A Wicked Song

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “Loved them,” I assure him.

  “You up for tacos tonight?”

  “That sounds great,” I say, feeling another surreal moment. When have I ever planned dinner with anyone?

  “Tomorrow night I’ll take you to a German spot I love,” he says.

  I laugh, packing my eye shadow palette. “You’re determined to feed me spaetzle.”

  “You’ll love it,” he promises. “Not as much as these damn cookies I can’t stop eating, but you’ll love it.”

  The cookies remind me of Jenny and I walk to the doorway to watch him finish off what’s left of one. “I talked to Jenny.”

  “She told me.” He seals the box. “She really wants to come and see your store.”

  “I invited her to come by at any time. She wanted to come by tonight, but I was afraid you’d show up before she did and we’d be gone. Kace, she—well, she invited us to brunch Sunday and I wasn’t sure what to say.”

  He stands and that’s all it takes. One step and he’s right there with me, his hand on the doorjamb by my head, his big body radiating heat. “Yes,” he says. “The answer should be yes.”

  “They’re your family and I’m—”

  His fingers brush my cheek. “We’re together, Aria. We do things together. And just in case you need me to even more direct—” His hand slides around my hip and splays on my lower back. “I want you to go with me. And they want to get to know you.” His hand falls away. “Unless you don’t want to go—”

  “Don’t you even say that.” I capture his hand and press it right back on my hip and hold it there. “I do. We’re new and I’m not used to this whole relationship thing.”

  “Get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.” He leans in and brushes his lips over mine, his tongue doing a slow, silky slide across mine before he murmurs, “Capisci?”

  I smile at the Italian word that in this case means do you understand. “I do. And you taste like cookies.”

  “I’d rather taste like you.”

  My cheeks flush and now he smiles. “Why did I know you’d blush? I think I need to give you a little warning, Aria Stradivari.”

  His words promise that warning will be hot and naughty and I happily take the bait. “Warn me?”

  “I’m going to say and do such dirty things to you that you won’t be able to blush any longer.”

  A low burn simmers in my belly. “If I let you,” I taunt.

  His lips, those brutal, sexy lips that I know will do many of those dirty things, curve. “Challenge accepted.” He strokes my cheek and then turns me in the opposite direction. “Hurry.” He smacks my backside just hard enough for me to feel the erotic sting. “We need tacos, stat.”

  With a curve of my own lips, I hurry forward, unable to deny the clench of my sex and nipples at that palm on my backside. I barely know myself with this man. I am a control freak, and yet the dominant, dirty side of this man, arouses me. I’m not sure what to do with that.

  “Pack for the weekend,” Kace calls out.

  I abandon my bag and appear in the doorway. “The weekend? It’s Tuesday.”

  “Exactly. Almost Friday. You might as well just stay the weekend.”

  I laugh. “It’s not almost Friday.”

  “Close enough.”

  “I worry about being away from the store that long.”

  “Walker will have your place under surveillance the minute you give them a thumbs-up. Tonight if you want. But we’ll stay here if you prefer.”

  “No,” I say quickly, far easier than even I expect. “You need to have access to your violins to practice. And I like listening to you play.”

  Surprise flickers in his eyes and fades into warmth. “Then go pack, baby. I’ll call Walker and make sure they have eyes on your place tonight.”

  “Thank you, Kace.”

  He winks and reaches for his phone. Mine buzzes with a text where I’ve set it on the bathroom counter. Thinking of the Fetzer, I rush and grab it, and I’m not disappointed at what I find. The text is from Donelle’s attorney and refers me to my email for photos. I rush back into the bedroom. “Kace.”

  He’s on the phone. “Hold that thought,” he tells whoever is on the line. “What’s up, baby?”

  “I called about that violin. It’s the Fetzer.”

  “Holy hell.” He speaks into the phone. “I’ll call you back.” He disconnects. “Are you sure?”

  “They sent me photos.” I pull up my email and sit down on the bed, Kace is right there by me when I open the email and we both are instantly in awe. “Oh my God,” I murmur. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Where is it?” Kace asks.

  “That’s the catch. He’s old. He can’t travel. He’s in Italy. And I was suspicious but now that I’ve seen the photos, you can’t miss out on this.”

  “I can’t miss out on this?”

  “He wants you to have it. He’s the last of his namesake. He wants it to go to someone who deserves it and when I said your name he was in heaven. You need this violin for you.”

  “Baby, I told you this was for you to make money.”

  “It belongs with you.”

  He studies me a moment, his expression unreadable. “Then I’ll pay you the finder’s fee.”

  “I’m not taking a finder’s fees for a violin you found yourself. Not happening. Were you able to get a viewing of the Le Marquis Doria?”

  “He’ll be back Thanksgiving week. We can see it then.”

  There’s a pinch in my chest at the idea of Gio still not being home by Thanksgiving, but I shove aside the thought and focus on the violins. “I’m excited to see them both. And on that note, I need to go pack.” I stand up and Kace is right there with me, twining fingers in my hair, his lips near mine. “You really aren’t about the money.”

  “You thought I was?”

  “No, but I’m used to being disappointed and you are never a disappointment, Aria Stradivari.” His mouth comes down on mine and the kiss that follows is dark and sultry in all the right ways. I’m breathless when our lips part and he turns me toward the bathroom. “Go pack, baby. I have plans for you tonight.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I’m standing in my walk-in closet that I’d insisted on when Gio and I built this apartment, fretting over my limited clothing choices when Kace appears in the doorway. “Don’t forget you have clothes at my place,” he says. “If you need something more—”

  “I don’t,” I say firmly. “Thank you, though.”

  “Aria—”

  “I’m with you, Kace, not your wallet. We, in fact, just had that conversation.” I shut my suitcase and zip it up. “Besides. I was just trying to make sure I have everything covered that I might need. I have a business lunch with Crystal tomorrow, by the way.”

  “Mark and I need to talk through some things anyway. Why don’t I see if we can make it a foursome?”

  “I think no. Mark makes me uptight, for a lack of a better word.”

  “And he likes it that way, but if you’re going to work with Riptide, you need to nip that in the bud.”

  “Good point,” I concede. “I really do and I love Crystal. Surely he can’t be with her and be the asshole he seems to be.”

  “Mark’s complicated. I’ll let you define what that means. I’ll call him. And I talked to Savage. He can ramp up the surveillance here at your place. I’d like to tell him about that, the security feed, and the calls now. Let them see what they can find out.”

  I abandon my suitcase and fold my arms in front of me. “What do they actually know about me?” My hands go to my hips. Obviously, I have a little nervous energy. “I just want to know before I meet them.”

  “They don’t know who you are, Aria. I didn’t tell them. I kept my request limited and in a narrow scope.”

  “You had a lot of details about my family in that file I found.” I try not to sound accusing. I trust Kace. I do. In my gut, I trust this man in wa
ys I never thought I’d trust anyone, but I’m also afraid of that trust.

  He steps toward me and sets my suitcase aside, his hand settling warmly, dare I say even possessively, at my hip. “I promise you, Aria. I was careful. I gave Walker a limited, specific task.”

  In earnest, I search his face, and I believe him. Still, I worry that he’s opened the door to trouble, and that’s not about fear. It’s about birthright. “You understand that I have—”

  “I do, baby. You don’t need to explain yourself. At all. Ever. But I want you to think about something my father said to me years ago. It’s a quote by Dan Montano. ‘Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a lion wakes up. It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death. It doesn’t matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle: when the sun comes up, you’d better be running.’”

  “All my life I’ve been the gazelle trying to outrun the invisible lion, Kace.”

  “And you think that’s control?”

  “It’s the only way I had any control.”

  “Because that’s what your mother taught you. My father was always the lion. And he made damn sure I knew you can only run so long before the lion catches you unless you catch him first. I don’t disagree with Gio. Control is a façade when you’re the hunted. We need to find a way to take control, really take control. Be the lion, not the gazelle.”

  “And while I don’t disagree, there isn’t just one lion, Kace. The people who would want that formula, even just to sell it, are endless.”

  “Agreed. But there has to be a way to ensure you’re not the path to their payoff. We’ll find Gio and then we’ll find a way but we need help. We need Walker.”

  He’s right. I know he’s right. His idea represents a mammoth feat, but then so does running for the rest of our lives. And I’m no fool. I do need help. He’s offering me help and someone he trusts is a blessing compared to a stranger I might have called on my own. I grab a small empty bag from the shelf. “I need to go to his office on the way out. There might be something there that will help Walker find Gio.”

  He smiles and grabs my suitcase. “Lead the way.”

  I point at him. “I’m not promising that I’m telling them who I am.”

  “You will. They’ll win you over.” And with that, he backs out of the closet, leaving me to think about those words. I don’t have to think hard. I want him to be right.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kace and I head downstairs and my path is straight to Gio’s office and his desk. Kace props himself in the doorframe, watching me as I scoop up all the papers on top of Gio’s desk and slide them into the shoulder bag I’d grabbed from the closet. Next, I open the drawer to my right where I’d found the evidence that he’d been diving deep into a hunt for all things Stradivarius. There’s nothing here that feels helpful and Lord knows I’ve looked, and looked some more. Well, except for one thing. There is one discovery that feels important: I lift his desk calendar and remove the letter from Sofia.

  I slide the letter into the bag, stand up, and turn, pausing as my gaze catches on the painting on the wall behind his desk: a famous church in Italy, but it’s not the actual painting that has my attention now. It’s the way it’s tilted right.

  Kace steps to my side, eyeing it with me. “What are we looking at, besides a tilted painting of an Italian church in your hometown of Cremona?”

  My look is, no doubt, incredulous. “You know that church?”

  “Of course. Cremona is home to your ancestor, the great Antonio Stradivari. I know everything about that city.” He motions to the painting. “That’s the Cremona Cathedral, baby. I visited it when I was there to visit your family. It’s dedicated to the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. It’s also the seat of the Bishop of Cremona. If I’d suspected who you are, that would have told me.”

  “Of course, you would. I warned him not to put it up. I told him mom was going to roll over in her grave, but he didn’t listen. He claimed he needed something to connect him with home.”

  “In his defense, few people would know the church like I do by sight. The violin is my life and that visit to Cremona was memorable in ways it would not be to someone else.”

  I frown and settle my hands on my hips. “The painting is tilted. It wasn’t tilted.”

  He eyes it and then me. “You think someone was in here and knocked into it?”

  “Yes. I mean, it could have been Nancy, but why touch the painting?” I study it where it hangs over a credenza. “Actually, how would anyone even knock into it at all?”

  “Maybe they moved the credenza?” he asks. “Is there anything worth inspecting inside?”

  “He barely uses it,” I say. “There was nothing worth seeing inside. I’m sure of it. And the safe is a full foot from the painting. It also has nothing to help us inside.”

  I glance over at him. “But there are a couple of dark spots on my security feed, as if someone turned it off. I know that could be a tech issue, but the timelines are weird.”

  He arches a dark brow. “Meaning?”

  “Last night after we came in and this morning before you left.”

  “You think someone could have been here while we were in asleep?”

  “It’s a creepy thought, but yes. When I came downstairs this morning, I smelled perfume. It wasn’t Nancy’s.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” I say, without an inch of hesitation. “There was perfume in the air. I didn’t imagine it. It was a sharp floral scent that lingered but the very fact that I could smell it means the person had been here recently. Clearly, my security system was no help.”

  “Which can be hacked but I’m wondering if Gio sent this Sofia person to get something for him.”

  “Or she knew the code and snuck in herself. I mean why would Gio send her and not come himself?”

  “Maybe he’s not in the city.”

  “That would mean he’s outright avoiding me. And the blips on the camera were oddly timed.”

  “Walker can check nearby camera feeds. You need to tell them everything. Make a list in advance.”

  “I’ve also had a couple of weird hang-up calls. One before your first show I attended. Another last night around three AM. I never get hang-up calls.”

  His brows furrow. “Do you think it was Gio?”

  “Why call and hang up? And the first call was different than the second. It seemed like someone was there, on the line for a few seconds. I actually thought maybe it was Sofia, but the minute I said her name, the caller hung up.”

  “And the second call?”

  “Voicemail of just static before it went dead.”

  “You need to be with me at my place and Walker needs to be actively involved until we find Gio.” His brows dip and he lifts his chin toward the painting. “Is there a safe behind it?”

  “Not that I know of but apparently there’s a lot that was going on with Gio that I didn’t know about.”

  “Let’s find out,” he suggests. “If you don’t mind me taking it off the wall.”

  “No, of course not. Please do.”

  I scoot back and lean on the desk while Kace lifts the side of the painting and rotates to face me. “I don’t have to take it down. There’s nothing there, but the hook is slightly pulled out of the wall. The painting’s too heavy for the frame. That’s probably why it tilted.”

  I grip the edge of the desk and nod, a stab of disappointment inside me. For a moment, just a moment, I’d thought we were onto something. I’d thought we were closer to finding Gio.

  But I was wrong.

  I’m back to Kace’s comment moments before. “You said that if you already suspected that I was Aria Stradivari and you saw this painting, you’d have known you were right.”

  “Absolutely. And Aria and Gio aren’t common names. Your mother should have changed your names.” />
  “I asked her about that when I was old enough to understand the implications.”

  He leans on the desk next to me. “And?”

  “She said she hit some roadblocks changing our names and didn’t know how to get around them.”

  “I imagine she didn’t know who to trust.”

  “Considering she trusted no one, I’d agree. She used her middle name. She had her birth certificate and no one she trusted to help her change her name in any other way. She never got a driver’s license.”

  “Which is easy to get away with in New York City.”

  “Exactly. That’s what she said. That’s one of the reasons she chose New York for us to live. She’s from Texas. She said New York was far from Texas and an easy place to get lost in, but unfortunately not an easier place to be poor.”

  “One of the most expensive cities in the country.”

  “Her plan seemed to work, though,” I point out. “We came here when I was eleven. I’m twenty-eight. No one found us. Until Gio crawled out of the hole. Sofia approached him, not the other way around. You got that from the Nancy interaction, right?”

  “Or maybe Gio went hunting and found her. He lured her to him and then away from you.”

  “And that means what?”

  “She thinks she’s the lion and he’s the gazelle and it might just be the opposite.”

  This assessment brings me hope that Gio is alive and it also has me silently vowing to never, ever be the gazelle again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Once we’re cozy and warm inside Kace’s fancy car, he glances at the clock. “It’s almost six now. How about I order the food so it can be waiting for us?”

  “My stomach approves. I’m actually starving.” My phone buzzes with a text and I pull it from my coat pocket to glance at the screen. “I almost forgot. We need to detour to the pharmacy first. They just sent me a message to tell me my prescription is ready.” I motion to the upcoming street. “Turn right here, please. The Duane Reade pharmacy I go to is a block up.”

  “Pharmacy?” he asks, casting me a worried look.