Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4)

by Susan Vaughan

  She perched on the bed, picked up her hairbrush and began working at the knots. She’d always prided herself on her long, thick hair, but managing this rat’s nest required two hands.

  The scents of coffee and minty soap entered the room with Jack. His hair wet from a shower and shiny as new taffy, he strode in carrying a tray laden with steaming mugs and a basket covered with a white linen napkin.

  Never mind the food. With his loose-limbed gait and freshly shaven chin, he looked good enough to eat.

  He set the tray on the blue-painted bureau. “I found coffee and pastries. Hard-boiled eggs too.”

  “Tante grazie.” She tossed down the hairbrush. “I could devour it all.”

  His coffee mug stopped halfway to his lips. His blue eyes browsed her, taking in her T and flowered capris. “Sophie, you’re dressed.”

  Was there disappointment in his tone or merely surprise? She poured milk into her coffee and stirred. Not until she’d stuffed an almond pastry in her mouth and swallowed did she trust herself to respond. “My shoulder’s much better.”

  “It’s been a week. The doctor said ten days.” A scowl pleating his forehead, he swallowed coffee.

  “I won’t overdo.” She demonstrated with a tight, circular arm motion. A sharp twinge made her wince.

  He uttered an inarticulate growl. “Good thing you don’t have to conduct an orchestra or drive our demon car. Let’s get the sling on that arm.”

  She grinned at his deadpan humor and felt a warm curl in her belly at the obvious concern in his voice. She submitted to his care as he adjusted the sling’s fastenings. Letting this man protect her, take care of her, put his hands on her and … and… Well, whatever, she was becoming way too accustomed to the intimacy.

  “I want to leave off the sling. I can remember to keep my arm still, and wearing it is like painting on a bull’s-eye.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged gentle circles. “Vadim’s goon did use the sling to describe you. You’re sure?”

  The concern for her in his words and on his furrowed brow made her smile. The feel of his hands nearly melted her bones. “Assolutamente. Besides, the sling is much too hot. I roast enough with all this hair down on my neck. A French braid would get this mess off my neck, but I can’t reach high enough for that yet.”

  She felt Jack’s hands go dead-still on her shoulders.

  “What is it?”

  Throat-clearing noises. His hands flexed, warm and strong. “I know how to make a French braid.”

  Sophie wheeled so fast she sloshed coffee from her mug onto the woven rug. “You what?”

  A ruddy hue crept over his cheeks. “I can do a French braid. I used to braid my wife’s hair.”

  Her heart squeezed at what the admission must’ve cost him. Jack never talked about his wife. And yet he looked more embarrassed than grieved. Five years was a long time to keep a memory in sharp focus, even a painful one. What throbbed like an abscessed tooth was the death of his son.

  She pasted on her most dazzling smile and winked, opting for humor to ease his discomfort. She dug around in her kit for a scrunchie, then handed it and the brush to him. “A man of hidden talents. A French braid, per favore, Signore Giovanni.”

  As he stroked the brush through her hair, a low growl or possibly a chuckle rose from his throat. “Giovanni?”

  “Italian for Jack or John. If you’re playing hairdresser, you need a Continental name.”

  She stood still as he lifted her hair and worked the brush again and again down its length. Each tug of the bristles, gentle or not-so-gentle, felt like heaven. When he gathered her hair into sections and began braiding, she wanted to lean into him.

  Lost in his ministrations, she felt as boneless as a kitten, but she sensed he was as rigid as the automatic pistol he kept out of sight. “Did your wife have hair like mine?”

  His hands went still as if he was deciding how to answer. In the distance, a church bell rang nine times. Nearer, a car engine ground and ground, refusing to turn over.

  “Blond. Not as thick.”

  So much for relaxing him. Detective Rinaldi was interrogating a hostile witness. “What was her name?”

  Another pause. A long-suffering sigh. “Tonia. She liked me to braid her hair, said it felt good.”

  “I can vouch for that,” she murmured, barely able to speak.

  Soap, aftershave and body heat mingled with the feel of his big hands tugging at her hair and sliding across her scalp to radiate a shivery tingle from her head downward.

  One final tug, and his hands settled on her shoulders. “All done. I should’ve offered sooner.”

  Without his support, she would’ve melted into a warm puddle at his feet. Shaking off the sensual haze, she let him turn her to face him. “Thanks. I won’t be constantly wind-blown this way.”

  The smoky look in his eyes said having his hands in her hair had unsettled him too. His voice was husky when he spoke. “You’ve been a trouper through all this.”

  “Oh, yeah, having my hair braided is such an ordeal.” Her attempt at humor fell at her feet as he pushed a stray wisp from her cheek.

  “You know what I mean. The canal chase with shots flying. Our charging from town to town. Your injuries have to drain you, but you don’t complain or—”

  “Wimp out?” She executed a stiff shrug. “I have no choice. Getting back my memory and finding out what really happened is as important to me as it is to you. Not to mention the little matter of the uranium. But thank you.”

  She flattened her hand on his chest and rose on tiptoe to kiss him. She intended only a light brush of lips, but the magnet that pulled them together wouldn’t let go. She clung to his mouth and savored the warm muscles beneath her palm.

  “Sophie.” His arms wrapped around her, and he deepened the kiss with a moan that said he couldn’t help himself. His tongue swept against hers, all sultry heat and need.

  She tasted him — dark-roast coffee and salty man — and heat spiraled up inside. His embrace ignited her senses and she leaned into him, seeking more. His rampant virility against her belly declared his matching need.

  His lips left her mouth to nip at her temples, her earlobes, and to make his way down her neck. “Sophie, I shouldn’t … we shouldn’t. But…”

  “I know.” When his lips found her hard nipple poking the shirt’s soft knit, she rubbed against him.

  His mouth covered hers again, hot and hungry. He made her pulse sing as arousal bloomed inside her like a profusion of roses. She went liquid with want.

  For years she’d floated along in occasional superficial relationships, so how could this man — this hard man, this determined man, her staunch protector — create these deeper feelings? How could such intense desire be possible? And a connection beyond their bodies her soul yearned to explore?

  Desire and connection they couldn’t act on. There could be no relationship without trust. He didn’t trust her and she didn’t trust herself. Her pulse clattered. No, I can’t. We can’t…. “Jack,” she murmured into his mouth. She placed a trembling hand on his freshly shaven cheek.

  When he raised his head, his eyes were unfocused and his mouth glistened with their kisses. His hands slid away from her, and he stepped back. “You’re right to stop. A minute more, I’d have had you naked. I apologize. I took advantage.”

  The desire still swirling in her ebbed. Feeling slightly insulted, she twitched her hips and stalked to the window. “We have more reasons to stop than Italy has grapevines, but you taking advantage isn’t one of them. I kissed you first.”

  He rubbed a hand over his nape. “If you say so. But I shouldn’t have gotten carried away. It’s been a long time for me, and you’re a beautiful woman and…”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his discomfiture. He ran down like a windup clock. The poor man really didn’t know what to say. The notion that he didn’t hop into bed with every other woman flicked her pulse
again. “So chalk it up to proximity and hormones? Thank you for the compliment anyway.”

  “Besides, I should know better. DARK has regs against sex with witnesses or suspects.”

  “Speaking as both a witness and a suspect, I agree. And I have my own reasons. I need to find my memory and myself. Everything else is on hold. Even sex with a hunky, strong man who happened to share my bed.”

  Now it was his turn to smile. He looked like a small boy begging an extra cookie. “Hunky?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head.” Afraid this mutual admiration society might lead them in a circular path back to the bed, she began gathering up her toiletries and clothing.

  He was scowling into his coffee mug. “Good we cleared the air on that subject.”

  The professional DARK-officer shell was in place. Sophie could take a hint and pretend they’d put an end to the sizzle humming between them. “Too true. I’m glad we’re straight on that. Sex on this road trip is so not a good idea.”

  Denying their feelings was the rational thing to do. He knew it. She knew it. So why did she have this hollowed-out feeling in her stomach?

  Chapter 14

  HEADING FARTHER SOUTH, they maintained a zigzag pattern for two days and stopped in remote villages.

  Once Jack figured he’d ditched their tail, he intended to make a clockwise circuit of Tuscany before going to Florence. Maybe they could get lost in the city. Before that, he needed to contact somebody in DARK, but not anybody connected to the task force.

  He watched the rearview mirror, but the winding mountain road seemed to contain only locals and a few tourists. On a rare straightaway, he passed a German camper camouflaged with folding chairs, bicycles and canoes. Produce trucks, the tiny three-wheeled Apes, tourists and commuters headed to the larger towns of Montepulciano or Arezzo jockeyed for position.

  On the third day, as they drove into a small hilltop town for lunch, Sophie read to Jack from the guidebook. “‘Chiusi was once a powerful Etruscan city.’”

  Before Rome became dominant, the Etruscans were Italy’s first major civilization. Noting the sleepy Piazza del Duomo that spread before the cathedral, he snorted, “What, back in the seventh-century B.C.?”

  “There’s an Etruscan labyrinth beneath the piazza and Christian catacombs outside town. Etruscan tombs pepper the hillsides around the city, and the National Etruscan Museum is…” Her voice trailed off as Jack pulled into a parking space before a restaurant.

  “What is it?” he said. “Are we being followed?”

  She shook her head, flipping her braid onto her shoulder. “I’ve been here. I remember this town. I went to the Etruscan Museum.” Her eyes widened as pleasure spread across her features like dawn.

  “You remember something.”

  “I remember this town.”

  Hope sprouted inside him. “It wasn’t on your itinerary.”

  “I was driving around after leaving Arezzo. The Etruscans fascinate me.” She shrugged in elaborate Italian fashion, and her white smile nearly blinded him. “Jack, I’m remembering!”

  He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he said, “We’ve lost Vadim’s goon for now. After lunch we can investigate the museum. Maybe you’ll remember more there.” The longer they stayed in one place, the easier for Slick to find them. But nudging her memory was worth the risk.

  A tiny frown dimmed her beaming countenance. “It’s so frustrating. I grasp pieces of memory, images of places and people, but nothing hangs together. I don’t remember anything about the villa or the car hitting me or even that day.”

  He squeezed her hand as he helped her from the car. “You’ll get there.” According to the doctors, she might never remember the impact of the car hitting her, but the rest should return. In time.

  Time was a problem. Every day he didn’t find Vadim meant his enemy had opportunity to flee farther away or dig deeper into cover.

  ***

  At the Etruscan Museum on the Via Porsenna, they paid the modest entry fee of four euros each.

  Sophie could barely contain the anticipation that fizzed inside her like champagne. She picked up a folded map of the many Etruscan tombs outside town and tucked it in her pocket.

  Her memories were buried in her brain like in those ancient stone vaults dug into the Tuscan hills. Now that returning to Chiusi had unearthed this memory, maybe others would find their way from the labyrinth of her mind. She squirmed inwardly at the memories of Vadim she’d already glimpsed.

  Once she remembered the rest, Jack’s protection would end. And so would the attraction. What was between them arose from the necessary closeness, the isolation. He was a man she’d never have met otherwise. His reluctant caring and fierce dedication touched her heart. She would never forget him even if another blow to the head wiped clean all other memories.

  But they had nothing in common. When the danger ended, they would walk away from each other. Tell yourself that’s what you want, Sophia Constanza.

  At a terra-cotta exhibit spotlighted by the sun streaming in the adjacent window, Jack pulled her aside into the shadows. “Across the street. See him?”

  The man slouched in a shop doorway. He looked up and down the street. The same slicked-back dark hair and black shirt. The man the two of them called Slick.

  Her pulse jittered, and she edged closer to Jack. “How did he find us?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think he has. Our route took us south, and Chiusi’s not off the beaten path. A logical place to look for us. See, he’s checking out every passerby and vehicle.”

  “What do we do?”

  He took her right arm and steered her deeper into the museum exhibits. “We stroll around like the tourists we are and look for a rear exit.”

  They headed toward the museum’s centerpiece. She recognized the frieze with the meticulously painted male figures in wrestling holds. It took centuries of time to wear away and fade the frieze’s brilliant blues and reds, but one second’s glimpse of the hit man dulled Sophie’s excitement. She barely gave the wrestlers a glance.

  Moments later, in an obscure corner, they found an exit. A guide with the museum’s distinctive badge stood in the open doorway, beneath a No Smoking sign. She puffed on a cigarette. Her fluttering hand coaxed the smoke outdoors.

  Jack curved his arm around Sophie’s shoulders. He whispered, “Tell her you’re not feeling well and need air.”

  She sagged against him. She needed only a moment to convince the guide to let them go outside through the back exit. The woman shot Jack a disgusted look as she shut the door behind them.

  “What did you say to her?” he asked. They hurried from the courtyard onto the back street. Summer heat rose in shimmering waves from the baked paving stones.

  Sophie couldn’t help the nervous giggle that erupted. “I said I was pregnant. I don’t know the Italian for morning sickness, so I just said I was nauseous.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And she blamed me.”

  “Naturally.” Relieved to have something to smile about, she winked at him. Then a thought halted her feet. “Do you think the … hit man or whatever he is knows our car?”

  “It’s a good bet. We’ll rent a new one.” He stopped in front of a fruttivendolo and nudged her between the displays and out of sight. “I don’t want to drag you all over town looking for a rental agency, but I’d rather leave the car on the residential street where we left it.”

  She withdrew the Etruscan tombs map from her pocket. “On the back is an ad for a car agency in the Piazza Dante.”

  Both amber brows winged upward, and he grinned. Not a twitch of lip or a small smile but an out-and-out grin. He framed her cheeks with his big hands and kissed her. Hard.

  The world tilted and evaporated into the ether. She wanted more, but he broke the kiss as quickly as he’d begun it.

  “Sophie, ah, Sophie.” He shook his head as if stumped for more words than her name.
<
br />   She swallowed as the world reappeared. He looked at her as no one ever had before, deeply, as though trying to see into her soul. “What? That piazza’s only a few streets over. I remember from the guidebook. We can walk there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m not as fragile as I look.”

  “No. I can attest to that. But you had a concussion only a week ago.”

  She slipped her hand in his arm and urged him in the general direction of the Piazza Dante. “A concussion affects the head. My legs are fine.”

  Grinning again, he said, “More than fine.”

  Sophie’s heart did a back flip. Jack flirting with her? She was so in trouble.

  ***

  Two hours later they drove out of Chiusi. Jack had hoped for a vehicle with more room and, dammit, just more. No such luck.

  All the agency had was another Fiat nearly identical to the previous one, still no horsepower or air. This subcompact was black. Nondescript, but the color absorbed the more southerly Italian sun. Damn thing was a tin sauna.

  After renting the car, they bought emergency supplies at an alimentari, a delicatessen-type shop. Then they transferred their belongings and abandoned the government-issue Fiat. It would probably be towed, but not right away.

  He would have to notify the task force. But not right away.

  Armed with a Chiusi street map, Sophie directed him on a circuitous backstreet route out of town and northwest on a narrow secondary road. He hoped their mafioso counted on them continuing south on the main highway.

  Their route curved back and forth as if the road builders had simply followed the hills’ contours or the tracks of meandering cattle. In an Alfa Romeo or a Maserati, Jack would’ve enjoyed the hell out of the drive. Driving faster would send air in to cool them.

  But in the tiny Fiat, he groaned every time he shifted.

  A few miles into the countryside he noted a blue Fiat a few car lengths behind them. He couldn’t see the driver, but there was little other traffic. One man on a bicycle. That was it.