by Cherry Adair
They could have been alone on the planet, for all Tory knew, as she closed her eyes and leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his mouth on hers. When he eventually stopped they were both breathing hard. Marc took her hand as they moved back into the crowd.
They paused to watch an old woman with arthritic fingers make lace as delicate and intricate as a cobweb. If she hadn’t been beside herself with worry over her brother, Tory would have loved to linger to buy some of the fine work, but Marc drew her away.
They had strolled several yards before Marc told her to wait, and he moved back through the crowd. Moments later he returned with a whisper-fine lace scarf, bought from the old woman.
Tory’s eyes lit up as she took the creamy fabric from his hand. “Oh, Marc. Thank you. It’s absolutely beautiful.”
“Drape it over your arm,” he said tightly. “It’ll help hide the cast.”
Hiding her hurt, Tory draped the lace over her right arm, hugging it against her body. What had she expected, for heaven’s sake? That he’d bought her a present as a token of his esteem? She had to concentrate on what she was here for—to rescue her brother.
Alex, where are you? she thought desperately, again following closely behind Marc as he pushed through the crowd.
Silence was her only answer. She’d know if Alex was dead, she would have felt it. She was sure she would. Still, Tory knew they had to get to him soon.
Marc bought her a huge piece of coconut from a vendor and she ate it while they strolled away from the piazza and down one of the myriad side streets. Here the houses cast the narrow streets in deep shadow, making it marginally cooler. Tory finished the coconut and Marc waited as she went to a wall fountain to wash her hands.
He noticed how rigid her back was and cursed himself. He hadn’t been able to resist buying that scrap of lace. Her eyes had shone for a moment when he’d given it to her. This was an op, not a vacation. The life of one of T-FLAC’s best agents was hanging by a thread. If they didn’t find Lynx soon, it might be too late.
Tory wiped her hand on her leggings and started walking toward him. She stopped in midstride, her head jerking up, the color draining from her face.
He took a step in her direction, then halted without touching her. “What is it?” Her eyes were glazed as she stared blankly over his head. He was about to shake her when he realized what was happening.
She’d found her brother.
She stood frozen in place. He was afraid to touch her lest he break the communication.
Marc swiftly scanned the narrow alley. Water splashed into the verdigris basin beside him, misting his arm with cool water. The noise of the hundreds of people crowding the piazza a few blocks away was muted, the street shadowy. Thank God there was no one in sight.
He ached to hold her, but his hands clenched into tight fists as she swayed slightly. He was in big trouble.
She was a major distraction at a time when he could least afford any mistakes.
Tory was a civilian. He’d had no intention of getting within ten feet of Victoria Jones. Unfortunately he’d miscalculated badly. If it had been pure lust, he could have dealt with it. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
Victoria brought out a tender side of him he’d never known. There was something about her that got under his skin; something that tugged at that secret place he’d buried and forgotten long ago.
He leaned back against the rough wall, keeping his eyes moving constantly to make sure she was safe. She was vulnerable, especially now with all her energies fixated on communicating with Alex.
He wished to God she’d snap out of her trance so he could get her safely back to the grotto. The angle of the sun reminded him that considerable, precious time had passed as they’d wandered through the market.
He reached out a steadying hand when he saw her jolt, as if waking from hypnosis. “Are you all right?”
She blindly gripped his fingers, and Marc pulled her against him, encircling her with his arms. Holding him just as tightly, she pressed her face against his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her tears soaking his shirt; but she cried silently, her body barely moving.
Tilting her face up with his finger, he scanned her still-pale skin. “You don’t have time to fall apart. Do you hear me, Victoria? No time, princess.” He hardened his heart as she looked up at him with eyes awash with fresh tears. “Give me the where and what, and you’re on your way back to camp.” She swallowed several times, dashing her fingertips across her cheek. “He’s being held at the Palazzo Visconti.” She stepped away from him to dip her hand into the fountain and splashed water on her face. “Only one man is guarding him now. But there are more than twenty upstairs in the palace.” Her voice was flat and devoid of any emotion.
Marc’s eyes narrowed. “Upstairs? Don’t tell me—”
“I thought Alex said ‘dungeon’—” Tory looked up at him. “Surely I must have misunderstood.”
“’Fraid not, princess.” Marc was grim. “The Palazzo was built in the early 1400s, complete with a moat and dungeons.” He frowned. “Did you get anything else?”
Tory ran the random, fragmented dialogue through her mind to get it straight. “He says there is a secret door into the palace from the park—but there are motion detectors on all the other entrances. The public isn’t allowed to visit the royal suites, and that’s where Spider is.” Tory grimaced. “I’m not even going to ask. Alex says he has a couple of broken ribs and the perfect nose you always ragged him about will never be the same. They change the guards irregularly, they do a lot of drinking after ten, and seem to be pretty lax.”
She chewed her lip. “Marc, Alex said to tell you to be especially careful. Someone inside wants you badly enough to have set this whole thing up. Alex said they’re waiting for you but…but you have no face. Does that make any sense?”
“It’s what I was expecting,” he replied, his tone grim. “Did Lynx tell you anything else?”
“He believes the bird can still fly.” She frowned as Marc urged her back the way they had come, bending to pick up the scrap of lace that had slipped from her arm. “What ‘bird’? A helicopter?”
“Yeah.” Marc grinned. “The Hughes 500 chopper that Lynx flew in. We thought we’d lost it. The Huey…Damn, that’s great! At least we have one piece of good news. It sure beats waiting around for Angelo. With the helicopter in commission we can fly out.”
“Where are we going now?” Tory adjusted the lacy fabric over her cast and walked faster to keep up with his long strides.
She tried to read his expression, but his face was suddenly shuttered as he lost the smile and his jaw tightened. “I’ll take you back to the truck. Your part in this is over.”
“Oh, but…”
Marc turned and pinned her in place with a fierce look. “You go back to the grotto, no ifs, ands or buts about it. Got that?” His mouth was hard. She nodded. “Don’t try and play the hero, Tory. There’s no need. I’ll get your brother out. By this time tomorrow, Marezzo will just be a memory.”
She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp. “You’re hurting me.”
“Not as much as those sons of bitches will if they catch up with you again.” He dropped his hand from her arm, surprising her as he flung his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. “Keep close, keep your mouth shut and walk.”
She didn’t have much choice. The square was still crowded and noisy, and the press of people and Marc’s arm kept them as close together as conjoined twins. “I hate to bring this up, but I’m starving.”
“I gave you coconut.”
“I want real food.” Tory glanced up at him as they had to pause to let one of the vendors, pulling a cart piled high with produce, go by.
As soon as their path was clear, Marc stopped and bought her a square of pizza. He waited while the vendor rolled it in paper and handed it to her.
“Are you sure you can find your way back?”
Victoria’s mouth watered at the savory aroma
of garlic and tomato. “Yes, I can find my way back.” She saw the way he scanned each face in the crowd. “In fact, I can even find my way back to the truck on my own. Go ahead.” She could feel his impatience as he tightened his hand around her waist. “It’s not helping Alex if you have to waste time leading me about when I’m perfectly capable on my own.”
They’d come to the wide gate and Tory turned to look up at him. “The truck’s right over there, I’ll be fine.”
For a moment he looked as if he was going to say something, but Tory put her fingers against his lips. “I’m a big girl. Go. Be careful,” she said softly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his unsmiling mouth. Before he could respond, she turned and walked away.
She could feel his eyes boring into her back and knew the moment when he turned and walked behind the high walls of the city.
It was so hot, and her heart pounded as Tory hurried toward the battered vehicle. Marc would get Alex out. She knew that.
It wasn’t until she eased between the ancient pickup and the wine truck that she saw the man. He was leaning against the passenger door of the wine truck, and she’d have to squeeze past him to open the driver’s side door of the truck.
He was about her height but wiry, with bulging muscles and brown eyes that surveyed her up and down. Tory shivered despite the heat. He looked like trouble.
For an instant she considered going back around her vehicle and climbing in through the passenger door. The man took a drag on his cigarette and flicked it into the dirt at his feet. Smoke spiraled from his nose and his eyes narrowed as she paused indecisively.
Tory glanced over her shoulder as she heard the whisper of footsteps in the sand behind her. Another man stood there, barring her retreat.
She recognized the second man and a shudder rippled through her body. Giorgio had been one of the two men who had held her in Pescarna. The hot metal of the truck pressed into her shoulder blades. The man who had tossed down his cigarette moved toward her, and Giorgio effectively blocked her way from behind. The pizza she’d been holding dropped to the ground unnoticed. Tory glanced from one to the other. She desperately forced the air in and out of her lungs.
Think Victoria. Don’t panic.
“Buon giorno, Signorina Jones.” Giorgio moved between the trucks until he was just an arm’s length away from her. “You have met Mario. Yes?” Tory recoiled from the smell of garlic on his breath and the stink of old sweat that permeated the still-hot air.
Of the two, Giorgio was a known quantity and therefore the most dangerous. She shot a glance at the other man, hoping she could evoke some sense of chivalry. She’d never seen such cold brown eyes. Okay, no help there.
She was trapped between the two vehicles and effectively cornered by her two assailants. For a moment she considered hurling herself into the bed of the truck. The sides were just too high and Giorgio and Mario were closing in.
Could she attack them if they came any closer? With what? She wished she had one of Marc’s nasty-looking guns. A knife would have been good. She didn’t even have a toothpick, for God’s sake.
If only…
Her arm thumped against the wheel well. Wait a moment, she did have a weapon—of sorts. The heavy plaster cast.
The man on her left grinned showing large yellow teeth. “You come back for Giorgio, yes?”
Tory frantically glanced back and forth between the two men. The market was still crowded with people. Surely if she stalled these two long enough, someone would come out and help her.
Her shoulders ached from pressing against the truck. Her braid, still hooked under her shirt in back, made a lump that chafed at her skin. She could feel the sweat running down her sides and trickling down her face. The salt stung her eyes, but she was too terrified to blink.
“You come with Giorgio now.”
Victoria shook her head. “No, thank you, I have to go. I’m meeting a friend and he’ll be worried about me.” She hated the way her voice shook. Still no one was coming to her aid. Somehow she was going to have to extricate herself from these men and get away.
With surprisingly steady legs she moved toward Mario. “It was interesting meeting you, but I really have to go now.” Tory came abreast of him. She gave him a weak smile, her heart pumping as she moved past him, managing to grab the door handle.
Lord, I did it.
Yanking the handle down she pulled at the door. It stuck and she pulled harder. As the door flew open, she felt a hand grab her hair. Her scalp stung as Giorgio gripped the hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers tight, painfully snagging the loose hairs. Her eyes stung and the baseball cap fell unheeded to the ground.
“Signorina will come now.” He pulled at the braid until it was free of her shirt, twisting it around his beefy wrist, jerking it so her head was tilted back painfully. Terror blurred her vision as Tory struggled against his grip.
“Andiamo!” Garlic breath seared her face as he spat the command. She had no idea what he’d said, but he was pulling her inexorably toward the back of the truck.
Tory kicked him; he merely laughed, calling to Mario in Italian as he dragged her backward. She managed to roll her head, sinking her teeth into Giorgio’s wrist.
Snarling an oath, Giorgio tightened his grip on her hair. Tory didn’t feel the pain. Her jaw ached as she held on for dear life while he talked furiously to Mario.
A steely arm slammed across her throat as Mario lifted her easily off her feet. She dangled helplessly between the two men.
Her jaw seemed locked, despite the arm across her windpipe. Lights danced before her eyes as the arm across her throat pressed harder. She wanted to draw in a lungful of air, but she knew if she relaxed they would take her.
Giorgio fired a command in Italian at Mario, who immediately pinched her nose between foul-smelling fingers. Tory’s jaw unclamped as she sucked in great drafts of burning air through her mouth.
The metallic taste of blood was on her tongue and she spat it out. Right on Giorgio’s fancy handmade shoes. She hung limply in Mario’s arms, his forearm still across her throat as she struggled to breathe.
Dizzy and faint, Tory forced her body to remain limp. She was beyond terrified. Death was preferable to what she knew Giorgio was capable of doing to her. Oh, God. She couldn’t go through that again. She just couldn’t.
Without warning she lashed out, both legs coming up and hitting Giorgio in the stomach, and he fell backward with a cry. Mario, who was still holding her, started backing up in surprise, pulling Tory with him as Giorgio staggered to his feet. She jerked out of his grip and swung her right arm up. Her cast hit Giorgio across the nose with a satisfying crunch. Pain shot up her arm. Blood spurted from the man’s broken nose.
Turning toward Mario, she used her knee with all her strength and he crumbled, screaming, cupping his groin with both hands.
Leaping over his crouched body, Tory ran for the open door of the truck. Sliding across the seat she fumbled with the door latch with her cast and frantically searched under the seat for the key.
The door wouldn’t lock. Straightening, she used her good hand to try to force down the little chrome button, her heart in her throat. She leaned over and slammed down the button on the passenger side, but the driver’s side wouldn’t lock, no matter how hard she tried.
She still couldn’t locate the key. Peering through the grimy window, she saw Giorgio shaking his head, blood still spurting from his nose, as he lumbered between the vehicles toward her.
Where’s the key? Where the hell is that key? Tory ran frantic fingers under the seat again and again. The key was gone. Sliding across the seat, she managed to unlock and fling open the passenger door. She catapulted out and took off at a dead run. They were between her and the safety of the crowds. She had no choice. There was an open field to her left. Beyond that a stand of trees that might offer some protection. If she could make it.
Not looking back, she sprinted for the field, her bangs stuck to her forehead, wet with sweat. Her
arm throbbed painfully. Within seconds, the force of a body cannoning into her from behind took her down, and she gasped in a mouthful of powdery dirt as she hit the ground.
Giorgio’s body pinned her as Tory twisted and kicked, screaming for help as she tried to escape from beneath the knee he’d pressed into her back.
She was lying facedown, the weight of his body holding her firmly as she bucked and squirmed uselessly. With a punishing grip, he flipped her over on her back, his face contorting murderously. The cast was handy for another swat. Unfortunately, this time it only connected with the side of his head. He roared his rage.
Fatalistically, Tory saw his elbow lift. She closed her eyes tightly as his fist connected on her jaw with brutal force.
VICTORIA, OPEN YOUR EYES. Wake up. Now!
Alex? Victoria’s eyes fluttered but refused to open. Alex, are you…are you all right?
Forcing open her eyes, she glanced around as she rotated her jaw. It ached.
She could hear her brother’s amusement in her mind. Honey, I’m fine. Let’s concentrate on you, okay? Where are you hurt? Can you move?
Where are we?
The bowels of the earth, at the “hotel” Palazzo Visconti. His tone was rueful and bitter. Tell me what you see.
The room was about ten feet by ten feet. Stained blocks of stone formed the walls, floor and ceiling. The only furniture was the bed she was lying on—a bare dirty mattress that was cold and damp with mildew and other things she didn’t want to identify.
There was a tiny window high in the wall above the bed that let in a little of dusk’s meager light. It was certainly too high to reach and too small to crawl through even if she could. She stifled a groan.
Tory? Alex’s voice was near, but she still had to close her eyes to concentrate because he sounded weak. How badly are you hurt?
She moved her jaw again, cautiously. It hurt, as well it should after the punch she’d taken from Giorgio’s fist. Her broken arm throbbed under the cast. No major problems. There was absolutely no point in having Alex worry needlessly.
Tory heard a door open and close nearby. She squinted at the door to her cell. Constructed of heavy dark wood, raw and stained with hundreds of years of moisture, it was banded by wide metal strips. Very old but with a depressingly modern-looking locking device.
