documentation. For publicity. But also for secure possession.”
Grant knew Coco’s skills lay in capturing front-line scenes not ancient documents and artifacts. Why would take this job? But Grant left that line of inquiry for later. Right now, he had to cut to the chase. “Sir, what did they take?”
“A twelfth century poem,” Jamal told him, his brown eyes dark with sorrow.
“The original from a famous Sunni poet,” Nasar continued.
“It speaks of The Prophet’s journey to the Far Mosque,” Jamal explained.
Coco fell back in her chair. “Muhammad’s journey to the Al Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem.”
“The third most important holy place in Islam,” Jamal added.
Grant wanted particulars. “Describe the poem that’s missing, please.”
“Egyptian parchment. Rare. I have the dimensions and a black and white photograph taken about ten years ago. I have also the complete text translated and its provenance. It was once, you see, in the Baghdad museum. We bought it from Saddam’s government before the American invasion in 1990. To protect it from harm.”
Grant nodded. “You were wise to secure it from the Iraqis. If we’d continued with that first war, we would have gone into Baghdad.”
“Thank you. I am glad you see my point,” Jamal replied.
Nasar looked at Grant. “We are most eager to sign this contract and have your advance team secure the building. We have a suspect and according to our police, he flew into Venice yesterday. We are here to talk with Italian police. So you can see, I need your protection services quickly. I want no more thefts and I would like to sign these contracts now.”
“I am ready,” Grant said. “Tell me how you see Miss Dalton here fitting into our work with you.”
Nasar smiled at Coco and this time the expression was one of great familiarity. “We have known each other many years, yes, my dear? Since her father served as the American ambassador to us when she was a young girl. I have great faith in her abilities and she suggested herself to do this work for us. Gracious of her. We are most grateful to her, too, for recommending you to us, Mr. Warwick.”
That’s why she’s not shocked I’m here. She planned it. He’d tan her tight little ass once they were out of here. But now, he concentrated on Nasar’s face, keeping his mouth firm and his words kind. He flashed her a grin. “I’ll convey my own sentiments to her after our meeting.”
“No need for that,” she told him with a graciousness borne of years in polite circles. But her lashes fluttered and she turned away from him with too much speed.
The ache in his guts lessened. Joy mixed with regret and the only thing he wanted to do was get out of here and get her alone.
The formalities dragged on.
But minutes later, the two of them had signed multiple copies of their individual contracts and they were bidding goodbye to their hosts.
She hung back, chit-chatting with Nasar about their “old days” together in Qunitar. Not wishing to delay, Grant left first.
He took the stairs at a fast clip, fury nipping at his heels as he descended the staircase. Out on the street, he paused and breathed fire at her audacity to recommend him for this job.
He sank back against the ornate façade of the adjacent building. It was six in the morning in Houston, but he whipped out his cell phone and got Todd on the line. He had to chew him out for the failure to learn that Coco had planned this gig. After two rings, Todd picked up and Grant asked him what he knew of Coco’s recommendations.
“I didn’t think you’d have a problem,” his friend said. “Do you?”
Grant took a breath. As reunions went, he could probably say the fact that she had arranged it gratified his pride. “Not really. No.”
“Good. It’s a contract that will make a name for us.”
“In more ways than one, Todd. We have a new development.”
“What?” Todd was all business now.
“You need to get our forensics guys on the next plane to Qunitar. They’re missing an artifact and we need to find it fast. See what you can learn from the Italian Guardia about a suspect they are tracking here in Italy.”
“Sure. Within the hour. Consider it done, Grant.”
“Great. Call or text with news. Thanks. Bye.” Satisfied he’d taken care of business, he crossed his arms to wait for Coco.
She came lumbering out of the palazzo trailing her infernal suitcase and lugging the bulky camera bag. She had her phone to her ear, arguing with someone about failure to tell her about the missing artifact.
Grant swooped up behind her and wrapped a hand around her upper arm. She startled and her phone fell from her hand.
“Give me this,” he demanded and took her bag.
“Scare me half to death, why don’t you?” She tried to keep up with him, largely because he had a firm grip on her and wouldn’t let her go.
“You didn’t know I’d wait to talk?” He snorted. “After that little stunt?”
“I thought you’d be too furious.” She had the good grace to look sheepish.
“The contract is too attractive for me to bolt.” And you are too appealing to make me yell at you too loudly for too long.
“That’s what I’d hoped.”
He stared at her. She examined him, her velvet soft eyes taking him in like a person she hadn’t seen in ages. Like a man she cared for. Yearned for.
Desire for her loomed over him, ready to grab him up like some genie from a bottle. Hell. He couldn’t go there. She’d left him and that was the end of their affair. On to business, here and now. “You’re right. I like the contract. I’ll say thanks for the recommendation.”
“You’re welcome.” She looked away. “Say, can you slow down? You’re killing me here.”
Sorry for acting like a hothead, he complied. “Sure.”
“Nasar told me you’re staying at the Cavaletto.”
“Good of him.” So she knew where he’d be. Had been interested enough to ask Nasar. He shouldn’t give a damn, but part of him shouted in satisfaction. “Where are you?”
“The same. Nasar booked it for me.”
“Terrific.” He relaxed his grip on her arm. She still had trouble keeping up with him on the cobbles in her high heels and he didn’t have to be a cave man. “We can yell at each other over a cold bottle of prosecco.”
She halted and glared at him.
“What the matter? Don’t want to face the music?” Oh, nice, Warwick. Be a prick. That’ll help.
She inched one blonde brow high and set her jaw. “I knew you’d react like this. But you cannot argue with me.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I recommended you?” Her words were a challenge.
“For openers, yes.”
“Don’t.” That word seemed like a plea. “I need you on this.”
A first. When had she ever indicated she couldn’t live without him? Not even when they rolled around in the sack. She’d given all her body, all her enthusiasm. But she’d kept secrets. Else, why had she left him without an explanation? “Pardon me if I don’t rush to believe that.”
“Grant,” she said his name in a way that reminded him of hours buried inside her delectable body. She tipped her head and he thought he saw tears in her eyes. “I wanted you on this. There are more problems here than what you heard in that room. Please let me talk to you.”
She’d braved the Afghan mountains with the 10th Tenth Mountain Division for months, been an em-bed on the American invasion of dozens of Iraqi towns, street riots in Kandahar—and she had tears in her eyes because an ancient scroll of poems was stolen?
Fear for her shot up his spine. Pride made him frown at her. But he took her suitcase from her fingers and nodded down the street. “That bottle of prosecco calls. And my patience just got thinner.”
Chapter Two
The Cavaletto was a marigold-yellow stucco building in front of a gondoliers’ station. A block off the Piazza San Marco and near exclusive designer shops, the calle was choked with pedestrians. Coco tripped along in the ridiculous heels, trying to keep pace with Grant’s strides. She’d known he’d be angry.
Hurt. Yes, she’d understood that, too.
From the day I left him in Washington.
They entered the front door of the hotel and she sighed, happy to be out of the heat and the off the cobbles.
Grant led them past the receptionist and into the wood-paneled bar. Dark and intimate, the place invited quiet conversation. Coco had no inkling theirs would be.
“Grant, let’s not drink here. I’ll ask the bartender for a bottle of wine and two glasses. He can send it to my room. I’ll check in.”
“No.” His face was set in solemn lines. “Come to my suite. It’ll be faster. We’ll get this over with.” Ordering from the bartender in clipped tones, he turned and she followed him as he wheeled her suitcase toward the front desk. She watched him ask the person on duty to keep it and her camera bag. He took the chit from the woman, pocketed it and looked at Coco. “Let’s go.”
He grasped her arm and led her toward the elevator.
Like most lifts in Europe, this one was tiny. Fit for two. And her arm tingled where it touched his. She barely breathed. He however was almost huffing. Using up all the oxygen. As usual. She smiled in spite of herself.
“What’s funny?” he bit off as the elevator jiggled to a stop.
“Nothing,” she confirmed, knowing what came next was not going to offer either of them any happiness afterward.
He put his card key in the slot and pushed open the door. Though he stepped aside to let her pass, she brushed her shoulder against his chest and he shivered. So did she.
I do affect you. Still. She rejoiced at the thought as she made her way across the room. The walls, a deep grass-green, contrasted with the blood-red of the sofa and chairs. An old monastery converted to a five-star hotel, the place was one she loved. But it works no magic for me today.
When she faced him, he stood in the center of the room, tossed his card key to the dresser and stared at her, his legs braced for whatever blow she was about to deliver. She didn’t ask to sit and he didn’t offer.
Fine. She could do this standing even if her knees wobbled.
“I have known Nasar for many years. When he began to build his new museum, I knew he would want the best security systems and the best-trained men to guard his treasures. To me, that meant only you.” You, to help me figure out the mess I’m in. With my job. My vocation. And my life.
“I’m honored.” His tone was sarcastic.
“I know you would have preferred to get this gig without my recommendation.”
“You got that right.”
“But now you’ve signed the contracts. You’re committed. And to be blunt, you could have refused.”
“Not my style to start something I don’t finish.”
She braced herself for what was coming.
“Unlike some people.” He threw the words at her like bricks.
She avoided his brilliant silver gaze. With eyes like a warlock and a body like Thor, he could unravel her steeliest resolve in one sweet glance. But this from him was no reverence from a lover. She’d destroyed that in him three years ago. And the best she could hope for now was a truce. “May I sit, please?”
He waved a hand.
She perched in the overstuffed chair by the window. Outside, a gondolier was singing and she recognized it as a popular American love song with lyrics that once defined her affair with the scrumptious man standing before her.
She rolled her shoulders. “Two months ago, I was working in San’a, taking pictures for a National Geographic spread on Yemen.”
He strolled toward her, his face a study in concern. “You never cease to amaze me for the dangerous assignments you take on.”
“I am a mad woman, aren’t I?” she asked with a speck of wonder.
“I’m shocked you’ve survived this long.”
“It’s because I have a die-hard attitude toward work.” One I’d love to unlearn.
A knock came at the door.
Grant went to answer, let the hotel waiter in with the wine cart and signed his receipt. “Grazie, bene, I will open the vino.” With that, he escorted the man to the door and closed it on him. As he began to work the wire on the cork, he said, “Continue about Yemen.”
“I was there for more than two weeks. My assistant, Maria… You remember Maria?”
Grant nodded.
“She went early. Did the preliminary work, setting up interviews, getting permits to travel to the interior.”
“Christ, Coco. What the hell are were you doing outside San’a? There is nothing of any interest beyond the city, and I use that term loosely.”
She bit her lower lip, consoled by his concern, veiled though it was. “In any case, Maria was there and when I arrived, she had the advance work done for me. She is very good, you know.”
“I thought so when I met her, yes.” He popped the cork and poured the bubbling white wine into the two flutes.
“The last night before she was to fly back to Washington, she left our hotel to meet one of the aide workers attached to the United Nations delegation there.”
He handed her a flute and they both took a drink.
Coco swallowed hard and couldn’t drink any more. She put her glass down. “Both of them were to go to a restaurant that the Americans, the British and the UN people frequent. They never got there.”
Grant’s features fell. He sat down on the edge of the sofa opposite her. “Go on.”
“They were attacked by a group of kids as they got out of the taxi in front of the restaurant. Both women were beaten. Badly.” Her eyes filled with tears at the memory of her beautiful young assistant, so deformed by those thugs. “Maria had terrible injuries, among them two broken ribs, a broken nose, and her left wrist crushed. She fought them off and her friend did, too. Only the fact that the proprietor came out a few minutes later saved their lives.”
“Where is she now?”
“Washington. Georgetown Hospital. Plastic surgery.”
He winced. “She was a beauty.”
“I hope she will be again.” She gulped, once, twice. “But she may never—”
“Never what--?” He reached over, took her hand and squeezed hard. His consolation was such a balm. But his touch was not enough. Not enough to heal this outrage.
“Never see herself afterward.”
“Christ, they mauled her? She can�
�t see?” He put his glass down and pulled her over to the couch next to him.
“Her optic nerve is damaged.” Coco couldn’t resist his lure, didn’t want to. Ever since she’d spied him from the vaporetto sitting in that café by the Canal, her entire body had relived their hours together, his touch, his words, his affection. “They beat them both. Her friend? Died.”
“Why don’t I remember hearing about this?” He shook his head. “I usually monitor such things.”
“The number of attacks on Americans abroad has increased in the past two decades. How can you keep track when the fanatics are out there everywhere?” she said, knowing she was concealing other facts she could not tell him. Not yet. If ever.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hauled her close, his lips in her hair. “Coco, honey.”
She thrilled to his endearment. God, why had she left him? Why hadn’t she known then that wherever she went afterward, she’d never spend a day not thinking of him, needing his concern and his gruff humor just to make her day complete?
“Tell me the rest,” he whispered and tipped up her chin.
“The head of security at the embassy investigated. He issued his report last week. He believes the kids who did this were trained by a terrorist group to be trouble makers.”
“Did any one send a note or make a video and take responsibility for the attack on Maria and her friend? That’s their M.O.”
“No.” She had to tell him her suspicions. Especially since she had no evidence, just a premonition of dread. Still she hated to say the next thing. “You remember how Maria looks like me?”
His mouth hitched up at one corner in smile that soon vanished. “Not as lovely, but yes.” His dark brows knit. “Why?”
“I think they mistook her for me. Thought they were beating me.”
He stared at her. His arm clamped her closer. “Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere this afternoon.” He put a hand to her cheek and his thumb stroked her. “Neither are you.”
She met his gaze, his penetrating silver eyes and knew this was the first of so many revelations she’d have to share with him. “I was in Yemen to do the National Geographic spread, yes. But my pictures included the homes of some of the political leaders.”
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