Chapter 3
When the nurse looked in on Sophie at ten o’clock, she pretended sleep. They’d given her a sleeping pill, but she’d slipped it under her pillow. Sleep could wait. Time and painkillers alleviated much of her pain, but in its place questions pounded in her head.
What had happened in the past four weeks?
Her head throbbed from the effort to remember.
But would there be memories she didn’t want? Was she the lover of this man Vadim? And worse, did he really try to kill her? Or could the government man Thorne be lying?
Sophie frowned, then winced as the movement revived pain. But why? What reason could ATSA or this international task force have to make up a lover and an accident?
Could Elena Donati’s relative be a criminal? A murderer and dealer in blood diamonds? She knew that term from the news. Diamonds were mined in war-torn African countries by slave labor. They were smuggled out and traded for arms. Could Sophie have aided him?
Her mind rejected the idea, but dread kicked that spiked ball around in her skull again. But what about the rest of her time in Italy? Did she locate family? Did she find Pinelli cousins in Rome or Rinaldi cousins in Florence? Did she bounce their baby on her knee or share their wine and pasta?
Finding her roots was part of finding herself, the main reason for her journey to Italy. After taking care of other people for most of her life, Sophie wanted a life for herself. But what?
Tears threatened to fall for the ninetieth time that day, but she willed them away and yawned. Sleep would overtake her, pill or not. Pain and those terrible accusations exhausted her. Odd, but berating her had seemed to take a toll on Thorne. Twice he’d nearly reached out to comfort her but stopped himself. He didn’t want to care, but he did.
She yawned again. Gingerly she turned on her right side, her good side. She adjusted the wrapping on her injured shoulder and snuggled into the pillow.
Sophie was just drifting off when glaring light striped across her bed. The nurse coming in again? So soon?
Shadowy dark returned as the door closed. Rubber soles squeaked across the tiled floor. Beside the bed came quick, shallow breaths as though from exertion.
Something was wrong. Sophie tensed and started to turn.
She caught a glimpse of a male figure before a dark form blocked out the pale moonlight through the window shade. A soft thickness sealed her mouth and nose.
No! Fear spiked her adrenaline and gave her strength.
She thrashed and kicked, fighting through the pain, but could move only one arm. He swore but held her. Her muffled cries were lost in the covering that stole her breath.
Air. She needed air…
Jack exited the vaporetto and climbed the steps to the street. Water bus was the most efficient transport among the countless islands that were Venice. From the stop, he could see Ospedale di Lorenzo a block away, the hospital where Sophie was. He headed toward the golden-brick building.
He’d finished his boning up on the Yamari terrorist. De Carlo had given an inch and agreed to install a police officer outside Sophie’s room. But the protection wouldn’t start until morning. Jack would keep watch for the night.
As he arrived at the hospital’s main entrance, Jack considered its security—or lack of it. The place had once been a damn palace, with entrances on all four sides, at least six staircases and a courtyard. Beautiful but not secure.
If Vadim were sending one of his thugs to finish Sophie off, he might choose daytime, when no one would notice an extra person in the halls. But Jack’s money was on a late-night foray. He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. The hospital corridors would be quiet and dim, the staff inattentive.
He climbed the entrance steps and hurried to the arched stairwell that led to the patient floors. As he neared the third floor, he heard more than one voice shouting.
Sophie!
Pulse revving, Jack took the last flight two steps at a time. He burst onto the corridor to see two people grappling outside Sophie’s room—a nurse and a man with a black cap pulled low on his forehead. Two other uniformed staff ran toward them. The man knocked down the nurse and took off.
One woman spotted Jack and yelled to him, but her Italian was too rapid for him to catch even a few words. She waved her arms frantically toward the dark-capped man, who was hurrying toward another stairwell.
Jack peered into Sophie’s room but saw only white uniformed staff around her bed. “Sophie? La signora Americana?” he said, his tone urgent. Damn it, he ought to know more of the language!
Through the nurse’s incomprehensible stream of Italian, he understood one word in English. Okay.
At that, he sped after the black-capped man. His quarry had a head start, but Jack knew the hospital layout. He heard the muffled stomp of sneaker-clad feet as the man pounded down the stairs ahead of him.
Jack hit the ground floor in time to see Sophie’s assailant make it out the door. He recognized it as a side door away from the canal, on Ruga Brunetti. He raced after the man, who lengthened his stride when he glimpsed his pursuer.
Using his Glock was unwise in these narrow streets of homes and shops. Jack was at a disadvantage in dress shoes against a man in sneakers, and his high school track days were in the distant past. Regular jogging didn’t cut it for flat-out sprinting.
The assailant could be Vadim’s Cleatian bodyguard Petar. Right build. Right moves. Damn, he wanted this guy. But all he could hope for was to keep the man in sight.
Sweat stung his eyes, but his pace was steady, his breathing strong. He could keep the black cap in sight. He followed his quarry through a right turn. The man peeled left, and Jack followed him into a church plaza.
The race led across a bridge, then toward another narrow street. He raced behind the man to yet another bridge. This one arched higher than the others, and he could see only the black cap as he crested the bridge.
By the time Jack crossed, the assailant had disappeared. Three narrow streets diverged from the canal’s edge.
Petar—if it was Petar—could’ve gone down any one of the three streets. Or into any building.
Dripping and defeated, Jack walked to catch his breath and to cool down. In his mind he spewed out every oath he knew and kicked himself for not being at the hospital earlier.
A few minutes later, cooled down and cooler-headed, he checked the street signs.
Great, just great.
He had no idea where he was, but he had to get back to the hospital fast.
Sophie could still be in danger.
The early-morning sun streaming through the window woke Sophie. She opened her eyes and recoiled with a start. A man sat in the chair beside her bed. When she recognized Jackson Thorne, she relaxed, her pulse slowing to normal.
He was asleep, his head lolling sideways against the high back of the sagging upholstered chair. Mussed from sleep, his hair gleamed like antique gold in the sun. In repose his harshness was muted. His eyebrows and eyelashes were a red-gold mix. The darker contrast created that fierce eagle stare she’d seen yesterday. Red-gold bristle covered his chiseled jaw. His mouth still looked austere but not stern or intense.
The light tan softened him, but not much. He didn’t seem like a man who frequented tanning booths or lounged on beaches. A jungle or desert assignment, then.
She studied his strong throat and wide shoulders, impressive in such a lean body. Her gaze traveled to the golden hairs curling out of his shirt opening, then down his leanly muscled chest to his folded arms and the scarred knuckles.
The scars—how had he gotten them? Rescuing a hostage? Fighting a terrorist? And how would those tough and wounded fingers feel on her skin?
She must still be dizzy to have such thoughts about this man, of all people.
No wonder, after last night’s scare. The attack had brought back the ringing in her head and the drilling ache in her shoulder. Painkillers and a sleeping pill had done their job. She felt better this morning.
Better enou
gh to face facts. A man tried to kill her last night. Remembering her panic when she couldn’t breathe, she tensed from head to toe, and fear tightened her throat.
Jackson Thorne must be telling the truth about Sebastian Vadim. At least the part where he wanted to kill her.
Why was the big question.
“Why what?” a deep male voice asked. Thorne straightened in the chair and scrubbed a hand over his eyes.
She hadn’t realized she’d said it aloud. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Have you been here all night?”
“Most of it.”
“A nurse told me you chased the man. Did you catch him?”
Thorne shook his head. “He had a head start. I chased him long enough to get lost. Had to pay a water-taxi driver a month’s rent to return me here.”
If not for his scowl, Sophie would’ve thought the ATSA officer was making a joke. “You tried.”
“Trying doesn’t cut it. I was too damn late getting here. It’s a miracle you’re alive. What stopped him?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t take the sleeping pill they brought me and I was still awake. I don’t think he was expecting me to fight him.” Fear flooded back with a buzzing in her head and a spasm in her throat.
“Can you go on?” He stood and stared hard at her, as if willing strength into her.
She nodded, reaching for him with her free hand. He hesitated, then clasped it and held on.
His hand was tough and hard, like the man, but offered warmth and solid support. After a moment she felt able to continue. “I…I couldn’t breathe. He held a pillow or something over my face. I pulled my good arm free and knocked over the IV stand. The nurses came.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“No. It was too dark to see his face.” She searched her brain for impressions. “He wasn’t as tall as you but strong and fit.”
“I’ll vouch for fit.” Thorne subsided into the chair again but kept possession of her hand. “You were asking why earlier. Why what?”
“Why does someone—Vadim—want to kill me?”
“If you can remember the last few days, we’ll know the answer to that.”
More than anything, Sophie wanted to remember. And not just a motive for murder. She wanted the last four weeks. She wanted her life back.
But remembering could be a double-edged sword. What if she’d been that man’s lover? What could she know that was so bad he wanted to kill her?
Whatever had happened, she needed the truth.
“Officer Thorne, yesterday you said ATSA could offer me protection if I would help find Sebastian Vadim.”
Jack watched her eyes as he had while she’d seemed to struggle within herself. She seemed damned sincere. After last night’s attack, even that polizia prick De Carlo would have to admit she needed protection 24-7.
After his unprofessional loss of control yesterday, he’d expected her to refuse to talk to him. That she reached out to him today shocked the hell out of him. But no more attack dog. Kindness had a better chance of gaining her trust.
Reluctantly he slid his hand from her soft grip. He shouldn’t get too used to how soft and silky she felt. “I was too hard on you. I apologize.”
“It’s okay. You have a job to do. But I was too upset to understand or accept what was happening. I don’t know if I can help. I don’t remember Vadim or anything. I want to remember, but I’m afraid.”
He smoothed his rumpled dress shirt and dragged fingers through his hair. He’d have to move fast to convince De Carlo and Raines to leave him here. Sophie didn’t yet trust him, but she seemed to acknowledge that she needed him.
He could work with that.
“I have to arrange some things. I’ll get back to you later today.” He started toward the door.
“But what if someone comes again?” A note of panic tightened her voice.
“There’s a police officer outside your door. You’ll be safe.” There’d better damned well be a cop on duty today. Jack would alert the day staff to keep an eye out, too.
Her lips curved with a warm smile. “Thank you. A cop is good, but I feel safer with you, Officer Thorne.”
He sure as hell hadn’t done her much good so far, but hearing her say it eased his tension a notch.
He opened the door, then stopped and half turned. “Sophie, my name is Jack.”
“Tell me about this man,” Sophie said as she rode with Jack to Sebastian Vadim’s mainland villa two days later. “Why do you want him so badly?”
Why do I— No, she meant why did ATSA want Vadim. He was jumpy and overreacting. Jack slanted a quick glance toward his passenger in the tiny Fiat.
Sophie’s hair was clean and brushed so it floated in a glossy cloud around her shoulders. A female ATSA officer had taken pity on Jack and selected clothes from Sophie’s luggage for him to take her. In the short pink slacks she’d called “cropped,” a buttoned blouse and sandals, she looked like any young woman out for a drive.
With a few exceptions. The abrasions and scrapes on her face—but those were healing. The purple-and-red bruises were fading to yellow. Her shoulder bandage had been replaced by a green sling with hook-and-loop fasteners and a strap around her chest to immobilize the arm.
As if she’d asked him the weather, she gazed out the windshield at the lush green countryside. How did she maintain that ethereal calm? Even if she was faking the amnesia, two attempts on her life ought to have shaken her to the core.
And they had. He’d seen her tears.
“Did you hear me? Earth to Jack.”
He checked the rearview mirror to see if their escort was staying with them. Behind them, in another unmarked polizia Alfa Romeo sedan, were Leoni and Assistant Director Raines. De Carlo was waiting for them at the villa. He’d grumbled but agreed to leave Jack where he was, guarding Sophie. For now.
“Sorry. I was concentrating on the traffic.”
“A good thing.” Sophie laughed, low music that sent tingles low in Jack’s body. “In Italy, driving is a blood sport. And it’s even worse on the Autostrade.”
A dark green BMW passed them. It zigzagged around two trucks and took a sharp curve with two wheels airborne.
Jack saw that the next exit was theirs. Thank God. “Four lanes is a free-for-all.”
“I asked about Vadim. ATSA is a terrorist-hunting agency. What do you want with a diamond smuggler?”
Did she really want to know or was she testing to see what ATSA knew? Either way, Jack saw no reason not to tell her the facts.
The events surrounding Roszca’s arrest had been in the news. Very little was still classified. “Viktor Roszca is an international arms dealer. A few months ago he arranged the theft of weapons-grade uranium—four-point-five kilos, about ten pounds—from an old nuke dump in the former Soviet satellite of Cleatia. He was arranging an auction when ATSA arrested him. The courier vanished. We think he sold the package to Vadim, but we have no proof.”
“I understand. But if Vadim is from Cleatia, how is he Mrs. Donati’s cousin?”
“His mother was Italian. He grew up in both countries. He learned his trade with the Mafia before graduating from local rackets to diamond smuggling.”
Sophie heard the bitterness in Jack’s voice and wondered. “Why hasn’t he been arrested before?”
“He was tough to track. Too many aliases. He seemed to be at least a half dozen different people.”
“But Sebastian Vadim is his real name?”
“Sebastiano Vadim, to be exact,” Jack said, biting out the words. “He must’ve kept in touch with the Donatis under his real name. The villa’s also listed under Vadim.”
Sophie considered the possibilities. She already knew how dangerous he was. The man had aliases, Mafia connections, resources to add to his arsenal. Her stomach gave a flutter of fear. “And what about the uranium?”
Jack heaved a sigh of apparent frustration. “Vanished with the courier. What Vadim plans for it is anybody’s guess. Four-point-five kilos c
ould arm a dirty bomb or a small missile.”
“It could fall into terrorist hands. I see.” She contemplated the vineyard that came into view as they exited onto a two-lane highway. “And you think I know something about his plans. That’s why he tried to kill me.”
“His plans or about the uranium. Yes.”
She fell silent as they tooled along the country road, her gaze on the scenery. Farm fields and vineyards thick with leaves and ripening fruit edged the road. The leaves of olive trees flashed green and silver, with wildflowers sowing color at their feet. So much beauty with such evil in its midst.
When they turned in at Vadim’s villa, Jack saw Sophie sit up straight. She scanned the long driveway, the vineyard and the redbrick villa as if hoping for a breakthrough.
“Look familiar?” Jack said.
She blinked and sat back against the cushion. She stared so hard she must’ve roused the dizziness again. “No. Nothing. I wish it did.”
The two cars pulled up to the manor house’s entrance. Jack helped Sophie out of the little car. She was still shaky, and her bandaged arm limited her agility.
Before they’d left Venice, Jack had introduced her to his colleagues who accompanied them. He doubted her artless charm would win over De Carlo as easily as it had them.
De Carlo opened the heavy front doors of the house and stepped out, and Jack introduced him. In a formal Italian manner, the task-force leader bowed slightly over her hand. “Piacere,”—a pleasure to meet you—he said.
Jack noted that his eyes were cold.
“Piacere,” Sophie replied.
Inside were three more officers with boxes of documents and electronic devices in their arms.
“Let’s walk through the house,” he said, taking Sophie’s good arm.
“You’re hoping something I see will trigger my memory.”
“Yes.”
“I hope so, too.”
They strolled through a large sitting room and a dining room with tile floors, into the kitchen and out onto a shaded terrace. Fifteen minutes later, as they reached the back section of the main floor, she sighed. “I don’t remember ever being here before.” Looking tired, she eased down on a settee.
Deadly Memories Page 4
