The Princess Bride

by Rebecca Winters

  “But I didn’t know that!”

  “You’re a good liar, I’ll grant you that, but it was a dangerous act of idiocy on your part no matter how greedy you are for money. It’s the one credential you sleazy members of the media carry every time you trespass on sacred ground for a story. You have no decency or thought for the precariousness of the situation. None of your kind has a conscience.”

  He folded his arms, eyeing her with chilling menace.

  “As you’re going to find out, I don’t have one, either. So you can start talking now, or look forward to being incarcerated here indefinitely.”

  Her mouth had gone dry. “You’re going to be sorry you’re treating me like this,” she warned him with a mutinous expression. “When Mr. Montefalco finds out I’m here anxious to talk to him, you’ll be lucky if it’s only your job you lose.”

  His black eyes felt like lasers, scanning beneath the surface for any abnormalities.

  “Who sent you to do their dirty work?” he rapped out as if she hadn’t spoken. “Tell me now and I’ll use my influence with the judge to get you off with a light sentence.”

  A pulse throbbed at the corner of his hard jaw. He was in deadly earnest. That made the situation so much worse for Ally.

  She spread her hands. “Look—there’s been a huge misunderstanding here. If you think my passport and driver’s license are doctored, then look at my airline tickets again. It proves I just flew here from Portland, with a stopover in Switzerland to see where my husband’s accident happened.”

  His gaze searched hers relentlessly. “You call that proof when you could have flown from Italy to Oregon on your tabloid’s money to begin your impersonation? You’re wasting my time.”

  He pressed a button above the door, no doubt sending a signal that he was ready to leave. This was a nightmare!

  “No—don’t go yet—” she begged as the door swung outward.

  He paused in the aperture, almost filling it with his tall, powerful body.

  “Please—” she beseeched him. “There’s someone you could call who will vouch for me. His name is L—”

  She broke off talking because she suddenly realized she didn’t want him to talk to Lieutenant Davis. She would be too embarrassed for the detective to know she’d flown here to satisfy her curiosity about Donata. It was a private matter she’d rather no one else knew about. Until she talked to Mr. Montefalco, it was absolutely crucial her activities and whereabouts remain a secret to everyone including her mother. Ally’s mom thought she was spending the weekend with friends from the orchestra. If she knew the truth, there would have been a battle Ally couldn’t have handled.

  “Yes?” her adversary mocked again. “You were saying?”

  He stood still as a tree trunk. By now she was so beside herself she felt light-headed. Her ears started to buzz.

  Out of self-preservation she sank down on the end of the cot and lowered her head so she wouldn’t faint.

  “Anything you’d like to confess before lights out, signora?” he asked without an ounce of concern or compassion.

  His voice sounded far away. Ally had to wait until the worst of her weakness had passed before she could talk.

  By then, he’d gone…

  Vaguely disturbed by the woman’s insistence that she really was the wife of Donata’s last lover, Gino sped faster than was prudent through the dark streets toward his family home at the top of the mount. He wanted total privacy before searching the woman’s suitcase. En route he phoned Carlo.

  “Thank you for helping me carry out my plan. The suspect is in her cell, but I realize we won’t be able to hold her for long. I asked the desk sergeant to run her passport through the scanner for verification, then report to you. Do me a favor and let me know what he finds out. When we’ve learned it’s counterfeit, I’ll expose her in my own way so she never gets another job. I’m sick of the media.”

  Once they’d hung up, he used his remote to enter the estate.

  After slipping in a private side entrance to the palazzo with his prisoner’s luggage, he entered Marcello’s study and set it on one of the damask couches.

  Upon opening it, he was surprised to see how lightly she traveled. The interior was redolent of her flowery scent. There were only a few changes of outfits and feminine underclothing, all modest and for the most part American brands.

  Frowning because he couldn’t find a camera or film, in fact nothing that sent up a red flag, his hands dug deeper.

  “What’s this?”

  He felt something solid, wrapped in a towel.

  “I knew it!” he whispered fiercely as he pulled out a silver laptop.

  No wonder she’d wanted to hold on to her luggage.

  He carried it over to the desk and plugged it into the wall adaptor.

  “You and your paper are about to be exposed. Believe me, signora, you’re going to pay—”

  He turned it on, then sat down in the leather chair and waited to see what flashed on the screen.

  He was ready to seize on anything that linked her to one of the tabloids.

  Her home page popped up. He immediately clicked on her favorite pictures icon. Before long he came face-to-face with photos of Donata.

  Gino let out a curse. He counted thirty pictures showing his sister-in-law in various stages of dress and undress. The outdoor pictures had been taken in Prague. He recognized the landmarks.

  How in the hell had that impossibly green-eyed imposter gotten hold of these?

  Donata, Donata.

  He gritted his teeth. If these were to make it onto the streets… If Sofia were ever to see them…

  He felt his gut twist in reaction.

  There was only one reason why the champagne-blonde with the voluptuous curves locked up in the cell hadn’t gone public with them yet. Perhaps she’d decided to approach Marcello first to extort more money from him than her paper would pay out.

  Sick to the depth of his being because he knew these photos were only the tip of the iceberg, he packed up the laptop, closed her suitcase and carried both out to the truck he kept on the estate.

  Leaving by a hidden road that came out on a side street, he headed for the jail.

  Later at the farmhouse when he had the luxury of time, he’d delve into the e-mails and other secrets of the computer’s hard drive. Until then, Gino would break her down until she was grist.

  He wanted the name of the tabloid she worked for, how many more photos existed and the length of time she’d been on Donata’s trail in order to obtain those particular photos.

  Ally heard the door open. When she saw a tall dark figure coming toward her before it closed again, she let out a bloodcurdling scream and pulled the sheet over her head. “Nightmares, signora?” sounded the devilish voice of her captor. “With the kinds of things you have on your conscience, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “Get out!” she shouted into the darkness. “The only person I’ll speak to is a diplomat from the American Embassy. Do you understand me?”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have a long wait.”

  She heard something scrape against the cement floor. She shivered to realize he’d pulled the chair next to her bed and had sat down.

  “What you’re doing is against the law!”

  He gave a caustic laugh.

  Fear of a sort she’d never known before emboldened her to say the first thing that came into her mind.

  “What a tragedy that such a lovely, beautiful town produces monsters like you.”

  The rhythm of his breathing changed, letting her know she’d struck a nerve. Good!

  “For someone in your kind of trouble,” he began in a frighteningly silky voice, “I’d advise you to stop fantasizing and tell me everything before the chief prosecutor of the region gets here and you’re arraigned before the magistrate.”

  She sat up on the cot and pressed herself into the corner of the wall, as far away from him as possible.

  “Whether you believe me or
not, I’m Mrs. James Parker. So far, all you’ve told me is that I trespassed. But I don’t see how I did that when the guards wouldn’t let me past the gate.”

  She heard him shift in the chair.

  “If you’re telling the truth, and you really are the hapless wife who was the last person to know what your husband was up to, explain what those pictures are doing in your laptop.”

  Pictures? Ally rubbed her bloodshot eyes with her palms. She was so desperately tired, maybe she was dreaming this horror story.

  “I asked you a question, signora.”

  No—she wasn’t dreaming. He was sitting there next to her, intimidating her by his very presence. All two hundred pounds of him, hard as steel physically and every other way.

  “It’s my husband’s laptop. I don’t know anything about any pictures.”

  She heard a sharp intake of breath.

  “So you carried his laptop with you all the way to Montefalco for no particular reason?”

  “I didn’t say that!” she protested. “I told you earlier that I came to have a private talk with Mr. Montefalco and no one else.”

  “In order to show him the photographs and extort thousands of dollars in the process.”

  Thousands of dollars? What pictures would be worth that kind of money? She took a deep breath, scared of what she might discover.

  “If there are pictures, I haven’t seen them.”

  At her hotel in St. Mortiz, Ally would have looked inside the laptop, but she hadn’t brought an adaptor to fit in the foreign outlet and figured she would have to wait until she returned to Portland. Part of her knew that was just an excuse. She didn’t want to know.

  “I planned to talk to him about things that aren’t your business or anyone else’s.”

  After a pause, he said, “You can tell me. I have his ear.”

  “Prove it! For all I know you’re just a lowly policeman pretending to be Mr. Montefalco’s bodyguard.”

  Suddenly he was on his feet. She could feel his rage as he pushed the chair away. She hid her face behind the sheet even though it was dark in the room.

  Still bristling she said, “Now you know how it feels to be told you’re a liar and a sleazy con artist out to cash in on someone’s private tragedy. I repeat.” Her voice throbbed. “I’m not saying another word until I can speak to someone from the Embassy.”

  While she waited for his response, the door opened, then slammed shut.

  The next thing she knew the light in her cell went on.

  She checked her watch, which she’d changed to Italian time on the train. It said 7:30 a.m.

  How long were they going to leave her in here before allowing her to freshen up?

  In desperation she dragged the chair over to the door so she could push the button he’d pressed earlier.

  Suddenly the door swung open, almost causing her to fall.

  A guard she didn’t recognize waited for her to climb down, then ordered her to follow him.

  She grabbed her purse and trailed him down the hall and around the corner to the bathroom. There was no sign of her captor. She sincerely hoped she would never have to see or talk to him again.

  After brushing her hair and putting on some lipstick, she felt a little more human. When she emerged minutes later, the guard escorted her back to her cell where a tray of food was waiting on the chair.

  Just looking at the chair reminded her how her interrogator had shoved it across the room in a fit of anger.

  In spite of the precariousness of her situation, the fact that she’d been able to infuriate him caused her to smile.

  The guard noted it before disappearing.

  Locked in once more, her gaze fell on the sparse continental breakfast. Rolls and coffee. But she wasn’t about to complain. It might be a long time before she was allowed to eat again, so she consumed everything in short order.

  She kept thinking about those pictures he’d mentioned. Jim had evidently stored some in one of his files. Maybe they were photos of all the women he’d had affairs with in Europe. At this juncture she didn’t put anything past him. Her husband had truly lived a double life.

  Ally let out a sound of abnegation.

  What a fool she’d been not to have confronted him when she’d first suspected there was another woman.

  Her abductor’s words stung more than ever.

  If you’re telling the truth, and you really are the hapless wife who was the last person to know what your husband was up to, explain what those pictures are doing in your laptop.

  Ally hadn’t been hapless. It was a case of not wanting to admit something was wrong and have her mother say, “I told you so. A man with good looks and knows it can’t be satisfied with one woman.”

  Ally didn’t believe that. She knew too many attractive couples who had wonderful marriages.

  Hers had started out that way, but when she saw changes happening, she should have questioned him point-blank. But she’d been scared. They could have talked things out and maybe salvaged their marriage. Now it was too late. There was no use wishing she’d acted on her suspicions a long time ago.

  She looked around her claustrophobic cell. What she needed to do was get out of here.

  Her abductor was waiting for her to cooperate. Maybe if she made up a lie, he’d believe her and allow her to go free with a slap on the wrist.

  Without hesitation she pushed the chair over to the door and climbed up to press the button.

  While she waited for a response, she put it back against the wall.

  In a minute the door swung open to reveal the guard who’d brought her breakfast.

  “Signora?”

  “I hate it in here and I’m ready to talk.”

  He took the tray off her bed and started out the door.

  “Did you hear me?” she cried. “I’m ready to confess!”

  He shot her an oblique glance before the door closed.

  “Ooh—” She pounded her fists against it. “What kind of a lunatic place is this?” she shouted.

  When she realized she was only hurting herself, she gave it up and walked around her cell, trying to rub the pain from the sides of her hands.

  Five minutes later she experienced déjà vu to hear the door open and see her captor enter the room. When she glimpsed the forbidding look in those fiery black eyes, she backed away from him.

  “You’re ready to tell the truth, signora?”

  “Yes, but not in here. I can’t abide enclosed places.”

  He gave an elegant shrug, reminding her what an amazing physique he had.

  “It’s either in here, or not at all.”

  “Oh all right!” She took a deep breath. “It’s true I pretended to be Mrs. Parker to get the duc’s attention.

  “I do freelance stories for a local magazine in Portland. One of my boyfriends works for the police department and once in a while he tells me something interesting.

  “A couple of months ago he told me his boss was working on a missing persons case involving a married man from Portland and another woman who died with him in Europe. Just the other day he mentioned that they’d finally identified the woman and had pictures of her.

  “I asked him if he would let me see them. He did, so I scanned them and downloaded them to my laptop.

  “All I wanted to do was talk to the woman’s husband and ask if I could do an exclusive story on him. In case he didn’t believe I was serious, I planned to show him the pictures. But I wouldn’t have allowed them to be published, or have bribed him for money. I just wanted to write about his heart-wrenching ordeal. Americans love stories about wealthy, titled people with problems. It makes them feel better about their own less glorious lives.

  “So now that you know the truth, please let me go. All I want is my passport and suitcase back. If you’ll send for a taxi, the driver will take me to the train.

  How about it? You let me out of here and I’ll go straight home to Portland.”

  His eyes held a frightening gleam.<
br />
  “You’re lying through your pearly-white teeth, signora, but I give you credit for your amazing resourcefulness.”

  His wintry smile daunted her. “As it happens, I never told you the nature of those photos. If you’d known what they contained, you wouldn’t have placed your source’s job in jeopardy. All you’ve done is convince me you’re a liar.”

  He was bluffing…

  “How typical,” she mocked. “If I were a man, you would have said ‘good try.’ But since I’m a woman, I can’t be trusted.”

  One black brow quirked.

  “Aren’t you? So far you’ve told me two diametrically opposing lies, none of which hold water. While I’m still here, want to try for a third? I have nothing more important to do for the moment.”

  “Okay.” She felt all the stuffing go out of her. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you’ll let me go. No one will need to know.”

  “If it were a hundred thousand dollars, I wouldn’t take it.”

  He was impossible!

  “Look— All I wanted to do was speak to Mr. Montefalco. This is between him and me, no one else.”

  He pursed his lips. “Why is that, signora?”

  She lifted solemn eyes to his.

  “Because it’s very sad and very personal.”

  He put his hands on hips, the picture of the ultimate male. “I’m his closest confidant. You can tell me anything. If it will make you feel any better, you can whisper it to me. I promise it will remain sacrosanct.”

  Something in his tone had her halfway believing him, but it didn’t matter.

  “How do I know you’re not wearing a listening device?”

  “You don’t,” he clipped out. “You’ll have to trust me.”

  She leaned close to him. “Sorry, but I have to talk to him alone.”

  The nearness of her heart-shaped mouth and the flowery scent her body gave off, stunned him as much as the words that fell from those enticing lips underlining her intransigence.