Garret moved his eyes to his friend. “Tell her. If she wakes up while I’m gone, tell her. Please.”
Caleb was silent for a good long moment. Garret didn’t doubt Caleb would do as he asked. But he knew Caleb had just as much doubt as he did as to whether or not it would make a difference. Because the fact of the matter was, he was leaving her. He was doing what he’d promised her wouldn’t. And though he’d like to think that, had she been awake, he would have told her, a small part of him wondered if that was true. A small part of him still thought he’d do exactly what he was doing now, leave her without an explanation, because what he was going to do wasn’t something he really wanted her to know—not the actual details and not what it said about him.
Finally, Caleb nodded.
Garret let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you.”
Caleb nodded again and held his gaze for moment before turning back to his sister. Garret knew when he’d been dismissed and started for the door.
“Cantona,” Caleb’s voice stopped him as him just as he was about to close the door behind him. “Come back,” his partner said.
Garret nodded, closed the door, and walked away.
CHAPTER 25
DIMLY, KIT HEARD a persistent beep echoing through the fog in her mind. It didn’t have the same romantic sound, but some tendril of something in her mind followed it like it was a fog horn. Only it was calling to her, not warning her away.
As her mind grabbed hold of the methodical sound, she was pulled from a place so deep and dark that she wouldn’t call it sleep. And slowly, as the beeping became louder and crisper, her other senses awoke as well.
Her body was laid out flat. She was neither warm nor cold, though she could feel the weight of what she thought might be blankets covering her. She felt pleasantly heavy and sluggish, the way one did when just waking in the morning after a deep sleep. But the recognition of something pressing against her nostrils jolted her to a full wakefulness.
She flinched and her eyes flew open. The square pattern of a ceiling was visible for a moment and then her sight was filled with Caleb’s face. She blinked a few times, and in a sudden rush of fear, she tried to claw the oxygen tube from her nose.
She didn’t understand why Caleb was stopping her, why he was holding her hands, gripping them tightly in his own. And it took more than a moment for his soothing words to sink in. She still wasn’t sure what was going on, but Caleb was with her. He wasn’t gone. He hadn’t left her.
She let out a breath. He hadn’t left her.
Her eyes scanned the room—a hospital room. There was an oxygen machine beside her and an IV tube that ran from a bag down to her arm. There was another machine with a tangle of wires snaking out of it, and as she followed their path with her eyes, she became aware of the feel of the adhesive that was binding the opposite ends of those wires to her chest.
She took a deep breath and felt pain lancing through her chest. Caleb muttered something about it being alright, that he’d called the nurse. He still held her hands in his.
He hadn’t left.
Slowly, as though her own mind was fighting it, she realized what was missing.
Kit turned her face toward her brother. “Garret?” was all she managed to whisper.
She didn’t need to hear what Caleb said to know Garret wasn’t simply out getting coffee. Caleb’s eyes told her everything she needed to know.
A different kind of pain settled like a weight on her chest. She closed her eyes against it and drifted back to the blackness.
He’d left her.
CHAPTER 26
ONE WEEK LATER, Garret stepped into the entryway of Kit’s kitchen, closing the door softly behind him. It was early morning, the sun barely coming up; Kit should be sleeping safely in her bed. But as he stood there, he could all but feel the emptiness of the house. For a moment, he just leaned against the door, closed his eyes, and prayed Kit would give him the chance to explain. Because even though he’d given Caleb the go-ahead to tell her where he was going and why, that wasn’t the kind of explanation that would be important to her—not now.
“She’s gone,” came Caleb’s voice from the kitchen.
Not bothering to take off his boots, Garret stepped into the kitchen. Caleb was sitting at the kitchen island drinking coffee. He looked like shit.
Garret paused.
Caleb took another sip of his coffee, never taking his eyes from Garret. He had a scruffy week’s worth of growth on his beard; his eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt and drawn.
“Do you know where she is?” Garret asked.
Caleb shook his head.
“How was she when she left?”
“Physically?” Caleb clarified.
Garret nodded.
“Battered, bruised, beaten up, but no lasting damage. Her hip was sore and she was walking with crutches when she left the hospital, but no more head trauma or broken bones, and the knife wounds were healing.”
“And when did she walk out of the hospital?” Garret almost didn’t want to know the answer to that. In the dark recesses of his mind, there was a little part of him that had hoped she’d have had to stay bedridden until he got home. Because then she’d be forced to listen to him.
“They kept her another four days. She got out three days ago.”
Garret swallowed. He’d intentionally not kept in touch with Caleb after he left because Garret hadn’t trusted himself to stay and do what he’d needed to do if he’d known that Kit was coming home without him. “Three days? And you don’t know where she is?”
The thing with Kit was that she could go anywhere. With friends like Drew and Dani, disappearing could be incredibly easy if she really wanted to.
Again, Caleb shook his head.
“She just packed and left?” Great, she really could be anywhere.
Caleb shrugged. “She said she needed some time.” Not to recover from her injuries was left unsaid. Garret felt the bile churning in his stomach.
“And you haven’t looked for her?” Garret could hardly believe that. Not the Caleb he knew.
But Caleb gave him a long, hard look. “I think she’s had enough of the men in her life testing her trust. She asked me to let her go, not to follow her or look into her whereabouts. I thought it was the least I could do.”
Garret felt the accusation lance through his chest. He knew in his heart Kit understood that neither he nor Caleb were anything like her father in the results of their actions. But the cold, unvarnished truth was that, in the actions themselves, they were very much alike. Coming and going as they saw fit, leaving with no notice, going places they wouldn’t divulge, coming back only when the job—whatever it may be—was done.
Distantly, Garret noticed his hand was shaking. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to stay calm. “Did she say anything else?” he asked.
Again, Caleb lifted a shoulder as he took another sip of coffee. “She said something about needing to heal and just giving herself the space to do that.”
Garret blinked, the fog starting to lift. “She said that? Those words, about needing to heal?”
As if sensing the shift in Garret’s focus, Caleb put his coffee down with a soft thunk on the granite countertop. “Yes.”
Garret turned for the door.
“Cantona?” Caleb’s voice called him back.
Garret turned, “I know where she is and I’m going to be with her. Hopefully, I can also convince her that I’m worth being with, but at the very least, I want her to know exactly why I did what I did so that she doesn’t carry my betrayal with her for the rest of her life. She doesn’t deserve that.”
And not that there had been any doubt, but it was in that moment that Garret realized just what Kit meant to him. When her healing and her happiness became far more important to him than getting what he wanted.
CHAPTER 27
GARRET PULLED his small rental car into a spot that was barely bigger than the car itself and k
illed the engine. He eyed the cobblestone “street” that was no wider than an alley and glanced at the buildings jutting up almost directly from the street itself. The muted colors stood in stark contrast to the blue sea he knew lay down the hill from this tiny village just west of the Cinque Terre in Italy.
He could drive no farther into the town, as cars were prevented from doing so. He assumed at some point that hadn’t been the case. But with tourism came traffic, and cars not suited to the tiny roads, and drivers even less suited. So, at some point, the town must have just decided not to allow any traffic into its center. But it was a small town; walking wouldn’t take long.
He’d called in some favors and spent his flight from New York to Rome studying a map of the area. He was parked on the east side of the village; Marco Baresi’s villa lay on the west side, down closer to the water. The aerial photos showed a three-tiered building that stepped down the hillside, with abundant patios and outdoor space, along with a set of stairs down to the ocean. It was one of the larger homes in the area, though not quite large enough to be considered ostentatious.
Having caught the red-eye out of New York, Garret had bought a first-class ticket that allowed him to catch a little sleep during the nine-hour flight. But given that he’d also just flown up to New York from South America the day before, he was travel weary and in need of some coffee before confronting Kit. A little reconnaissance wouldn’t hurt either.
It was close to noon and the small town was as bustling as he imagined it got when not in tourist season. It was early spring and, unlike Windsor where spring was only just starting to claw its way from under the blanket of winter, the weather here was about as perfect as could be. The flowers were in bloom and people were out and about.
He made his way toward Baresi’s villa. Walking past the author’s non-descript but charming gate that led into the courtyard of the house, Garret found a café one block away. Ordering an espresso and a small pastry, he took a seat in the window and watched. He didn’t expect Kit or Marco to come out of the gate, but he felt the need to lie in wait for just a little while. Or maybe he was just delaying.
He sighed, finished off the last of the pastry, downed his espresso, and rose. Three minutes later, he was ringing the bell on the gate, his heart pounding in his ears.
An older woman answered, her gray hair pulled back into a bun. She was tall, thin, and wearing slacks and a blouse. Garret didn’t know how he knew, but there was no doubt in his mind that she was the housekeeper of, and gatekeeper to, Marco Baresi’s sanctuary.
“Buongiorno,” he said.
Rather than answer, she inclined her head.
“Is Kit here?” he asked, reverting to English.
She tilted her head and studied him.
“I’m Garret—”
“I know who you are,” she said in English that was only slightly accented. Her words gave him some semblance of hope, after all. If this person knew him, Kit must have said something.
“You’re expecting me, then?” he asked.
A ghost of a smile played on her lips. “I’m not sure if ‘expecting’ is the right word,” she countered.
Not sure what to make of that statement, Garret opted to take the reins in hand and asked, “May I come in?”
Her brown eyes never moved from his face. After ten seconds that felt like an eternity, she gave a single nod and stepped back from the gate. Not wanting to give her the opportunity to change her mind, he quickly stepped through the thick wooden gate and into a lush courtyard.
“I’m Imelda.” She offered her name but not her hand in a measured greeting. Garret nodded in response.
“Come, follow me.”
And Garret did. With every step through the colorful courtyard and into a stunning room, his heart beat a little faster. It didn’t help that this floor of the villa sat on top of the cliff and the big, picture windows—windows that looked out onto the Italian Mediterranean—gave it the appearance of being about to tumble into the sea below. Of course, Garret knew from the maps he had studied that there were two levels below them, but from this vantage point, it was hard to tell.
Glancing around the room, both hoping and fearing he’d see Kit, he took in his surroundings. After a quick perusal, it was clear to Garret that this top floor was the “public” floor. Not that Baresi opened his house to the public, but if he held parties or hosted an event, this was the space where he would do it. Most of the area consisted of one large room banked with six-foot windows, maximizing the view of the bay below. But to his left stood another, smaller room where perhaps Marco wrote or held business meetings, and behind it looked to be a kitchen—not a full kitchen, but the kind of kitchen that a caterer could use to prepare food and drinks.
To his right was a staircase with a wrought iron railing that led down, and it was down these stairs that Imelda led Garret. And just as the purpose of the top floor was obvious, it was equally as clear upon entering this middle level of the villa that he had entered the private sanctuary of one of the world’s literary geniuses. Books were strewn everywhere—on the floor, on the large dining table that sat in the middle of the room, and on the coffee table near the sofa to his left. There were even books on the counters in the kitchen—a kitchen that looked as though it was used for everyday cooking—that lay to his right.
There were big sliding doors that led out onto a terrace built on the roof of the floor below, and from where he stood, he could see a large round table, four chairs, and strings of overhead lighting. Potted plants were everywhere, containing flowers of all colors and sizes in bloom. It was the perfect place for a romantic dinner. Garret clenched his jaw and began to look in earnest for Kit.
If the maps he had seen were accurate, and he had no reason to think otherwise, beyond the wall to his left was a hallway that led to two bedrooms. Also to his left was another stairwell that led down to the lowest level of the house.
Following Imelda down, Garret held a not-so-fleeting thought about descending into hell. But then, when they hit the landing, all thoughts of hell vanished—or at least suspended themselves. The views were breathtaking. It was hard for him to imagine better vistas than what he’d seen from the top floor, but where the top floor was meant to awe a visitor, the views from this floor were meant to enchant.
This being the only level with earth outside, its doors led to a small patch of grass and a garden that Garret could only call whimsical. From where he stood, he could see narrow paths leading who-knew-where, arbors thick with hanging flowers, and benches scattered about. Being built on the cliff, it wasn’t a huge area, but it was filled with the same kind of sensual expression as Baresi’s novels—the kind of place that made one want to ask questions rather than seek answers.
“So, you’ve come.”
Caught up in the view, Garret hadn’t even noticed the author himself sitting at a desk on the far side of the room. He willed his eyes away from the landscape to peer at Marco. Never in his life had he met Italians as non-expressive as Imelda and Marco. Finally, unsure what to think or do, Garret simply nodded.
Still holding a sheaf of paper in one hand and pen in the other, Marco regarded him for a long moment. Then he sighed and rose.
“Thank you, Imelda,” he said, dismissing his gatekeeper. Without a word, the woman turned and disappeared up the stairs.
“Can I get you a drink?” Marco asked, walking toward a small refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of sparkling water.
Garret shook his head. “I’d like to see Kit,” he said.
Marco gave a small laugh as he poured himself a drink. Making a small toasting gesture, he answered, “I’m sure you would.” As Marco took a sip, Garret waited.
Finally, Marco spoke again. “You hurt her.” Coming from a man who knew how to use words like no one else of his generation, the short, concise statement said more than just those three words. And again, as he had with Caleb, Garret felt the weight of guilt take his breath away.
“I know,” he m
anaged to say. “How is she?”
Marco gave a shrug. “Physically? She is healing. Emotionally, it’s hard for even me to say. You took care of what you left to take care of, did you not?”
The flash of worry he saw in Marco’s eyes gave him some hope. Obviously, Caleb had told Kit why he had left—as Garret had asked him to do—and Kit had told Marco. It didn’t surprise him at all. In fact, he wondered if he might eventually have an ally in the author. The man cared deeply for her, of that there was no doubt, and Garret knew Marco would no more want something bad to happen to her than Garret would.
Garret nodded. “Two days ago, Louis Ramon was found dead outside a popular club in Bali where he’d been visiting some friends. It was a club known for its drug scene. Poor Louis stepped outside to try some of the best cocaine Indonesia had to offer and overdosed on a nearly 100 percent pure sample.”
Marco shook his head. “Drugs. A bit cliché, but effective, nonetheless.”
“Marco, I made it to the bottom and back!” Kit’s happy voice suddenly filled the air.
Garret spun toward the garden in time to see the top of her auburn head appear at the edge of the cliff. With bated breath, he watched as she came into full view, making her way up the stairs that led into the garden from the beach.
As she reached the top, she blew some of her hair out of her face. “Marco? Did you hear me?” she called.
She had most definitely lost weight and he could still see the bruises and cuts on her legs below the skirt she wore, and on her arms, bare in her tank top. The cut at her throat looked to be healing but was still an angry red slash. She looked a bit pale, even though her trek to the bay and back had obviously brought some color to her face.
But she was smiling. And she looked as breathtaking as always.
“Marco?” she called one more time. And then she caught sight of Garret. Her smile faded and her step faltered. But to her credit she never stopped moving toward the house where he and Marco stood.
The top half of the farm door that led into the house from the garden had been left open and as she made her way toward them, she opened the bottom half of the door, then stepped inside. His eyes were glued to hers, but hers seemed to be bouncing every which way. For a split second or two, she would make eye contact with him, then quickly look away. Her eyes would flicker to the floor, then the bookshelves, then back to him.
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