by Addison Fox
Although she suspected Dante believed he was delivering a compliment, Kensington fought the urge to leap across the desk and throttle him. “I’m hardly here as an escort to the ambassador, Mr. Ferrero. Rather, I’m a paid operative who can either save his ass or put it in a sling. I understand the latter option’s not been made clear to the ambassador, but I certainly I hope it’s crystal clear to you.”
Dante nodded. “As clear as the waters of Lake Como.”
“Excellent. I’m glad we understand each other.”
While the flash of male posturing—and the clear frustration lingering in the tight lines of Dante’s mouth—wasn’t lost on her, she’d learned early how to make a hasty retreat. She suspected the good inspector wasn’t immune to concern for his team member, so she’d start there. “How is Marco? We’d like to speak with him if we may.”
“It can be arranged but it’s possible you won’t get many details at this point. As of this morning, his medical team has confirmed that he continues to lapse in and out of consciousness.”
“Have you accounted for the ambassador’s whereabouts on the morning of the attack?” Jack waved the slender file Dante had shared. “Nothing’s been updated here since late last week.”
“Yes.” Dante pulled another piece of paper from a slim folder on his desk. “We also have been monitoring both him and his key staff members for the past three months.”
“Is that why the assignment’s changed since your original outreach?”
Dante’s eyes widened at the question. “I’m sorry, Miss Steele. I don’t understand your meaning.”
“The request you put to both my firm and Mr. Andrews’s firm was to provide security detail to a high-ranking diplomat. Yet here we are, tasked to find intelligence on the same diplomat. None of that was in your original request.”
“Are you suggesting there is a problem?” The clipped tones were cold. Why was this the piece that pushed him over the edge? Any hint of politeness had vanished from both his tone and manner.
Deliberately ignoring the censure, Kensington pressed on. “I’m suggesting you purposely withheld information as our firms bid on the project. I’d like to understand why.”
Dante sat back, the dismissive move screaming his meaning far louder than his words. “Perhaps Mr. Andrews hasn’t found the proper partner for this assignment.”
Before she could respond, Jack stood. “I’ve found the right partner. No need to worry about that.”
Dante never moved from his seat. “Are you sure, Mr. Andrews?”
“Quite. What I’m not sure is why your organization thinks that an outside firm is the way to handle this problem. It implies you can’t police your own.”
Dante’s blue eyes flashed with cold fire and he leaned forward at the taunt. “We can handle our problems just fine.”
“Yet you’ve sought my help, and by extension, Miss Steele’s, to provide plausible deniability when this eventually blows up.”
Whatever else he might be, Dante Ferrero was a cop and it was that trait that ultimately won out. “One of my men is in the hospital, struggling in and out of consciousness and fighting for his life. I want nothing more than to get the bastard who did it, but it seems my government has overruled my eager need for justice. Your firm’s investigation adds a certain legitimacy to my concerns about the ambassador.”
“And if things do blow up and Pryce is guilty of what you suspect?”
“Then you and Miss Steele have my full blessing to take him down.”
Chapter 5
“He’s lying.”
“No. He’s not telling the whole truth. There’s a difference.”
A light breeze wafted around them as they strolled through one of Rome’s many piazzas. Jack wasn’t sure if it was the surprisingly nice December afternoon or the presence of a beautiful woman at his side, but he couldn’t quite muster up anything more than a subtle annoyance at their meeting with Dante.
Several people sat under umbrellas in the outdoor cafés that dotted the large square and Jack had a sudden urge for a cappuccino. “Come on.”
When she only stared at him in confusion he pointed toward the nearest restaurant. “I want a coffee. We’ll dissect the good officer’s words and come up with our own meaning. We’ll also figure out how badly we still want in on this job.”
He held up two fingers to the restaurant’s hostess before she led them to a small table. Once seated and their cappuccinos ordered, he settled back in his chair.
“I thought I was going to have to separate you and Dante.”
The subtle lines creasing Kensington’s face softened at the intended joke. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“You were magnificent. I loved how you went after him.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Not in the least. If he’s worth his position he knows how to hold his own.” Jack leaned forward and tapped a finger on the table. “But you pinned him down. I’m curious why.”
“Dante didn’t work all that hard on convincing us to stay on the assignment.” A small frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “In fact, it was almost like he was trying to scare us off.”
“Remember all that male posturing we discussed this morning?”
“Sure.”
“How was our little meeting with the good officer any different?”
The slight widening of her eyes was the only clue his comment surprised her. “Of course it’s different. Whistling at a pretty woman and lying about a security problem are two different things.”
“Not when it comes to saving face.”
Their waitress set down their coffees and a small plate of biscotti, and Kensington waited until the woman departed once again before speaking. “You can’t really think they’re the same thing.”
“Of course they are. His government’s running the risk of an embarrassment that will spread through the global community like wildfire. Add on the implications to the drug trade if they don’t get this under control and they’ve got a substantial problem on their hands if Pryce is as dirty as they think.”
“And you can honestly sit there and tell me you think that’s like whistling at a beautiful woman?”
“It’s about power. And position. It’s the same.”
Her indelicate snort was as spot-on as her retort. “So getting laid and government corruption are about on par in your book?”
“I didn’t say that. I said they come from the same source.” He leaned forward and snatched a cookie. “Which is where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re the beautiful, brilliant woman who’s going to bring it all crumbling down.”
“Dante made that point—at least the female point—more than evident. And just for the record, in case there was even the slightest doubt in your mind, I didn’t take this job so I could tart myself up and wear a push-up bra.”
“More’s the pity.”
“What happened to admiring my brilliance?”
“Can’t I admire both your brilliance and your stunning form? That is why you dress like you do.”
“Excuse me?”
The change was immediate and Jack took a perverse satisfaction at how quickly she prickled up. Why did the mention of her beauty bother her so badly? Especially when she made every effort to use those looks where it suited her.
“You’re impeccable. I’ve never seen you in anything that didn’t flatter your incredibly elegant form or let everyone in the room know you were a woman. Yet it bothers you when it’s pointed out.”
“I’m not bothered.”
“And that stick that just inserted itself in your spine was all for show?”
She relaxed slightly. “Good posture is a key to a healthy digestive system.” She glanced at the cookie
s as if considering a small square before reaching for her coffee instead. “Besides, the point’s moot. You were hired. As far as Dante’s concerned I’m the pain in the ass tagging along.”
“Then you didn’t see what I saw.”
Her sharp gaze met his with the force of a cracked whip. “Oh, no?”
“That man knows damn well you’re the key to this project.”
“Then why didn’t he hire me?” Sugar dripped from her words, but her smile was all shark.
“That still chaps your very fine ass, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it does.”
He kept his gaze level on hers, curious to see if she’d give any indication of what went on inside that marvelous mind of hers. “Because you wanted the job or because you hate to lose?”
“Can’t it be both?”
“Not if you want to keep your priorities straight and your head in the game.”
“My head’s always in the game.”
“You sure about that?”
Anger heated her eyes to an indigo blue and the bright bustle of the piazza provided a backdrop to the extraordinary self-control she possessed. Despite himself—and the words he wielded to poke at her defenses—he was captivated.
Whatever attraction he’d felt for the woman was nothing compared to the heat that throbbed in his veins at that moment. She was magnificent.
A warrior princess.
And if he wasn’t mistaken, she’d grabbed hold of something inside of him he’d thought long dead.
* * *
Kensington took a sip of her coffee and attempted to marshal her thoughts. Jack Andrews was a formidable opponent—just as she knew him to be—and her response needed to be thoughtful.
Even if she was vacillating between throttling him and climbing on his lap and kissing him senseless.
Which made about as much sense as this inane conversation they were having.
“You like to win. So do I. I’m not sure why you think it’s a silly trait from my perspective.”
He shook his head. “I never said it was silly.”
“It’s implied in your words.”
“No, damn it, it’s not.” She was surprised by how quickly her retort tripped his trigger as he leaned forward with enough force to shake the table. “And just so we’re clear, the urge to win never outweighs my focus on the job.”
“Neither does mine.”
“Then why does it bother you I got the assignment?”
“My brothers, sister and I have worked hard to create a successful business. We pitch assignments we want to win.”
“You can’t win them all.”
“No.”
“So if you do understand that and have presumably lost other projects, why does it bother you so badly to lose to me?”
The sudden realization he’d neatly boxed her in should have upset her. If she’d imagined this discussion, she’d have seen it play out with a series of pithy retorts he’d be incapable of volleying back.
Yet so far he hadn’t missed one single shot aimed in his direction.
So why wasn’t she bothered?
She wanted this job, sure. Was already invested in a positive outcome for their client. Yet that was only the tip of the iceberg.
Jack’s succinct assessment of her reaction wasn’t far off. It chafed to lose to him. The real question was why. “No matter how hard I push, you just push right back. Why is that?”
“I told you. I’m interested in you. Beyond this job, I want to get to know you. Spend time with you.”
“No.” She shook her head, working through it in her mind. “It’s more than that. Attraction is easy. And it’s not worth all the time and effort.”
He sat back in his chair, looking for all the world like every other casual male sitting in the café. “I can’t agree with you there.”
“I’m serious. At its core, attraction’s easy. Yes or no. On or off.”
A lazy smile lifted his lips in the slightest quirk and a sudden shot of heat arrowed through her belly at the subtle cockiness of the gesture.
But when he leaned forward, those dark eyes as mesmerizing as a magician’s, she nearly forgot to breathe.
“Oh, it’s definitely on, Kensington.”
“Well, turn it off. I’m not going to spend the next week fighting with you on this.” The sharp bite in her tone was harsher than she’d planned, but once the words were out she could hardly snatch them back.
“Even if you are interested?”
“I’m more interested in finding out the responsible party and getting this job wrapped up. You know as well as I do the longer a job takes, the higher the risk.”
He leaned forward once more, pushing his empty coffee cup aside. The hard bunch of his shoulders under his jacket drew her gaze before it drifted toward his mouth. A light smile turned up the corners at her scrutiny and she forced her gaze firmly toward his before her body could betray her once more.
“For someone who spends an awful lot of time calculating the odds, you’re not very bullish on yourself,” Jack said.
“Oh, I do just fine.”
“Well, then, let me give you a small bit of advice. One gambler to another.”
“What’s that?”
“The big score doesn’t come around very often. And you’ll always kick yourself if you don’t bet big when you have the chance.”
Whatever she could possibly have said to such a statement was lost as he stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “We should probably get going. I’d like to visit Marco and if his condition is as accurate as we’ve been told, we may need to wait for a while.”
“That means you want to take this job?”
“I want to talk to Marco, but yeah, I want this job and I’m willing to bet big on it. And on us.”
* * *
Marco DeAngelo lay in his hospital bed, battered and bruised almost beyond recognition. Machines beeped and maintained a steady stream of data on every aspect of his care. Kensington fought the sudden well of tears as she sought the confirmation that his heart was still beating, true and strong.
Crying wouldn’t help the man.
Only action could do that.
And the sheer determination to see this job through.
Jack’s words still echoed in her thoughts—had kept her company on the entire taxi ride to the hospital—and she was surprised to realize how tightly she clung to them.
I’m willing to bet big on it. And on us.
Us.
Jack’s fingers brushed her hand before linking them firmly. His touch conveyed instant support. Belief. Partnership.
The thought caught her up short, battling at her subconscious with swift and immediate impact. For all their talk of partnering on this job, it wasn’t until he reached for her that she’d felt it. True partnership.
And for the first time in longer than she could count, she didn’t feel like the one who had to keep it all together. For once, she had someone to lean on and help carry the load.
Jack’s voice interrupted the thought and she turned toward him, grateful to get out of her own head. “The doctor said it was okay to wake him, but I’m not so sure.”
“Let’s give him a few minutes.” She hesitated briefly before deciding to finish her thought. “Whoever is behind this wanted to keep him from talking.”
Jack squeezed her hand once more before he spoke. “They wanted him dead and they damn near succeeded if his condition is any indication.”
“I suppose so.” She murmured the words before sinking back into her own thoughts. How did someone recover from such a brutal attack and the murder of a loved one?
Yet they did.
And Marco would recover, assuming he could get out of the woods and be
gin healing. People recovered from grief. And they did go on. Even if a large piece of them was never the same.
“Are you all right?” Jack turned toward her, shielding her view of Marco with his body. “We can come back later. Go grab another coffee or maybe some lunch.”
“I’m fine. It’s just...seeing Marco. I can’t help thinking of his grandfather.” And my parents.
“Dante did confirm he knows that his grandfather was killed. Was told early on, during his moments of consciousness.”
She supposed there was a strange mercy in that, even if it didn’t feel like it. At least he wouldn’t wake up to the news. Rather, the horror would be wrapped up as one more piece of his healing.
Was there ever an easy way?
As someone who had lived through it and still bore the scars, she knew the answer was a resounding no.
Another layer of those tears pricked hot against her throat when Marco’s groan echoed from the bed. She and Jack moved forward at once, but she spoke first. She kept her voice soft yet firm. “Signore—”
Marco’s eyes snapped open, confusion stamped in their blue depths as his gaze darted around the room.
She kept her voice gentle. “Scusi, Signore?”
Marco struggled to sit up, his movements frantic as he sought to protect himself from strangers.
“Dante sent us.” Jack backed up her words but made no move to touch the detective.
Marco’s eyes never lost their sheen of mistrust but he spoke in flawless English as he stopped his movements. “Then where is he? And who the hell are you?”
Jack made quick introductions before producing additional documentation from Dante. Although the tense set of Marco’s shoulders didn’t fully fade, Kensington noted the slowing of his heart rate on the monitor behind his head.
They’d passed the first test.
“So you’re the hotheaded Americans Dante thinks can fix this case?” Marco reached for the remote on his bed to lift himself to a seated position.
“I’m not sure fix is the word I’d use.” Jack’s broad grin belied the coiled tension she’d felt as they stood before Marco’s reclining form. “I think Dante has other plans for us. Your English is excellent, but how familiar are you with the concept of plausible deniability?”