by Anne Stuart
“It’s hot today,” Martin said, and sure enough, there were faint beads of sweat at his temples.
“I must have caught a chill,” Elizabeth said uneasily, moving faster down the dark alleyway toward the canal, only faintly aware of the man at her back.
She stopped short at the edge, teetering for balance for a moment, as she came to the side of the narrow canal. The sun penetrated the waterway, but no warmth came with it. The houses were smaller, seedier, than on the Grand Canal. And two houses down, on the opposite side of the canal, stood the blue house.
She stood, transfixed, ignoring Martin’s presence. There was no question in her mind: that was the house. Beside it was an overgrown tangle of a garden, surrounded by an ornate iron fence that was orange with rust. Behind that fence, that tangled greenery, one could barely make out the paler color of a human. Elizabeth didn’t need her glasses or her nearsighted vision to know that Shari Derringer was in that garden, alive and well.
She stared, transfixed, feeling the ice coat her body. She could see dark shapes at the windows, people watching. People watching her as she watched them. What a fool she’d been! Of course there would be people on guard! And while an American tourist staring at the old building should have seemed harmless, they’d known enough to send Kempton after her in Washington.
She took a step backward, stumbling against Martin’s strong young body. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and then her voice trailed off as she felt the unmistakable pressure of a metal gun barrel against her back.
“No problem,” Martin said cheerfully. “Just walk with me, very carefully, and no one will even notice.” He moved around her, taking her arm in his with a companionable gesture, and she realized the gun was tiny enough to be almost indiscernible in his large hand. She had no doubts as to its deadliness, however.
“What if I scream and run?” Her voice was harsh and strained. Why hadn’t she known? Why hadn’t she guessed this friendly tourist had sinister motives? What kind of wretched gift did she possess, that tormented her with scenes of death and failed to warn her of her own danger?
“You’d be dead before you even tried,” he said, leading her back down the narrow alley. “You’ve got more sense than that, don’t you, Elizabeth?”
She hadn’t given him her real name. A sinking feeling of despair settled down over her heart. She should have known better than to strike out on her own. Finding the blue house had signed her death warrant.
And then she realized he hadn’t taken her down the narrow walkway to the bridge across to the opposite side of the canal, the most direct access to the blue house. He was leading her away from that nest of vipers, and she allowed herself a brief hope that Martin might be one of the good guys. She cast a brief, furtive glance up at her captor and realized that despite the innocent youthfulness of his clothes and face, his eyes were old. Sam had the same kind of eyes, she thought. Eyes that had seen too much.
The tour group had left the tiny square by the time they returned, but Martin must have known that would happen. She followed him docilely enough, wondering if she could get away by jumping in a canal. It seemed unlikely, considering the fact that she’d never learned to swim, and the canals were both icy cold and polluted.
“What are you going to do with me?” She was proud of her self-control. Her voice sounded no more than casually interested in her eventual fate.
“That all depends.”
“On what?”
“On how you behave. On Sam Oliver. And on my mood. Where are you staying?”
“Hotel Danieli,” she lied instinctively.
“Sam wouldn’t be caught dead at the Danieli. Where are you staying?” The snub nose of the gun poked a little harder at the underside of her breast, and for a moment she remembered that old poem, where the heroine had died warning the hero when a bullet shattered her breast in the moonlight. The image had always stayed in her mind, and she didn’t fancy playing it out in living color. Even if she continued to lie, Martin could simply kill her and find Sam himself.
“Penzione del Zaglia,” she said.
“That’s more like it. And does Sam know where you are? He doesn’t, does he? Maybe we’ll go back there and give him a little surprise.”
“I’m not going to tell you where it is,” she said in one last show of defiance. Her faith in Sam’s invincibility was almost limitless, but anything was possible. And she couldn’t rid her mind of the bloody visions.
“Don’t waste your time, Elizabeth. I can simply look it up, and the delay might irritate me. You wouldn’t want to irritate me, now would you?” His smile was dazzlingly innocent in his face. “Particularly since I might take out my irritation on Sam.”
“Rio Banco,” Elizabeth muttered gracelessly.
“Grazie,” said Martin, his voice mocking.
The ride back on the public vaporetto seemed endless. The Dramamine had worn off long ago, and the tension from riding around with a gun pointed at her ribs was enough to upset anyone’s stomach. The sun had disappeared, and the afternoon grew cold and gloomy. She waited, without hope, alert for the moment when his attention might falter. It never did. The only moment the gun left her side was when they’d returned to the cozy little room in the seedy penzione and he’d shoved her onto the bed.
“Now we wait,” he said cheerfully, dropping down into the chair. “If I know Sam he won’t be long in coming.”
“Do you know Sam?”
“You could say so,” Martin said, leaning back in his chair, the gun held with deceptive ease in his hand.
“You don’t have a silencer on that gun.”
“Don’t need one. It’s the latest government issue—silencer built right in.”
“Which government?”
Martin grinned. “Curiosity killed the cat, Elizabeth.”
“Are you part of the Spandau Corporation?”
“Sam told you about them, did he? You surprise me.” Elizabeth just stared at him. He didn’t know about her talents. For all that he knew Sam, knew her name, he didn’t know the most crucial thing about her, about them. And therein lay their only hope.
She knew when Sam entered the building. She could feel his footsteps approaching the second-floor room, even though the place was still and silent. She could hear him breathing outside the door, and she wanted to scream a warning. She could do nothing but sit there, numb with terror, as Martin crouched behind her on the bed, the gun pointed at her temple.
The knock startled both of them. She’d been so certain it was Sam, but he had his own key. “Ask who’s there,” Martin demanded in a fierce whisper.
“Who is it?” Elizabeth managed, her voice quavery as the barrel of the gun pressed against her throat.
“Room service,” said Sam.
Martin chuckled. “Tell him to come in.”
“No.”
He cocked the gun. “Tell him.”
She didn’t need to warn Sam. He already knew. She had no choice—either she could tell him to come in, or Martin would put a bullet through her throat and Sam would come crashing through the door anyway. “Come in,” she said, tears of despair running down her cheeks.
Slowly the door opened. Sam stood there, a gun three times the size of Martin’s in his hand, a cold, deadly expression on his face as he surveyed the murderous tableau. Slowly, carefully, he stepped inside the room. Slowly, carefully, he shut the door behind him. And then he spoke.
“Danny, you turkey, what the hell do you mean by scaring us like that?”
The man behind her released her, moving off the bed and throwing his arms around Sam’s taller, leaner body. “Just keeping you on your toes, old man,” he said. “What do you mean by letting your woman out by herself in these mean streets?”
“Mean canals,” Sam said absently, noting her pale complexion and the silent tears. “Serves you right, Elizabeth,” he snapped. “You scared the hell out of me, taking off like that. What the hell did you think you could accomplish by yourself?”
&n
bsp; “I . . . I . . .” It took all her strength to pull herself together, but she managed it, glaring at him, at Danny, at the world. “Go to hell,” she said weakly, sinking back on the bed and wiping the tears from her face.
“Where’d you find her?” Sam demanded, turning back to his friend. “And what are you doing here, anyway?”
“I got assigned here.”
“Damn, that’s right, you’re with the State Department. They can send you anywhere they please.”
“Exactly,” Danny said cheerfully. “I talked them into letting me follow you.”
“They know I’m here?”
“No. They know you’re in Europe, and they’re hoping like hell I’m going to find you. I don’t have to check in for three days. I expect you to come up with something by then.”
“Or what? You’ll tell them where I am? That won’t do anyone any good.”
“It could save your life.”
“Come on, Danny, you know me better than that. And you know the government. When the time comes that I have to count on anyone but me for protection . . .”
“Hey,” Danny protested. “You forget who you’re talking to. Anyway, I was just wandering around St. Mark’s Square, looking like a college kid on vacation, when your little lady friend comes hotfooting it by me and heads for the nearest tour boat. So I decided it was time to see the sights of Venice. Lucky thing I did.”
“Why?” He turned to look at Elizabeth, who was sitting on a corner of the bed, white-faced and furious.
“She almost got her head blown off. She went tearing down some alley until she came to a house, and then stood there staring at it. And if that wasn’t a gun barrel trained on her from the second floor-balcony, then I’ve been in the wrong business for the past fifteen years.”
“The only gun barrel trained on me was yours,” Elizabeth snapped.
“Not likely. If Danny says he saw a gun aimed at you, then you’re lucky you’re still alive. Where?”
“Where do you think Sam?” she asked, playing her trump card with all her finesse. “The blue house.”
The room was filled with silence. She’d expected more enthusiasm, more excitement from Sam when he realized she’d found Shari Derringer and her cohorts, but he was surprisingly cool. “That’s good,” he said, his dark blue eyes so calm that she almost might have imagined the warning in them. “How did it look?”
“Tumbled down,” she said. “With lots of people in it, even if I don’t believe the gun part.”
“What’s this blue house?” Danny demanded.
“What are you really doing here?” Sam countered. “What’s behind Shari Derringer’s disappearance, and why the cover-up?”
“Why should I know?”
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. I’d almost forgotten, you were assigned to the old man a few years back. Derringer knows how to command loyalty. Are you here as a private favor to him?”
“Sam, I told you why I’m here. And as far as I know, no one has any idea what Shari’s up to. She’s a loose cannon, and they’re afraid all hell’s gonna break loose if she’s not caught and deprogrammed in time.”
“Deprogrammed,” Sam echoed. “Is that the plan?”
“Apparently. Stop her before she embarrasses the entire United States government with her antics. Get her in a top-security hospital and keep her there, doped up with Thorazine, until things cool down.”
“And her father approves?”
“Hell, it’s her father’s suggestion. So what’s the blue house?”
“I won’t lie to you, Danny,” Sam said. “For one thing, it wouldn’t do me any good. You’re the best there is, next to me. Someone in the blue house is connected to Shari’s disappearance. I think she’s in Beirut, but it would be impossible to find her unless I have some help. I think that help is in the blue house, but I’m not sure how I’m going to get it. Particularly if someone’s packing a gun.”
Elizabeth listened to those glib lies, spun for one of the few people Sam considered trustworthy, and felt even more confused and helpless.
“Who lives there?” Danny demanded.
“Riffraff. Disenchanted, overbred offspring of various wealthy European families,” he said easily. “You know the sort, the ones who play at terrorism until they actually see someone die.”
“Hell, yes, I know the type,” Danny snorted. “They’re almost more trouble than the real ones. What’s this got to do with the Spandau Corporation? They’re professional from the word go.”
“Who says there’s a connection?”
“Your girlfriend. When I was doing my best to terrify her, she asked if f was a member.”
Sam’s glance in her direction was far from benevolent. “We don’t know. You haven’t heard of any possible connection?”
“None,” said Danny.
“We only heard a rumor, and you know how rumors go in this business, So what’s next?”
“What’s next for you?”
Elizabeth almost started screaming. Sitting there on the bed, watching the two of them lie and spar and circle each other like angry dogs, she wanted to start beating on the wall and shrieking. If she ever got out of this mess she never wanted to hear another lie in her entire life.
“We’re going to see if we can get near the blue house,” Sam said. “We’re going to get back in touch with our contact—”
“Who is?” Danny interrupted.
Sam’s smile was feral. “You’re an expert at this, Danny. See how long it takes you to find out.”
“Bastard,” he said genially. “In the meantime, I’ll do my best to keep the big boys off your back.”
“Why?”
“For friendship’s sake. Why do you think I came up with the passports and dumped Kempton’s body for you?” He cast a curious glance at Elizabeth. “She really did him in?”
“She really did. And I could have swallowed that explanation if you hadn’t ended up here,” Sam said coolly. “Your sudden appearance puts a real dent in my trust, buddy.”
Danny shrugged. “These things happen. You let me know what you find out, okay? I’ll keep busy tracking my own leads. But you’d better watch your lady friend. She could get into a lot of trouble.”
Sam’s expression was morose. “I know,” he muttered. He closed and locked the door after Danny’s departure, leaning against it and staring at her, an unreadable expression on his too-handsome face. “Damn,” he said softly.
“He frightened me,” Elizabeth offered.
“Good. You frightened the hell out of me. Damn,” he said again, sinking down on the bed beside her. “I’d forgotten about him working for Derringer.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“He was about the only person I did trust. And yes, if my life was on the line, I’d trust him. But I don’t trust him to have the same goals in mind.”
“What are our goals?”
He looked at her across the bed. “Beats me. Find Shari Derringer. Find the bastard who gutted Phil Grayson. Stop them before they stop us. You really found the blue house?”
“Yes. And Shari Derringer was there.”
“You saw her?”
“Not exactly. But she was there, I’m sure.”
He grimaced. “Now all we have to do is find out what the hell is going on. And the damnedest thing is, Danny knows.”
“Can’t you make him tell you?”
“No one can make Danny do a damn thing. You didn’t pick up on anything when he brought you here?”
“I was too busy being frightened.”
“Do you think if you were to touch him, open up . . .”
“No. It would be a waste of time. The only person more closed up is you.” She stared out the window bleakly, knowing he wouldn’t refute it.
“Then I suppose I’m just going to have to find out myself. Where’s the blue house?”
“Why?”
“I’m going there tomorrow.”
“They know who you are,” she sa
id with calm certainty.
“Probably. I don’t think we can afford to sit around and wait any longer.”
“Maybe, if you just gave me some time . . .”
“We don’t have time. And I think you’ve done about all you can for now. At this point, it’s up to me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Maybe if I just got close to her, touched her . . .”
“You aren’t getting within spitting distance,” he said flatly. “You’re going to stay put. I’m going to have a hard enough time watching my back. I can’t afford to waste any of my energy worrying about you.”
“That’s not what you said when we first came here.”
“Well, I changed my mind. Where’s the blue house?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
His smile wasn’t pleasant. “Yes, you are,” he said gently.
“Do you think I’m going to send you to your death? I won’t do it. I can’t.”
“You’ll do it,” Sam said, his voice like ice. “You don’t have any choice in the matter. If you don’t choose to tell me, I’ll make you.”
And looking at the cold, bleak expression on his face, she knew it was true. He’d hurt her for what he perceived to be the greater good, without a second’s thought. So much for happily ever after. He might hate himself for it, but he’d do it, and deal with the aftermath later.
“Yes,” she said wearily. “I suppose you would.” And turning her back on him in the narrow bed, she closed her eyes.
“WHERE’S EVERYONE going?”
Muhammed Ali Reza was paring his fingernails with his knife, his unquestionably brilliant mind boiling with ideas as he watched the stupid, silly blonde. “Time for things to get moving,” he said shortly. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to be alone in this old house with me?” He knew perfectly well that she no longer comprehended fear as an emotion unconnected with excitement. And excitement meant eroticism, and eroticism meant pain. Silly bitch.
“I’m not afraid,” Shari said breathily. “I just thought things weren’t going to happen for another week.”
“Something’s come up. There are some people who’ve managed to follow us to Venice. A few stray threads that need to be snipped.” He hadn’t bothered to tell her about the woman with the haunted eyes and Oliver in the first place, and he saw no need in giving her any kind of explanation now. “As soon as we’ve taken care of them, we’ll start in on the plan. In the meantime, I have a little job for you.”