She set aside the clippings from the US publications and the local Italian newspapers, and opened the leather bound book. Inside were pages of notes printed in bold handwriting that matched the note she’d found on the bed after her shower. The first couple pages seemed to be random thoughts jotted down as they’d come to his mind, though after a page, she began to see a pattern.
Paper crinkled in the silent room as she turned the next page, unable to keep herself from reading. She had to skip a section of blank pages before she found what looked like journal entries. They weren’t dated, but it became very clear they’d been started only a few days after his brother’s death.
Halli backed up and sat on the bed, her eyes devouring the less concise, more...passionate handwriting. His words were at turns angry and anguished; at himself, his brother, and his father. The ink was dark, the indents for each letter grooved deep into the paper as if the hand writing them had pressed hard.
More than once, tears welled in her eyes as she read the emotion he’d poured onto paper. This part of his personality was so opposite the playboy image he presented to the public she could hardly believe it was the same person. He’d laid his soul bare in these pages, and suddenly it was too personal.
She reached up with both hands to wipe her wet cheeks before flipping past his journal entries and paging through the rest of the notebook. A page toward the back snagged her attention with a glimpse of organization and she hurriedly located it again. A detailed outline began at the top of one page and continued for a few more pages. An outline of events leading up to and after Sean’s death.
It didn’t take long before Trent Tomlin’s involvement in this crazy situation became crystal clear.
“I refuse to let them kill you like they did my brother and Lorenzo,” he’d told her.
He didn’t believe his brother had committed suicide. He was investigating his brother’s murder.
Chapter 7
Alrigo Lapaglia limped into his lakeside villa, rage simmering in his blood with each stabbing breath he took. Twice the bitch had gotten away. The car chase had caused one hell of a stir with no results. He’d lucked out when his inside guy Stefano called from the Torno police station with the news that a lost American tourist by the name of Halliwell Sanders had turned up at their doorstep. But no more had he had her in his sights, she’d escaped again.
With help.
And he’d gotten hit by a fucking truck.
He was done playing nice. Mariucci and Casale had unsuccessfully questioned the two Americans they’d picked up about who they knew here in town. Apparently, extracting the necessary information would require a professional. The fact that the Halliwell girl had given some story about taking the wrong bus revealed she knew more than she should.
He didn’t care that the bullshit story actually helped him, all he wanted was her and the video, and then she could be taken care of for good.
Alrigo stopped at the door to his office, where his right-hand man sat at his desk. “Where’s Eva?”
Nino Da Via looked up from his laptop and removed a set of black framed glasses as he sat back in Alrigo’s leather executive chair. Placing thumb and forefinger into his mouth, he blew a piercing whistle.
Annoyance and impatience alternately nipped at Alrigo’s heels as he made his way across the room and poured a generous amount of grappa into a tumbler.
“What’s the verdict?” Nino folded his hands across his stomach. “You gonna live?”
Alrigo’s gaze narrowed, not fooled by his partner’s casual pose or tone. He’d banged up his knee and busted two ribs, but didn’t plan to announce the injuries and invite ideas from the more ambitious men in his employ.
Nino’s glance dropped from the ten stitches along his hairline to his knee and Alrigo instinctively straightened. It hurt like the devil without the brace the doc had given him, but now he wished he’d fought the pain more to conceal his limp when he’d entered.
He forced a smile, lifting his glass as he answered the question. “For many long and prosperous years, my friend. I see you got the window fixed already.”
Nino’s nod was as efficient as his actions.
“And the body?”
“I’ll take care of it tonight.”
Alrigo glared out the newly installed window. He never should’ve plugged the bastard, but it really annoyed him that the man thought he’d be fooled by such a flimsy cover. As if he was stupid enough to do business with an unknown buyer who was clearly not who he claimed. Yes, Nino would dispose of the body, but the added complication of the man he’d shot being a retired agente of the Polizia di Stato pissed him off as much as the woman who’d caught the act on video.
Add it all to that damn punk American filmmaker a few months ago and the heat level was rising fast. It wouldn’t take long for the cost of keeping his numerous connections loyal to follow suit. His profit margins would shrink. His luxuriant tropical retirement would have to be delayed. Again.
When he closed his eyes, the dark neighborhood of his childhood closed in on his mind. He smelled the rank odor of rotting garbage and heard the rats scurrying around in the dank streets. Suppressing a shudder, he made his daily vow never to go back.
A small amount of alcohol warmed his throat and settled in his gut as he reopened his eyes and contemplated the shimmering water of Lago de Como. Iron control kept his hand from tipping the glass and downing the clear liquid in one furious gulp. He’d painstakingly rebuilt his network and fortune after Frank Gallo destroyed the foundation six years ago. So close now he could taste it, no way in hell some bastardo Americanos were going to fuck him over.
His jaw tightened with grim determination. Someone was going to have to pay, and this time it wasn’t going to be him. He poured a second glass and handed it to Nino. “Any word on the shipment?”
Before Nino could answer, the door on the opposite side of the room flew open and a small Italian tornado with waist-length brown hair blew in.
“I told you to quit that god-awful whistling! It’s Eva. Go ahead, give it a try.”
Nino downed his drink, then leaned back in his chair, hands linked behind his dark head as he propped his feet up on the desk. “I can’t shout Eva through the house.”
“I refuse to answer to that whistle again.”
“You said that yesterday, tesoro.”
“This time I mean it,” she snapped. “I’m tired of you treating me like—”
Careful to keep his hunger hidden as they argued, Alrigo discreetly slid his gaze along the curvaceous profile of Eva Anelli in her cleavage baring top, skin tight pants, and stilettos. He’d wanted her body since the moment he’d struck his partnership with Nino a year ago and she’d strutted in on his arm wearing a red pair of those heels.
But for all that he trusted Nino with, the man harbored a possessive violent streak that ensured Alrigo kept his distance. If he knew Alrigo lusted after his woman, he’d slit his throat—partner or not. He looked forward to the day he no longer needed Nino’s efficiency and Eva would be his. His groin instantly tightened with need.
“Make me something to eat, Eva,” Alrigo ordered abruptly before turning to limp back to the hallway. “I’ll be in my room after I talk to the Americans.”
A sound of outrage erupted behind him. “Make your own—”
“Eva.”
The soft warning made Alrigo glance back over his shoulder. Nino was shaking his head at the spitfire. Eva glared at Nino before spinning on one of those sexy heels and storming back to the kitchen. Nino watched her go with the same desire in his gaze that seared Alrigo. The woman must be hell in bed.
Alrigo funneled the heat of unattainable lust into anger and continued to the room where they held the two Americans. After his knock, the door opened and Zucchi stood aside for him to enter. He motioned the guard from the room, then closed the door again and leaned back, arms crossed, carefully.
The girl, Rachel, pushed up to a sitting position on the bed where sh
e’d been laying. Her gaze darted toward her brother by a small table. When Alrigo had walked in, the man’s foot had been bouncing in nervous agitation. Now he sat tall and rigid, completely still.
Alrigo transferred his gaze back to the girl. Her expression left no doubt she was terrified. Bene. He’d use her if the need arose.
Alrigo took a shallow breath to avoid the stabbing pain of his broken ribs. He inclined his head politely. “Mr. Sanders, Ms. Sanders…or Benjamin and Rachel, if I may.” His thick accent coated the English words.
The blond man sat up straighter and faced him. “Do we have a choice, Mr…?”
He debated the pointed question. Eh, he decided with a dispassionate shrug. In the end, it mattered not if they knew his name. “Lapaglia. Alrigo Lapaglia. And no, you have no choice.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“The thing is, Benjamin, I am not pleased with your lies.”
Ben studied the man who’d held him and Rachel at gunpoint in the car, noting his built physique, square jaw, tense mouth and most especially, his eyes. An unnerving glitter in their steel-colored depths belied the composed exterior the man portrayed. Something to do with the fresh set of stitches zippered high on his forehead?
Because he had no idea what lies the man spoke of, and since he seemed to be waiting for a reply, Ben asked, “What did I lie about?”
“Halliwell has someone helping her.”
“We don’t know anyone here,” Rachel exclaimed from the bed.
“I am not speaking to you,” the man stated without shifting his attention away from Ben. “If we are to have a mutually beneficial relationship, I will require your complete honesty.”
Ben looked around the room that’d served as their prison for the past eight hours and couldn’t help but ask, “Exactly how do we benefit in this situation?”
“I receive what I want from your troublesome sibling, and you all will be allowed to live.”
The calm, matter-of-fact delivery doubled the impact of the man’s words.
Alrigo Lapaglia straightened from the door, hands lowering to his sides. “Who is helping Halliwell?”
“I don’t know—”
In the blink of an eye, the man pulled a gun from the back waistband of his jeans and pointed it at Rachel. Ben shot to his feet as his sister’s scream vibrated through the room.
Cold, soulless eyes bored into Ben’s.
“Figure it out, fast.”
Ben held his hands up, palms out. “I swear, if someone’s helping her, it’s no one we know.” He stepped closer to Rachel. “Please, don’t. We don’t know anyone in the area, not even in the entire country.”
In a breath of silence came the sound of a soft electronic hum. Shit. His phone. He’d hid it in his boot while in the backseat of the car and thought he’d also managed to turn it off. His restless tick must’ve turned it back on and now he had messages. Probably from Halli.
Ben pretended he didn’t hear the phone. “Listen, if we can help, we’ll help. Just tell us what—”
“Shut up.”
The gun swung in his direction as Alrigo stepped forward. Ben did his best to keep a blank expression while resisting the instinct to duck from danger.
“What was that?” Alrigo demanded.
“What?”
Lips thinned and curved in what the guy probably meant as a smile. “Pissing me off is not good for your health.”
Acting stupid wasn’t working, so Ben went for the bluff. “It sounded like your cell phone or something.”
“At this precise moment, I am not carrying a cell phone.”
Heat crept up Ben’s neck and slowly made its way to his face. Alrigo stared so hard Ben thought he’d bore holes through his head.
“Need I remind you, Benjamin, benefits require honesty.” Anger created an ominous undertone in the man’s voice. Very softly, he added, “Rachel, come here.”
Ben glanced at her, saw the terror in her face, and swallowed hard. Alrigo motioned with the gun. How long was it safe to carry the pretense? Was it worth the risk? They needed the phone if they had any hope of getting help.
The moment Rachel stood next to the bed, Alrigo’s free hand shot out and fisted in her hair. Rachel’s scream was cut short when he dragged her to stand in front of him and pressed the barrel of the gun to her neck.
“Okay! All right!” Ben yelled. He bent and dug the phone from his boot to hold it out in surrender.
Alrigo released Rachel’s hair and took the phone without lowering the gun from Rachel’s shoulder. The guy’s skin was pale under the crimson flush of fury.
“Is there anything else?” His breath sounded a little raspy.
Rachel shook her head.
“No,” Ben said.
Alrigo lifted the gun to Rachel’s temple. “Swear to God?”
Tears streamed down her face and Ben felt his own eyes sting. “I swear,” he choked past the lump of fear in his throat.
The Italian shoved Rachel forward and Ben reached for her as she stumbled. Her breath caught on a sob and she clung tight while he hugged her close, cheek pressed to her head as he watched the monster flip open his phone.
Somehow, he had to keep both his sisters safe. He gave Rachel a squeeze, empty reassurance for her as well as himself, before prying her fingers from his arms and shifting in front of her as a shield.
Alrigo lifted his gaze, his mouth curled in a malicious smile. “What do you know, three new voicemails.”
It didn’t take long for him to access the messages; Ben had the number and password programmed into his phone. Surprisingly, the guy played them on speaker. First was a jumbled message from Halli in which she sounded twice as freaked as Ben felt.
He worried about her all alone. She’d never been able to handle the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants lifestyle their parents had raised them in. At times they hadn’t known where the next meal would come from, where they’d sleep, or if the cops would catch up to them. At the first opportunity, Halli set down roots and hadn’t changed a thing in her neatly scheduled life, until this trip. She hadn’t even visited their parents in prison once over the past nine years.
Halli’s message cut off abruptly and Alrigo moved on to the next one. Halli again, her voice slightly calmer as she told Ben she’d try the hotel. Ben felt a brief flare of relief, until he realized she’d call and find out they never showed up. Then what would she do?
He found out with the third message.
“Me again. Not sure where you guys are or what’s going on, but I’m okay.”
Halli’s laugh filled the room for an all too brief moment.
“Yeah, I know, not so believable after the last two messages...but really, I’m fine, so don’t worry about me. I’m going to the Consulate General in Milan. It’s like an embassy. Meet me there in the morning by ten. I’ll wait out front for you.”
Her decisive, though somewhat shaky, words surprised him. Go Halli. Then the triumphant smile on Alrigo’s face turned his brotherly pride to something far less welcoming. Halli’s message told them exactly where and when to find her. Hoping to figure out a little more of what the hell was going on, he held Rachel back with one hand and stepped closer to Alrigo.
“What does she have that you want? Maybe if you let me call her—”
The hand with the gun shot out and connected with Ben’s jaw before he could finish his sentence. Stars exploded on the edge of his vision. Rachel’s cry echoed in his ear as he stumbled back a step. She supported him from behind until his balance returned.
Ben gulped back the lump in his throat, warily watching Alrigo suck in a harsh breath, his skin paler than before. When a cough made the man’s features twist in pain, Ben knew he was injured more severely than just the stitched gash on his head. Could he use the knowledge to their advantage?
No more had the thought formed in Ben’s mind than Alrigo straightened, his jaw clenched tight as he met Ben’s gaze. “Do not give me a reason to decide I only need one of you. Your s
ister is much less trouble than you.”
The initial sharp pain of the blow to his jaw receded, replaced by a steady aching throb of discomfort. A trickle worked its way down the side of his mouth and the metallic taste on his tongue confirmed blood. Ben wiped his lip with the back of his hand, but remained silent with Rachel at his back clutching his shoulder.
“Zucchi!” the Italian boomed.
The door opened and the man who’d been guarding them stepped back inside. Ben didn’t like the stocky little minion any more than he did the ring leader, and he really hated the way the weasel’s slimy gaze roved over his sister.
Without warning, Alrigo backhanded the man across the face, then shoved Ben’s phone under his bleeding nose. Ben didn’t have to know Italian to guess the goon was getting reamed out.
Zucchi looked confused, but he nodded, apparently unwilling to question the boss with a gun in his hand.
Alrigo Lapaglia spoke again, gesturing toward Ben and Rachel. He finished with, “Capito?”
Zucchi’s “Si,” was lost as Alrigo slammed from the room.
Ben made a mental note of Alrigo’s limp as he left. If he could get past the man’s gun so he didn’t have to worry about Rachel, he could probably take the guy down. Then again, he’d still have to deal with Zucchi and Nino, and any other guy in the place. He’d noticed one more for sure on their way inside the villa.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asked softly, her hand lifting toward his face.
He jerked his head back and wiped his bloodied lip again, angry the bastard had caught him so off-guard. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
She tugged his arm. After a quick glance toward their guard, who used his sleeve to wipe his nose, Ben faced her.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m looking for any chance I can to get us out.”
“Halli sounded awful.”
Ben gave a soft snort. “Believe it or not, after that last message, I think Halli is actually okay. At least, until they show up tomorrow morning in Milan instead of us.”
Lost in Italy Page 9