by Diana Duncan
She’d seen sorrow and regret in his eyes when he’d released her. Had heard raw pain in his voice. She gulped. Or maybe her imagination was working overtime because she didn’t want to admit she’d fallen for a con man.
She slowly set the note on the bed. Dante had sent her things back, as promised. He’d followed through on every promise he’d made. He had taken a brutal beating trying to protect her from the Greek and Russian. He’d stepped between her and a lethal viper. He’d shared his body heat, his food, his tender concern.
Dante had always put her welfare ahead of his own. He had kept her safe.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Was it possible Dante had sacrificed himself to stop her from trying to help him, to keep her out of danger? Had he made some sort of bargain with Tasia to ensure Ariana’s well-being?
Her tough-but-tender guy was all about selfless sacrifice. He had been willing to give his life for her. Nearly forty days of loyalty to compare with one seemingly traitorous betrayal.
His deep voice rang in her thoughts. Sometimes, Ariana, lies cloak the truth, but do not invalidate what is real.
She and Dante had shared friendship and philosophies. She had seen love in his eyes, felt love in his touch when they’d shared their bodies. “Yeah, tough guy,” she muttered. “Words can be twisted. But your actions don’t lie.”
Only a sociopath could pull off a convincing pretense of human emotions. Dante was the opposite of a cold, selfish predator. If he were only interested in saving himself, he would have made an immediate deal with Tasia on the yacht and left Ariana to die.
Sometimes, Ariana, lies are necessary. Sometimes, circumstances force choices upon people.
Dante had run from her in the cottage with a burden too heavy, too dangerous to share. He’d denied himself to protect her. Perhaps…taking the files was another way of protecting her. Did he think she’d be safer if she wasn’t in possession of dangerous information? That she’d halt her investigation if she had no leads?
I did what I must. Now you must do what is right for you.
She reached out an unsteady hand and traced the bold script. Neither her father nor Geoff had been the men they appeared on the surface. Dante might be a thief, but he was kind and decent. He’d acted with infallible integrity toward her. Had treated her with consideration and care. His gentle lovemaking and tender words were evidence of his true feelings.
She didn’t even know his full name, yet she loved him with every cell of her being.
Dante had secrets he didn’t feel safe divulging. Perhaps he was working things out so they could be together. The note was a message. A promise.
And Dante always kept his promises.
In the end, it came down to choices. Though she’d derided Psyche as a fool, Ariana would reject reason and cling to hope. Though her decision might bring her grief and pain, she would choose to trust Dante. Choose to believe he loved her as much as she loved him.
It was too late for her father. Her mission now was to save Dante. Ariana wrapped her arms around herself.
But how?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GIORGIO SCUTTLED down the stairs to the crew’s quarters. This was his second errand since yesterday for Megaera, and uneasiness churned inside him. She usually contacted O’Connor, but he wasn’t answering his phone. Giorgio had caught him schmoozing a buxom blonde in a secluded corridor the night before. The bastard better not be holed up in his room indulging his libido, because they were supposed to acquire another antiquity today in Athens.
He stopped in front of Ariana’s cabin. How was Ariana involved? She’d arrived back on the ship looking like something the cat dragged in, claiming she’d been kidnapped. He and Mike had talked it over, and Mike was so unsettled by the news, he’d made Giorgio call the boss. Megaera had been furious when Giorgio had phoned her to report it, and demanded he immediately deliver a message to Ariana’s cabin. Clearly, Ariana had escaped the boss’s custody.
His hand trembled as he knocked on the door. Megaera was in a rank mood, and when she was pissed, everybody paid. But now she was offering Ariana a deal? It felt as if the boss was rapidly losing her grasp on the situation, and Giorgio was growing increasingly nervous about putting his future in the hands of people who couldn’t care less if he lived or died.
Ariana warily asked him inside, and he cleared his throat. “The meeting is set. In two hours, disembark and take the metro to the Monastiraki flea market. A white Kia Picanto will be parked in a side street beside a used bookstore called Rubáiyát. The keys and a map will be inside the glove box.”
If the message startled Ariana, she didn’t show it. She coolly showed him out, and he hurried down the hallway. How much did she know? Getting involved with Megaera didn’t seem like a good move for a smart broad. People who played games with Megaera always lost. He wasn’t sure whether the boss wanted to reward Ariana’s cleverness for escaping by offering her a job…or if she wanted to teach her a lesson. And he didn’t want to know. Smuggling was one thing, but he didn’t want any part of kidnapping or murder.
He reached O’Connor’s cabin and raised his fist to pound on the door. If he wasn’t there, Giorgio would personally search every inch of this friggin’ ship. The panel swung open, and he swore. The sonofabitch had left in a hurry, not even latching his door completely closed. The closet and bureau gaped open, clothing and papers and a few reproduction antiques strewn everywhere. His stomach pitched. Many of the antiquities were missing. The real ones.
No wonder O’Connor had insisted on moving the real ones from the case in the library to “refresh” his display. Giorgio backed out of the cabin and sprinted to the crew gangplank. Panting, he skidded to a stop and addressed the security officer on duty. “Have you seen Father Connelly today?”
Officer Barnes nodded. “He left about a half hour ago.”
“Did he mention where he was going?”
“He was carrying a large duffel bag full of reproductions. Said he was guest lecturing at the Athens Cultural Center.”
Damn it all to hell. Obviously, O’Connor didn’t want any part of kidnapping or murder, either. The sewage was circling the drain, and Mike had bailed out rather than go under. What did he know that Giorgio didn’t?
Giorgio swallowed choking fear. When Megaera found out, she would kick ass and take names. And his ass wasn’t gonna be first on the list.
“Thanks. I…uh…he forgot something.”
He raced to the library and snatched up the one remaining piece of value, the Hellenic fish plate, wrapped it in the daily newspaper, then ran back to the crew gangway. “I’d better get this to him right away.” He stumbled down the gangplank. He barely had enough cash to ride the metro to where his boyhood pal Aetos tended bar in the Gazi district. But six Euros was all he needed to save his life.
ARIANA FINISHED scribbling her letter and thrust the pages beneath her pillow. If something happened to her, the police would have a signed affidavit detailing the past six weeks.
No loose ends.
She picked up the phone to access her messages. Maybe Dante had called. She could warn him and wouldn’t have to meet with Megaera. Please let him have called.
One message. She listened as Professor Riley informed her that the vase sample she’d sent for analysis was genuine. It should have shocked her, but she’d had suspicions. Father Connelly was disguising genuine artifacts among reproductions. No wonder he’d behaved so oddly the day she’d run into him in that antique shop back in Alghero…sans collar.
She sank down on the bed. Megaera was a smuggler. Giorgio worked for her, and Connelly, his coworker, was smuggling artifacts. Not a coincidence.
She glanced at her watch. Ninety minutes before she was supposed to leave to meet Megaera. Ariana planned to go to the meeting, intending to find out Megaera’s identity and how her operation worked, then tell the FBI. Without involving Dante.
But the fact that crew aboard Alexandra’s Dream had used the cruise line for their
smuggling operation changed everything. Not just her own neck was on the line. Captain Pappas, Gideon Dayan and Elias Stamos, the man her mother loved, were all at risk. The criminals’ activity extended further than she’d imagined.
And Dante? Her heart stuttered. Surely he didn’t realize how far the operation reached, either. If he was attempting to wheel and deal with Tasia, he could be caught in the fallout.
Her mother’s words rang in her ears. If I’d set aside my own selfish needs, maybe we would have all been happier. If I’d been strong and forgiving enough to do what was best for him, maybe your father would still be alive.
She started to tremble. Perhaps her father hadn’t died in vain. She knew what she had to do. Oh, God, it was so dangerous. So risky.
But risk, no matter how much it hurt, was part of really living. Truly loving. If she were to crawl back into her safe shell now, she might as well have died on Tasia’s yacht. If anything happened to Dante, she would never forgive herself.
At least this way, he stood a chance.
She would give up everything for Dante, including her life. But she could not put innocent people at risk. She picked up the phone and shakily dialed Yvonne Esposito at Interpol. Agent Esposito was understanding and sympathetic to Ariana’s plight. Ariana asked to be connected to the FBI office in Rome and clung to the receiver through a clicking series of switchboard holds and transfers. Finally, she reached a man who identified himself as FBI Special Agent Davis. The conversation that followed was long and painful.
Tears stung her eyes as she disconnected. Dante had declared after she’d stitched his arm that sometimes you had to do what was best for a person, even if it hurt them. She could only pray that by doing what was right, she would do what was best for him. Dante had made his choices. Now she had to stick by hers.
In order to save the man she loved, she had to let go of him.
MIKE O’CONNOR SHIFTED gears and stomped the gas pedal in his rented Fiat. It would be a punishing drive to Rome where his cousin Paulo lived. Especially once he finally reached the winding, obscure mountain roads that bypassed border checks. Paulo had helped him steal the Albanian triptych. Mike grinned. His shiftless cousin was unaware of that fact, of course. Paulo had connections with many of Rome’s less reputable citizens, and had obtained false ID for Mike and slipped him into the Vatican. The wad of money he’d given his cousin had squelched pesky questions.
If anyone could help him convert the duffel bag of “investments” in the backseat into fast cash and get him out of Europe pronto, it was Paulo.
The hair on the back of Mike’s neck had been prickling since Ariana Bennett had returned to the ship. He’d reported Ariana’s presence at the dig site to Megaera right before the girl had disappeared, which made him an accessory to her kidnapping. The FBI would be swarming all over, and even if Ariana didn’t know anything about the boss’s operation, she had taken the shard from the vase in the library. She had to know by now Mike was smuggling artifacts aboard the ship. It felt too dangerous.
It felt all wrong.
He’d tried to hang in there for the big payoff. Had tried to drown his screaming instincts inside a bottle of Jameson and a luscious blonde, but when that hadn’t exorcised his jitters, he’d known it was time to jump ship. He’d survived two decades in the business by listening to his gut, and he wasn’t about to turn a deaf ear to blaring warning sirens.
He glanced in his rearview mirror at a blue sedan a comfortable distance behind, and exhaled a relieved breath. He was five miles out of Athens, and traffic had thinned. He’d make better time.
He lowered the window partway and lit a cigarette from the pack he’d purchased at the petrol station. The heady buzz of nicotine flooded his system. He’d had to sacrifice the smokes for his priestly cover. Father Patrick Connelly had plodded into a men’s room in the Athens Cultural Center and Mike O’Connor had strolled out, his hair dyed chestnut brown and a false beard and mustache hiding his face. The good father had faded into history, never to be seen again.
That little screwup Tzekas could take the brunt of Megaera’s fury and the heat from the law. Mike had a hefty haul from this job, and there was always another scam on the horizon.
He checked his mirror again. The blue sedan had caught up and pulled out to pass. He slowed, allowing it to whiz by as he switched on the radio. Humming, he glanced up, and swore as the sedan abruptly braked. Idiot must have won his driver’s license as a prize in a cereal box.
Without warning, the sedan’s emergency flashers blinked on. The car swung diagonally across the road and blocked both lanes, forcing Mike to slam on his brakes. The violent curse had barely exploded from his lips before a tall, lanky man leaped out and strode toward him, gun drawn.
Mike recognized the guy with the gun. His guts twisted painfully and he fought the urge to puke.
“Colonel Bernardo Moretti, Guardia di Finanza.” The man Mike knew as Bernardo Milo from Alexandra’s Dream flashed a police badge with one hand and pointed his pistol at Mike’s head with the other. “I’m the commander of a smuggling investigation task force with multinational jurisdiction. I’ve been tailing you since you disembarked from the ship. Keep your hands in sight and exit the vehicle.”
Mike climbed out, his knees shaking like a little kid’s, and Moretti made him lean on the Fiat with his arms outstretched and legs splayed. Cars began to stop behind both sides of the roadblock. Humiliation burned up Mike’s neck and into his face as the passengers gawked at him spread-eagled on the car while Morietti patted him down and cuffed his hands behind his back. The entire ordeal took maybe two minutes. The longest two minutes of his life.
Colonel Moretti extracted the duffel bag from the backseat, grabbed Mike by the arm and marched him toward the waiting sedan. “Michael O’Connor, you’re under arrest for smuggling stolen artifacts.”
THUNDER SNARLED OVERHEAD, and a damp slap of wind scattered pebbles across the pavement as Ariana climbed inside the small white car and studied the map Tasia had left for her. After she’d spoken to FBI Special Agent Davis, he had contacted the task force in charge of smuggling investigations in the area. Ariana was awed at how quickly they’d formed a plan and phoned her back with instructions. A female undercover officer posing as a store clerk had met her in a fitting room in a busy Athens mall midway to the flea market. A microphone the size of a matchstick was clipped inside Ariana’s bra, and her car was being discreetly tailed by undercover officers.
Before the end of the day, Megaera was going to jail.
The map led her thirty miles along the rugged coastline to a small cove. She exited the car and stared at the private dock where the yacht was moored. If she boarded that boat and it sailed, the FBI wouldn’t be able to immediately follow. She scrubbed clammy palms on her slacks. If she didn’t board, Dante would never be free.
She squared taut shoulders and marched down the dock. A man greeted her, said he was the captain and led her below to a huge stateroom with opulent Moorish decor. The room was overly warm and redolent with Megaera’s perfume. Ariana shrugged off her suede jacket and draped it over the arm of a plush chair as the ship’s engines started and the craft set sail. Where was her father’s mistress?
The door opened behind her. “Hello, Ariana.”
At the familiar voice, Ariana turned. A stunning brunette with flawless olive skin, dark eyes and a sultry mouth regarded her with practiced ease. Either the woman was younger than Derek, or she’d aged extremely well. Her camel tailored slacks and cashmere sweater hugged her lithe figure to perfection. The Etruscan bracelet winked at the edge of her sleeve like a cruel taunt.
“Hello, Tasia.” Ariana feigned calmness. “Where are we going?”
“Just for a little sail.”
Not helpful to the FBI agents listening in. Ariana’s glance strayed to the bracelet on Tasia’s wrist. While attaching the hidden mic, the FBI agent had coached her on how to elicit information. Starting with what the women had in common. “You’re sti
ll wearing the bracelet my father gave you. Either you admire fine jewelry, or you and Dad really cared about each other.”
“Does that disturb you?”
Tasia hadn’t affirmed or denied. Ariana knew this game. “Should it?”
“Actually, you’re the reason Derek sought me out. Once you were born so ill and weak, Sadie didn’t have time for anyone else. Derek was lonely, at loose ends.”
Ariana nearly surrendered to the sick clutch in her belly before she steadied. This woman would not exploit her weaknesses. “My mother loved my father. And he knew it.”
“Yet, I’m the one who suffered.” Bitterness sharpened Tasia’s tone. “I waited years for him, listened to countless, irritating excuses. I spent every holiday alone while he was with his family.”
Rage stung Ariana. “Common hazards of an affair with a married man.”
“Touché.” Tasia surprised her with a husky laugh. “You’re refreshingly honest.”
If you only knew. “Why did you ask to see me?”
“You survived the island, outwitted the Camorra and turned the Napoletano to our cause. You manipulated the cops and secured incriminating data.” Tasia slanted her a smile that seemed almost fond. “And cleverly destroyed…sensitive information. You’re your father’s daughter.”
A compliment to her father’s duplicity. How had she lived with him her entire life and not recognized his dual nature? Ariana inhaled a quivering breath. Wait a minute. How could Tasia possibly know she’d burned the letters? Had she been back to the island and taken the antiquities—taken the evidence of her crimes?
Ariana’s breathing sped up as the full import of Tasia’s statement sank in. You turned the Napoletano to our cause. “How—”
Tasia raised her hand in a gesture to wait and picked up the phone. “Come to the main stateroom.”
Moments later, Dante strode inside. He was dressed in his usual head-to-toe badass black. His sculpted face was shadowed with stubble, his beautiful eyes wary. Tired lines bracketed his mouth.
