“I didn’t know if the threat was real.”
“But you were warned. By whom? Them?”
“No, definitely not those two.” Telling her the truth would open a can of worms he couldn’t deal with at this very moment, not in addition to the threat of losing their marriage, or worse, their lives, if they didn’t act quickly and sensibly right now. “But I don’t know how much I trust the source.”
“I’d say that source knew what they were talking about.”
“On that point, apparently so.” Nevertheless, he didn’t trust Fabrizia. The woman’s very existence had made his mother’s life a living hell…at least until his mother found Jack Cornaro and the will to walk away from Carlo.
“Yet you won’t tell me who.”
“No.”
Frustration thinned her lips. “All right, then. Why would the Russian mafia kidnap me? And why would whoever-it-is tell you instead of coming straight to me? I don’t have the connections or the profile I used to, not like I did before my accident. I have a decent amount of money socked away from my endorsement deals, but it’s not enough to tempt kidnappers.”
“They wanted to get to me. To my newest designs.” He stood, needing to pace, but the constricted cabin didn’t allow for much movement. “Once they had you, they could bargain for my work. It’s worth more than either of us could afford in ransom.”
Her expression changed as understanding dawned. “There’s too much security at the villa and your office to make you an easy target. That’s why they came for me.”
“Exactly.” Justine had been there when he’d had the system installed. She understood that his net worth—the proceeds from his earlier medical devices and the reputation they had earned him in the medical community—made him a target for thieves.
“You know I’ve been working on a new pump,” he told her. “As of last week, the designs are complete. I’m ready to move on to build the prototype and file the patent application. If it works—and I believe it will—it’ll be a big step forward in controlling Type I diabetes. It’ll be much better than current pumps in the accuracy with which it reads a patient’s blood sugar levels, then self-dispenses the appropriate level of hormones. It’ll also be less expensive to manufacture than current devices.”
“I thought you were still months or even years away.” Her eyebrows lifted. “You made a lot of progress.”
“I haven’t told you the best part.” He couldn’t keep the thrill from his voice. “It’s small and it’s simple. So small and simple that—if parents are given the right training in how to use it—it can work for toddlers. We’ve been after a reliable treatment method for toddlers for so long…I could die a happy man if this works.”
“Rocco, that’s incredible.”
“Thank you.” The look of genuine appreciation on her face—despite the fact he knew she was still angry with him—gave him hope. And, he had to admit, he wanted her to be proud of him. Of what he’d accomplished, of how many children his work could help. “Unfortunately, I’m apparently not the only one who knows its value. Radich was renting the office above mine. He’s a computer guru and a surveillance expert, which means he was likely able to see or hear what I was doing, even if he couldn’t get to the work itself.”
“You think they’ll try to break into your office?”
“If he was able to watch me, he’d know I rarely left anything of value overnight, and with my mother’s funeral, I wouldn’t be at my lab for several days. I kept the software and product design on a memory stick and stored it in the villa’s safe. I have it in the backpack.”
He could see the wheels spinning in Justine’s head as she eyed the black bag in the corner of the cabin. “If they had that stick, they could copy your work and sell it.”
He nodded. “There are certain countries where companies will pay dearly for medical technology without regard to the fact it’s stolen. More than I’m worth. Those thugs would rather have my designs than any kidnap ransom I can afford.”
“You don’t think they’ll stop looking for us, do you?”
“Not as things stand.” He settled beside her on the bed once more, though he didn’t touch her. “I’ve partnered with two of my professors from the Biomedical Engineering department at Johns Hopkins on the pump’s development. They’ll be responsible for building the prototype and starting the testing process. If we deliver the designs to them, it makes things much tougher for the Russians. First, it’ll be harder to steal from the university than from me, even with all my security. Second, I can finalize the patent application. Once that’s filed, the Russians’ ability to command top dollar will disintegrate.” He waved his hand like a magician concluding a magic trick. “Poof, the threat to us is gone.”
Her gaze went to his backpack once again. “Since you have the laptop and the memory stick here, can you e-mail everything?”
“I’d never send it over e-mail. The laptop I use for design work isn’t even connected to the Internet. Too vulnerable to hackers. It’s possible that’s why Radich was brought in on this job…to hack into my computer and steal the designs without me being aware of it.” Rocco had been turning over possible solutions in his head ever since they boarded the boat, but there was only one. “We have to go to Baltimore. Deliver the designs in person.”
Her eyes widened. “We?”
“It’s the only way I’ll know you’re safe. If I were to leave without you—”
“I’d go straight to the police.” This time, she put a hand on his knee. “I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“No.”
She pulled away, disbelief clouding her gaze. “You don’t even trust the police?”
“It’s not about trust. Police are obliged to follow procedure, which means they’ll focus first on what happened at your apartment last night. We’d spend hours being grilled about it—how I knew those men were coming, who warned me, what I know about them—and that won’t decrease the risk to our safety. If anything, it’ll put us in a place where it’s easy for Radich and Karpovsky—and anyone else who’s working with them—to find us. The minute we walk out of that station, we’re sitting ducks.”
“You’re asking me to trust you” —her mouth pinched in anger— “yet you won’t tell me how you knew I was about to be kidnapped. You don’t want to go to the police—I know you’re not giving me the full story there—and you still won’t even tell me why you and your mother found a damned entertainment report fascinating. Yet you want me to follow you to Baltimore, without so much as my own toothbrush—”
“Not follow. Come with.” He couldn’t help but flash a grin. “And you can keep that toiletry kit, so you technically have your own toothbrush.”
“Rocco—”
“I promise, no horrid sex.”
“No sex at all!”
“Ouch.” He faked a stab to the chest. “But acceptable if it means you’ll come to Baltimore.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t have my passport.”
“It’s in the backpack. You never took it to your apartment, remember? I brought both passports from the safe.”
“You’re too smart for your own damned good.”
“Apparently, or the Russians wouldn’t want my designs.”
She raised her thumbs to her temples and massaged small circles, as if that would help her decide, and muttered, “I am really unhappy about this.”
He kept quiet, allowing her to think. After a long moment, she dropped her hands and said, “I’ll go with you to Baltimore on one condition. You tell me everything you know. About those Russians, about who warned you they were coming. About why the police make you hesitant. And about your mother.”
“It’s not that simple. There are other people involved. People with a lot to lose.” As much as Rocco hated what Carlo had done to his mother, the king’s other children didn’t deserve to suffer the media storm that would occur if the truth were ever revealed. They’d done nothing wrong, and by all accounts, they were good,
hardworking people. Prince Stefano even had children of his own…as Rocco learned from the entertainment report that’d spurred the argument with Justine in the first place.
“If I have to trust you, then you have to trust me enough to explain.” Justine stood, then grabbed her slippers and discarded nightgown from the floor. “If you can’t, I’m outta here. I’ll take my chances with the police.”
There was no mistaking the determination on her face. Short of tying her to the bed, he couldn’t force her to stay.
He bit back an obscenity, then grabbed a hat and sunglasses so he could go above without being easily recognized. “Deal. We’ll sail up to Split, then take the overnight ferry to Ancona, Italy, and travel from there. I don’t want to use the Dubrovnik airport.”
As he whipped open the cabin door, he turned to look at Justine over his shoulder and gauge her reaction. Her responding blue-eyed stare was intense, tenacious. It was the same look she always had in the starting gate as she dropped her goggles into place, seconds before pitching herself full-tilt down a dangerously steep slope.
She didn’t know what she was asking of him. He was letting his heart rule his head by agreeing to her terms. The cost could be high, both to himself and to others, but he wouldn’t risk having her harmed.
“When?”
He didn’t pretend not to understand. “On the ferry. We need to get out of this marina. The sooner, the better.”
Chapter Seven
She should’ve left Dubrovnik months ago.
On the slopes, Justine always let her heart rule. Coaches constantly begged her to spend more time studying the courses she raced, to walk the mountain more than once so she could plan how she wanted to approach each section on race day. While she did study them, she did her best when she felt them. When she experienced the catch of her edges against the snow in a particular turn, when she mentally timed the proper amount of air over a jump. When she crouched low, felt her balance locked in the sweet spot, and let her skis take her to the finish line instead of trying to guide them.
With Rocco, she’d done the same. She’d let her heart steer her decisions where he was concerned, feeling her way instead of making a plan or listening to logic. Logic would’ve long ago told her that the relationship was over and that she should move on. If she had followed logic, they wouldn’t be in this mess right now. She’d be safe in Tahoe, interviewing for jobs—or perhaps already employed—and Rocco wouldn’t have been left with a vulnerability exposed for the jackasses who wanted to steal his research.
Justine stifled a late afternoon yawn as Rocco went inside the small white building at the edge of Split’s marina to pay for a temporary boat slip. She hung back, keeping her head down so she wouldn’t be noticed by a group of men walking toward the parking lot with their fishing gear.
“Done,” Rocco said a short time later when he approached the stand of trees where Justine waited. “It’s about a ten minute walk to the ferry terminal. There are shops along the way if you’d like to stop for essentials.”
“Something to sleep in, a sweatshirt, and a pair of shoes. Maybe another shirt or two. And a bag, so I don’t have to cram everything into your backpack.”
It took less than an hour to find what they needed and make their way to the terminal. While they waited in line, Justine organized her new purchases in her backpack, keeping back a jet-black hooded sweatshirt and zipping it over her T-shirt for warmth as the sun set. Once they made it to the ticket window, Rocco nabbed an outside cabin with two beds and a small bathroom. “We lucked out that it’s a Wednesday,” he told her as they showed their documentation at the control booth and boarded the massive vessel. “On weekends, the ferry sells out.”
“Yep, I feel lucky.”
He raised a brow at her sarcasm, but wisely said nothing until they’d located their cabin and keyed in to deposit their bags. “I let my phone go dead and left it behind on the boat, just in case the Russians have the means to trace it. I’ll pick up a burner phone when we get to Italy. In the meantime, we should use the Internet on board to research flights to the States. We can also check police reports from Dubrovnik to see if anyone called about the gunfire in the alley.”
The cabin was warm and cozy, its window offering a view of the darkening Adriatic from each of the two beds. Fluffy pillows and a crisp white comforter tempted Justine to burrow. “If I don’t nap soon, I’ll be dead on my feet.”
“And if I do nap soon, I won’t wake up until morning.”
Justine cast a longing look at the bed, then reluctantly walked to the door. Rocco was right; if her head hit that pillow, she wouldn’t move for a solid ten to twelve hours, about the time they were scheduled to dock in Ancona.
As they climbed the carpeted stairs from their cabin to the deck containing the ferry’s restaurant and Internet station, Rocco put a hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what. After we find a flight, let’s get dinner. We’ve had enough cereal today. A real meal will make both of us feel better.”
“Food would be good.” Much as she hated to admit it to herself, his reassurance helped, and his strong, protective touch meant as much to her as the thought of a meal.
At the Internet station, Rocco took the task of searching for flights while Justine scoured the Dubrovnik news. “I have it,” she said a moment later. “They mention my street and say that residents called to complain of noise in the alley just after midnight. A husband and wife insisted that they heard a gunshot, but no one else could corroborate that. Several witnesses reported yelling just before a black sedan exited the alley, but they couldn’t agree on the make or model. It says, ‘Police are looking for any information, as violence of any kind is rare in the neighborhood.’ It finishes by mentioning that the area is adjacent to the Old City and attracts a lot of tourists.”
“Nothing on Karpovsky and Radich? No descriptions?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. The angle from the windows makes it difficult to see the area under the fire escape where the sedan was parked.” Which meant no one was looking for either man. “You find tickets?”
“Looks like the best option is to fly from Rome to Washington Dulles, then rent a car or hire a driver. I don’t see any direct flights to Baltimore. Philadelphia’s an option, too. I’m checking on times now.”
“If you’re paying, get us cushy seats.”
He grumbled at her request, but didn’t say no. She grinned, then scanned a few other Dubrovnik news sources in case she’d missed anything. Most of the articles were about an upcoming economic summit being hosted in Zagreb or concerned government discussions on funding the restoration of Dubrovnik’s many churches. Then an article on Sarcaccia’s newest royal family member caught her eye. Prince Stefano’s wife, Megan Hallberg, had given birth to their second child, a boy named Dario. The photo accompanying the piece showed Stefano’s older brothers, Prince Vittorio and his twin, Prince Alessandro, sitting on either side of their father, King Carlo. The king was grinning from ear to ear as he held the newborn.
“Got it,” Rocco said. “There’s a flight with space still available day after tomorrow from Rome to Washington. And, just for you, we can go business class. I’m holding the tickets now. Figure it’ll be tougher for Radich to discover our plans if we finalize booking as close to the flight as possible. Just for good measure, I’m also going to hold a flight from Rome to New York and one from Venice to New York.” He finished the ticket holds, then came to stand behind her. She knew him well enough to sense his unease when he spied the photo on her screen. “What are you reading?”
“Article about the Sarcaccian royal family in the Dubrovnik paper. I know it sounds weird, but I always thought you looked like them. The twins, especially.” The more she looked at Vittorio and Alessandro, the more she saw the resemblance. Their hair was the same color and texture as Rocco’s, and their eyes were the same. Not only the color, a light shade of brown that stood out against their dark olive skin, but the shape. Even the way they smiled in the photo
reminded her of the way Rocco smiled when he was completely at ease.
“Don’t you mean that they look like me? I’m older than they are.”
“And you claim you don’t keep up on celebrity gossip.” She logged out of the computer, then twisted in the chair and raised an eyebrow before rising to walk with Rocco to the ferry’s restaurant. “At the risk of pissing off the man who’s about to buy me dinner and airline tickets, you promised to tell me more about the entertainment report you and your mother were watching the day before I moved out. The one about Stefano Barrali. What was so interesting?”
The ease she’d forced into her tone worked. Though his gaze remained guarded, his shrug was casual. “My mother’s Sarcaccian, remember? She likes—liked—knowing what was happening in her home country. Besides, it’s good for trivia games to know which Barrali was born first.”
“You already beat everyone at trivia games.”
“At science, sports, and literature, sure. Entertainment and celebrities are my weaknesses.”
There was an affability in his voice she recognized, one that warned her he was trying to distract her from the original subject. She waited until they were seated with menus in the ferry’s expansive restaurant before trying again. “The Barrali twins’ younger brother, Prince Massimo, apparently got married at the palace late last month. Private ceremony, family only. Nothing like Prince Stefano’s wedding, with all the pomp and circumstance. The country all but shut down for the ceremony.”
He shot her a wry look, acknowledging her effort to turn the topic back to the royals. “You’re admitting that you keep up with celebrity gossip, then.”
She settled on her dinner choice and closed the menu. “I was in the Milan airport the day after Prince Stefano’s wedding and it was all over the televisions in the gate area. My flight from there to the States was packed with tourists who’d gone to stand outside the cathedral and watch the procession and fireworks. I couldn’t believe how many people are fascinated by the royal family. It’s insane how obsessed they can be.”
The Royal Bastard Page 6
