Hunting Daylight (9781101619032)

by Maitland, Piper

  These were humans from Boston? What about that Turk? Who had hired this crew?

  A man in a blue Hawaiian shirt let out a hoarse cry and pointed toward the vineyard. “There’s the girl!”

  He vaulted over a low stone wall and charged into the darkness. A man in a yellow shirt followed him. They were gone before Sabine could collect her thoughts. She’d deal with them later.

  She looked back at the Audi. Tatiana was still in the front seat, and her head was moving above the lap of the driver, whose mouth was wide open, showing the glint of silver fillings in his back teeth.

  Sabine moved her gaze to the Peugeot vans. She projected more wasps at the men. They let out whoops and veered into the grass, their shirts filling with air.

  A high, girlish scream came from the vineyard. Sabine turned toward the sound. She saw two small figures running down the rows, racing in and out of shadows. The Boston men were behind them.

  Sabine pulled in a breath and grunted. The blow hit the men, but they were too far away to feel the full impact. They stumbled, then kept going. As she climbed down the hill, she stepped into a hole. She wrenched sideways, and pain twisted up her ankle.

  As she pulled her foot out of the hole, she lost her balance and tumbled forward, over and over, dirt and grass filling her eyes and nose. She rolled over a ledge, arms wheeling, and then she was flying.

  CHAPTER 38

  Vivi

  Vivi ran through the dark vineyard, angling in and out of the rows. She could hear Lena’s footsteps behind her. A shadow cut in from the side, and then a big hand snatched the back of Vivi’s shirt. Her collar pushed against her throat, crimping her airway.

  “Let her go, you fat pig,” Lena yelled, then she bit the hand that was holding Vivi. A hoarse cry rang out. The hand released Vivi’s shirt, and she slid to the ground. She looked up. Lena was going after a man who wore a yellow Hawaiian shirt. She boxed his ears, then kicked his shins.

  “I’ll whip your ass proper,” Lena said.

  A man in a blue floral shirt rushed in from the other direction and aimed a red dot at her face.

  “Run,” Lena said.

  Vivi got to her feet.

  A pish-pish noise slammed through the dark, and then Lena clutched the side of her face. She fell over backward and didn’t move.

  “Lena!” A burning smell rushed up Vivi’s nose. She gulped air and held it deep in her lungs. Then she hurled a thought at the blue-shirted man.

  DROP YOUR GUN.

  His fingers sprang open, and the red dot danced over the vines like a bee. A dark line curved from his ear, and he clamped his hand over it.

  “Ow, ow,” he said, then bent over double. The man in the yellow shirt grabbed Vivi from behind and tossed her over his shoulder.

  BLEED, YOU ASSHOLE!

  He kept running, his warm breath hitting her neck. He’s not a vampire, she thought. She tried to Induce him again, but she was hyperventilating. He carried her up a hill, over the low, stone wall, to the driveway. He set her on the ground but held on to her wrist.

  “Let go,” she yelled. She tried to wrench away, but he jerked her back.

  She looked over her shoulder. Bodies were sprawled on the gravel. A blond woman walked up, her face smeared with blood, her hands fisted at her sides. Her pants were dirty, as if she’d spilled wine in her lap.

  “We’ve got her, Tatiana,” said the man in the yellow shirt.

  Tatiana’s eyes narrowed as she pulled Vivi out of the man’s grasp. “You little bitch. You’ll pay for this.”

  “Pay for what?” Vivi cried.

  The blonde’s fist shot out. Vivi’s head whipped backward. Her eyes blinked open wide, a whoosh of air flew out of her mouth, and a burning pressure spread through her cheek. Never in her life had anyone hit her. She bent over and vomited on the blond woman’s shoes.

  The woman drew back her fist again. The man in the yellow shirt caught it.

  “Hey, leave her alone,” he said. “She’s just a kid.”

  “Then get her the fuck out of my sight,” the blonde said.

  Vivi gulped in a lungful of air and held it. She focused on the blonde’s face, squeezing her stomach muscles as hard as she could. A bright ribbon curled out of the woman’s ear, her eyelids flickered, and then she plopped down on her butt.

  “Where are the other bitches?” asked a man in a black floral shirt.

  The blonde woman stared at the ground and didn’t answer.

  Another man in an orange shirt walked up, brushing his hands erratically through his cropped hair, as if bugs were crawling on his scalp. “Micky shot one of the dames,” he said. “He can’t find the other. She ran off.”

  Run, Sabine. Run as fast as you can. Vivi felt tears run down her cheeks. Lena, don’t you die.

  The man in the yellow shirt touched Vivi’s shoulder. His face was sunburned. “Come on, kid.”

  She put her hand on her aching cheek. A sour bubble pushed up in her throat, and she thought she might vomit again. If she got into that van, she would never see her mom.

  “I’m gonna be sick,” she said.

  The man backed off. She pretended to make a gagging noise, then sprinted off into the dark, racing down the hill, curving toward the vineyard.

  “Hey! Get your ass back here,” a deep voice yelled.

  She ran down a grassy row, pumping her arms, her chest tight. She felt a man’s thick arms close around her legs, and then she slammed to the ground. Her lungs flattened.

  “Stupid kid,” the man said. He cuffed her hands behind her back. She heard deep voices above her. A beefy guy in a pink flowery shirt squatted beside her, holding a hypodermic needle. She felt a stabbing pain in her arm.

  STOP, LET GO, STOP.

  Her vision blurred. She tried to hold her breath, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have one drop of air in her lungs. The vineyard seemed to melt, rushing down the hill, flowing into a broad purple river. It swept her off her feet and pulled her beneath the surface.

  CHAPTER 39

  Caro

  VILLA PRIMAVERINA, ISLA CARBONARA

  VENICE, ITALY

  I stood on the terrace, watching the lights in St. Mark’s Square. It was a warm August night, and the inverna, the south wind, caught my hair. I wore a long blue dress, the color of Jude’s eyes. He’d been on my mind. I could see the distinct M of his upper lip, and the brown specks in his left iris. I remembered how he would walk up behind me and slide his hand under my blouse, his fingers cool and firm.

  Are you still my girl? he’d say. For now, I’d answer.

  The terrace doors stood open, and I heard Raphael talking to his chief security guard. I turned.

  “What did you find out?” Raphael said, pacing in front of the French doors.

  Signore Dolfini sat in a chair, looking down at a clipboard, yellow Post-it notes jutting from the notepad. He was in his early forties, lean and small-boned, his face flushed from the sun. He wore boating shoes, white shorts, and a T-shirt printed with ITALIA SOCCER. At his feet was a box crammed with manila folders.

  “Tatiana Kaskov was born in 1956,” Dolfini said, peering down at the clipboard. “Studied ballet. Kicked out of three boarding schools, including one in Paris.”

  “Do you know why she was expelled?” Raphael said.

  “She slept with an instructor at one school. There was talk of grade inflation. I’m still waiting to hear about the other schools.” Signore Dolfini flipped a page. “Her father was a St. Petersburg physician. Worked at City Hospital No. 40. Deceased. Shot in the head. A robbery. Tatiana was sent to a boarding school in Amsterdam. The ballet lessons ended. Two years later, the mother was murdered.”

  Raphael stopped pacing. “How?”

  “Her throat was cut. To the bone.” Dolfini flipped another page. “Tatiana gave part of her inheritance to the state. Attended Moscow State Linguistic University. Worked at the Soviet consulates in Washington D.C. and East Berlin. Slept around. A lot.”

  “Pompinos?�
�� Raphael said, using an unflattering word for fellatio.

  “Si, si.” Dolfini lowered the clipboard and pulled a thick file from the box. “It gets worse. She was involved in smuggling—guns and black diamonds. Her name is still on an Interpol watch list. She disappeared in the post-Soviet era.”

  “And she’s still off the grid,” Raphael said. “We need to find her.”

  From the hallway came the pounding of footsteps. Signore Dolfini’s two daughters ran into the room, their long, pink organza dresses churning around their ankles, ribbons streaming from their light brown hair. The littler girl bumped into a gilt settee, and it toppled.

  “Nicci, stop chasing your sister,” Signore Dolfini called, clapping his hands. “Viola, apologize to Signore Della Rocca.”

  “Mi scusi,” the younger girl said, then giggled.

  “Signorina Nicci, non preoccuparti, sii felice,” Raphael said as he caught the taller girl. Don’t worry, he’d told her. Be happy.

  She giggled as he lifted her into the air. He set her down, and the little sister stretched out her arms.

  “Tocca a me!” she cried.

  Raphael picked her up. “Ah, Signorina Viola, you are getting so big.”

  Dolfini’s cheeks turned scarlet as he apologized for the disruption, but Raphael smiled. “Un bimbo che non gioca, felicita ne ha poce,” he said. A child who doesn’t play has little happiness.

  The girls hugged Raphael. “We love you, Signore,” they said.

  “Who wants cake?” he asked.

  “We do,” they said, hopping up and down in a pink organdy swirl.

  “Maria?” Raphael called, turning toward the kitchen. “Two lovely ladies need cake.”

  I turned back to the water and spread my hands on the railing. I remembered what Walpole had said about Tatiana. And Parnell had slept with her. She’d been on that expedition, and chased my husband. Had she stolen his wedding ring? Or had he taken it off? I did not want to brood on something that had happened a decade ago, and I pushed those unhappy thoughts out of my head.

  From inside the house, I heard the Dolfini children talking in excited voices, and I remembered when Vivi had been young.

  Oh, Vivi, I thought. If only I had given you sisters and brothers.

  Our constant traveling would have made it harder with two children, but Jude and I would have managed. And Vivi wouldn’t have been alone.

  I was still thinking about her when Signore Dolfini and his daughters walked through the shadowy garden, toward the boat dock.

  Raphael strode onto the terrace and put his arms around me. I detected an intriguingly different smell, a clean, lemony-orange scent with a trace of rosemary. Then I realized he’d changed his cologne—he always wore Acqua di Parma when he was at Villa Primaverina. It was the same fragrance that Jude had worn. For a moment, I felt disoriented, and I stared at the dark lagoon. I was breathing in layers of history, all of those long-ago moments with Jude and Raphael.

  The Dolfinis’ boat chugged away from the dock, and the spotlight fanned across the dark lagoon. The horn tooted, then the boat angled toward Venice. I pressed the back of my head against Raphael’s chest.

  “Sei l’amore della mia vita,” he said.

  “You’re the love of my life, too,” I said. The inverna rushed over the terrace, stirring my dress and filling me with all kinds of longings.

  “It will stop blowing at midnight,” Raphael said, smoothing my hair.

  “I’m enjoying it.” I put my hand over his. “I also enjoyed watching you with Signore Dolfini’s daughters.”

  “Nicci and Viola are the eldest,” he said, his voice holding a lightness, just a hint of laughter. “He has two babies at home. Luisa is four. Bettina is six months.”

  I turned and put my arms around his neck. “You’ll be a loving father.”

  “When the gods are willing.” He bent down to kiss my wrist, and his hair brushed over my arm, cool and silky.

  “I can’t wait for them, Raphael.” I held his gaze while the wind moved around us, pushing my hair into his. He picked me up and carried me straight to his room. While he swallowed Benadryl tablets, I unbuttoned my dress and dropped it on a chair.

  “Sei bellissima,” he whispered, pulling off his shirt.

  I didn’t feel beautiful, but I did feel his love. He walked up to me. I kissed his palm, inhaling him. God had granted me two great loves, and I did not want to be undeserving of that blessing. I would love this man for the rest of my life.

  Raphael’s phone trilled through the dark bedroom. He reached across me, toward the table, and lifted the receiver. “Si?” he said.

  I heard Beppe’s excited voice, but I couldn’t make out the words. I pulled up on my elbows, frowning. Raphael’s butler was famously coolheaded in emergencies. I’d seldom heard him speak above a bass-baritone, but now I heard a tenor, edged with a falsetto. Something was horribly wrong. Had the vampires found us again?

  A shape moved beneath the covers, and I jumped. Arrapato’s dark head popped out from beneath the blanket. I pulled him against me.

  “Did she say what happened?” Raphael asked Beppe.

  She? I blinked. The intruder was female? A sudden vision of the French designer whirled behind my eyes. Or maybe Gillian had finally arrived.

  “Show them to the terrace,” Raphael said, then hung up.

  Them? I swallowed. Now I was hoping the angry-eyed designer had arrived. She was preferable to the nebulous them. Raphael rose from the bed and picked up our clothes, tossing them over his shoulder. His silence worried me, and I tried to peek at his thoughts, but I bumped into an obsidian slab.

  I stroked Arrapato’s head. He looked up at me and sighed.

  Raphael put on his trousers, then handed me the blue dress. I slipped it over my head, then I stared up at him, waiting for him to explain. We’d never pressured or wheedled each other. Maybe that was one reason we were so compatible, but I couldn’t take the silence another second.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  He knelt beside the bed and took my face in his hands. “Sabine is here,” he said.

  We rushed to the terrace. Through the open doors, I saw the lights of St. Mark’s Square.

  “Caro,” Sabine said. She pushed away from the railing. A wide piece of tape stretched across her nose, and her eyes were bruised. Her hands and knees were raw and scabbed. From the ground, a Sherpa bag emitted meows, and Marie-Therese pushed her face against the mesh panel.

  “We’re so sorry,” Lena said. She stepped forward, one side of her face bandaged. Beppe and La Rochenoire stood at the other end of the terrace, their arms folded, expressions grim. Maria was there, too, and her eyes were swollen, as if she’d been crying.

  No, no, no. I put one hand on my chest, my heart thudding against my palm. My vision blurred. “Where’s Vivi?”

  Raphael came up behind me and folded his arms around me. Something broke inside me, a quick, final sound like the crack of a dogwood branch.

  Lena began to weep. “They took her,” she said, barely moving her jaw, like someone who’d just had dental surgery.

  Sabine stepped forward. “Be strong,” she said. “Vivi was kidnapped.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Vivi

  SUTHERLAND, SOUTH AFRICA

  A rhythmic whap-whap-whap noise roared in Vivi’s ears. She was lying on a metal floor, her hands and feet bound, cold air blowing all around her. She lifted her head. A door of some kind stood open, and daylight poured in like clear water. Beyond the door was a bench. Four men in uniforms were sitting on it, earphones clamped over their heads, a steel wall curving behind them. Way up front, two men in black helmets sat in a cockpit, dials spread out in front of them.

  I’m in a helicopter? She grimaced, trying to remember how she’d gotten there, but the din sliced through her mind, leaving torn images. A vineyard. The coppery smell of blood. Bodies in a driveway.

  “Hey,” she yelled at the men.

  They didn’t seem to hear
her. She tried to get up, but her hands and feet were latched together. A man rose from the bench and made her lie down. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. He had food in his teeth, and his breath smelled like an ashtray. Another man walked up and stuck a needle in Vivi’s neck.

  Ow, ow, that hurt. Dammit, stop doing that. She whipped from side to side, screaming as loud as she could.

  The man shouted something, his lips moving over his dirty teeth, and then he put a smelly finger over her mouth.

  She nodded. He wanted her to shut the hell up. I’ll be good, mister.

  She pressed her lips together, but some part of her kept screaming, the sound rising from her pores like a vapor. Maybe the man had given her another shot. Maybe he hadn’t. She thought maybe he had.

  The floor tilted beneath her. Through the open door, she saw a rumpled ocean and boats. Or was she dreaming? Because her eyelids wouldn’t stay open. She felt the tug of gravity, then let herself fall.

  Vivi awoke in stages, like a swimmer moving out of deep, black water, pushing through the rippled blue, toward the luminous surface. She opened her eyes and blinked, taking in her surroundings. It was nighttime. A dashboard cast a glow across the front seat of a big van; she was sitting up, her shoulders wedged between two men. The driver had a buzz cut and a square face. He wore a camouflage uniform and shiny boots. So did the man on her right.

  Who were they? Why couldn’t she remember anything? Her thoughts rose up in waves and went still. She tried to wipe her eyes, but her wrists were caught behind her back. Her ankles were bound, too.

  The van hit a pothole, and Vivi keeled toward the steering wheel.

  “Oopsy-daisy,” the driver said. “She’s tippin’ over, Dave.”