Soldier's Redemption

by Alice Sharpe

  The question was simple: Did they find anything to arouse suspicion? Doubtful. He had a briefcase full of documents for a legitimate business that he’d bought into the week before coming here. His ID would reveal he was exactly who he said he was, because for all intents and purposes, he was exactly who he said he was.

  Maybe this was business as usual for a man like Futura, who would be speculative about anyone who crossed his path no matter how peripherally. But how did they know Cole would be out of his room?

  Two possibilities: it was no coincidence that Ian Banderas had been in the dining room because he’d come here at Futura’s bidding, or Skylar Pope’s arrival hadn’t been as innocent as it appeared.

  Was that possible? He couldn’t imagine there was a duplicitous bone in her body, yet the way she’d said good-night when they arrived at the palatial estate of her aunt and uncle had held a note of finality, leaving him wondering if the dinner invitation would ultimately be rescinded and Skylar would disappear from his reach. Maybe her uncle had given her the task of distracting him.

  He shook his head at his own paranoia then, remembering the clown, he crossed the room to open the drawer. The clown was where he’d left it. What had the searcher made of a grown man carrying around an obviously old toy like this?

  More importantly, if whoever had searched this room reported the presence of the clown to Luca Futura, would it raise an alarm in the man’s distant memory?

  Well, he’d know tomorrow night if not sooner.

  Chapter Five

  The next day, assuming he was being watched in some capacity, Cole went through the motions of visiting different outlets, placing orders and discussing sales with contacts his new partner had made in the months before. Those contacts and the partner’s floundering ability to pay his overhead were the reasons Cole had bought into Nevada Consolidated in the first place. He now owned four-fifths of a company teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, and the truth of the matter was that it would probably go under and he would lose every penny.

  But that was just money. What he had needed was the legitimacy of a career change after his injuries had forced him out of the army. When Luca Futura researched Cole Bennett, he mustn’t find anything to arouse suspicion.

  Half expecting a call that canceled dinner plans, Cole checked his room messages often throughout the day. The call never came, and at seven, warned by the concierge the city’s maze of streets wasn’t to be tackled lightly by foreigners after dark, he showed up at Futura’s front gate in a taxi and was ushered inside by a very proper-looking butler with a British accent.

  Skylar abandoned her seat on a brocaded sofa and approached him. He had to remind himself to breathe. She was dressed in what surely must be one of her creations, an artless dress composed of many different patterns of fabric that fell from her slender shoulders and stopped just above her knees. The streak in her hair was now more purple than pink, and the smile she wore lit up the high-ceilinged room.

  One thing Skylar wasn’t was a chameleon. She did not blend in to her surroundings. Take this room, all gilded and glitzy and full of antiques he hoped no one would think to ask him about. Skylar didn’t clash with it exactly; she just had such a strong sense of style and of herself that she remained undiminished, just as she had in Aneta’s apartment building the day before.

  He tore his gaze from her dazzling face to see another woman, this one older and frailer. She, too, sat on the sofa, a blue scarf wrapped around what must be thinning hair, her skin translucent. It was obvious she’d lost weight recently, but he found the same spirit in her eyes that he found in Skylar’s, and her handshake upon introduction was welcoming.

  “I am so very pleased to meet you,” Skylar’s aunt said, her voice gentle. “Please forgive my husband,” she added. “He’s busy putting out fires over the phone, but he’ll be downstairs in a moment. Can we get you something to drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having would be fine,” Cole said, glancing at the cup that sat before her on a low coffee table.

  “I can’t drink alcohol right now,” she said. “This is just herbal tea. I’d like to offer something more exciting to the man who did so much for Skylar yesterday and tried to help poor Aneta. Skylar, ask Davis to pour wine.”

  “Only if Skylar will join me,” Cole said.

  “Of course I will,” Skylar said, and actually pulled on a cord just as he’d seen people do in movies. Within seconds, the butler showed up and opened a bottle of wine, delivering two glasses before departing.

  “I’m very sorry about your employee, Ms. Ables. If we’d only arrived a few minutes sooner, maybe we could have made a difference.”

  “Or maybe you both would have been hurt, as well. There’s no use in thinking what if, is there?”

  “Have the police any leads on the theft or the murder?” Cole asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Skylar said. “I was at the shop all day trying to figure out if anything else is missing.”

  “What would I do without you?” her aunt asked with an affectionate smile.

  Skylar smiled back. “You know I love to help you out, Aunt Eleanor.”

  “And is anything else missing?” Cole asked.

  “I don’t believe so, but I’ve suggested to Aunt Eleanor that she have an auditor look through the books to be on the safe side.”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Eleanor said.

  “This is quite a house,” Cole said after a short lull, uncomfortable with his own prying questions.

  “I think it’s rather ostentatious,” Eleanor said, her eyes lively. “But my husband loves it.”

  “Has it been in his family for generations?” he asked.

  “Oh, no. No, his parents were humble people of limited means. But Luca worked for an American ambassador way back when, and after the explosion that killed the man and his family, Luca was called to fill increasingly demanding roles.”

  “An explosion? Here in Traterg?”

  “Yes. We had just married. Kanistan was very strange to me at first. So political. The country was uneasy, so I guess it was natural that I would become friendly with the only other American woman I knew, and that was Ambassador Oates’s wife, Mary.”

  “Was the American ambassador’s death political in nature?” Cole asked, trying to keep the anxiousness out of his voice.

  “No, I’m afraid it wasn’t. My husband doesn’t like to talk about it, but it seems the ambassador had an affair with a much younger woman. Lenora Roman was her name. Mind you, I found this so hard to believe. I’d met him several times when I visited them with Luca, and the ambassador always seemed like such a decent man. Anyway, Lenora became pregnant, and then she was murdered. The police discovered that her father and brothers assumed it was the ambassador’s doing and sent a bomb to the house in retaliation. The blast destroyed the whole family.”

  “There were no survivors?”

  She shook her head. “No. They all died. The ambassador, Mary and worst of all his son by a first marriage and the two smaller boys he and Mary had together. My husband was just devastated.”

  “Now, Eleanor,” a voice said from behind Cole, who jerked in surprise. He’d been totally wound up in Eleanor’s story and hadn’t heard Luca Futura enter the room.

  Cole rose to his feet to greet his host and found the man’s distant smile in place.

  “I’m sorry, Luca,” Eleanor said. “I don’t know what got into me talking about all that. I know you don’t like to remember any of it.”

  Luca leaned down and kissed his wife’s head. “No worries, my darling,” he said. No, he didn’t say it, he sang it, his voice trailing off into a melody.

  Cole sat down so abruptly that the other three looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling exposed. He had the irrational desire to leave the house immediately.

  “What’s wrong?” Skylar asked.

  “I tripped on my own feet,” he said, trying out a self-deprecating laugh.

  Luca smiled. “
You do not strike me as a clumsy man,” he said.

  “I’m usually not,” Cole said. “That was a pretty tune you hummed a minute ago.”

  “It’s a folk song. Not many people know it anymore, but it still plays on in my mind.”

  Eleanor began singing, her voice a little reedy, and that somehow made the lyrics more poignant. “No worries, my darling, I’ll always be near. No worries forever, just sleep. Tomorrow will dawn with the sun bright and clear. No worries, my darling, just sleep.” She looked up at her husband, and he squeezed her hand. Then she looked at Cole and added, “Luca used to sing that song to Skylar when she was little. Remember, Luca?”

  “Yes, I remember,” he said.

  Skylar rose and poured her uncle a glass of wine. She handed it to him, and he sat beside his wife while Skylar took a chair so close to Cole he could reach out and touch her. And that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to get her alone, away from that house, away from the images her aunt had just planted in his head right before her husband had hummed a tune.

  He also wanted to tell Eleanor how much he appreciated the tree-of-life paperweight Skylar had given him but hesitated, unsure if her uncle knew that she’d seen him the night before and not sure if the news would be welcome. It was impossible to miss his protective vibe. Instead, Cole talked about Eleanor’s exhibit at the gallery and how much he had enjoyed that, although the truth was that it was almost impossible to connect this delicate woman with the powerhouse artist she must really be.

  “That endeavor was a labor of love for me,” she said, obviously pleased with his compliments. “When I’m better, I plan to start a new project. This time I want to do volcanoes of the Pacific Rim, like Krakatoa and Pinatubo, and even Mount St. Helens in the Pacific Northwest.”

  “I can see I’m going to have to start a collection,” Cole said.

  “Perhaps you should ask Mr. Bennett about the table in the drawing room,” Luca said, addressing his wife. “I imagine he could settle its origins once and for all. He must know a lot about antiques.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not true,” Cole said. “I’m new to this.”

  “What do you mean?” Skylar asked.

  “I recently bought into an acquaintance’s business. I was injured overseas, while serving,” he explained to the others. “After I recovered, I needed a new direction, and Martin needed a partner. Right now I’m just learning as I go.”

  The butler showed up to announce dinner, and they retired to the dining room, another over-the-top area. Eleanor, as expected, barely touched her meal, and Skylar seemed intent on keeping a light conversation going. Luca appeared content to sit back and watch their interaction.

  The goal had been to get close to Luca and find out the truth of that thirty-year-old explosion, but now that he’d wormed his way into the house, Cole wasn’t sure how to proceed. Maybe reminding the man of the one slim bond they’d forged would help. He waited until dinner was almost finished before broaching the subject of Aneta Cazo’s murder, asking once again about leads.

  “I hear they have one,” Luca said, setting his napkin aside.

  “Can you share the details?”

  “There aren’t many,” he said with an elegant shrug, “and none I would care to discuss in front of my wife and niece.”

  “Your wife is tired,” Eleanor said, folding her napkin. Her voice did sound strained, suggesting that maybe she was in pain. “It’s time for me to retire.”

  “I’ve overstayed,” Cole began, but she cut him off.

  “Nonsense. It’s this damn disease, or maybe the treatment is even worse. Stay and talk to Luca.”

  “Let me summon your nurse,” Futura said.

  “That’s not necessary. Skylar will help me upstairs. Won’t you, dear? And once again, thank you, Cole, for your support yesterday.”

  “I was happy to be of service,” he said, and watched as Skylar ushered her aunt from the room.

  “Let’s adjourn to my den,” Luca said. “I have a bottle of excellent French brandy.”

  “Thanks,” Cole said and fought the impulse to bus his place at the table. All these servants and fancy sauces were a little tricky for a guy who was still more accustomed to eating MREs in a trench.

  They were crossing the foyer when a loud knock sounded and the butler showed up. He ushered in a slightly built man with slick blond hair that looked damp—it must have started raining. The man took off his coat and all but threw it at the butler. Ignoring Cole, he made straight for Luca, who towered over him.

  Ian Banderas in the pale flesh, and mad as a hornet, as well.

  He spoke rapidly and in a language Cole understood three words of: hello, goodbye and please. As far as he could tell, Banderas didn’t say a single one of those words.

  Futura scowled at Ian in response. In fact, it looked as if the older man wanted to pitch Banderas out altogether. Instead, he spoke to the butler, who led Banderas away toward what Cole assumed was the den.

  Futura turned back to Cole and spread his hands. “I am very sorry, Mr. Bennett. This situation demands my attention. My associate should never have come here, but now that he has—well, suffice to say I will have to terminate our evening without the brandy. Perhaps if business brings you back to Traterg, you will look us up. Until then, good night.”

  The butler was back with Cole’s coat in hand, leaving Cole with little choice but to gracefully make his exit.

  He stood outside the door under the portico as the rain drummed overhead, contemplating walking back to the hotel in the rain or calling a cab. Luca must have been more upset than he let on to dismiss a guest without asking if he needed help. Not that Cole did. It was just a little over four miles and the walk, wet or not, would do him good.

  What really kept him standing there was the fact that he had hardly spoken to Skylar. She’d been polite that evening but nothing more, the kisses and growing intimacy of the night before missing as though they’d never happened. He shouldn’t care. He’d used her to get in the front door, and while there was still need for a return visit, he could think of another strategy if he had to.

  What bothered him was the concern he’d said or done something the night before that had alerted her to his secret mission. What if she said something to her uncle? That was the problem, right? Not that he wanted more of her, just that she might jeopardize what he had to do.

  So why did her demeanor that evening leave him feeling alone? He hardly ever felt that way—not as an only kid growing up or as a soldier with his own agenda or during the months of hospital care and recuperation for his injured leg. Vulnerability was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Never had.

  He stepped into the rain and started down the curving drive until he heard his name called and turned. Skylar stood under the portico now, her fair hair gleaming in the overhead light. As he stood staring at her, she dashed out to meet him.

  “You left without saying goodbye,” she said.

  “Your uncle had a guest. And truthfully, I didn’t know if you’d care. You were so formal tonight.”

  “It’s that house,” she said, hugging herself. “It gets to me. Normally it’s okay, but seeing you there just felt weird and watching my aunt struggle to act normal was painful. She and my uncle try so hard to pretend nothing is wrong.”

  “Is her prognosis good?”

  “Yes. If she can survive the treatments, she should recover. She’s just worn out.”

  “I shouldn’t have come,” he said, feeling like the lowest bug on earth.

  “No, that’s why she wanted me to go upstairs with her, so she could tell me how nice she thought you were. She enjoyed meeting you. It’s just me being a worrywart. I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry.” He brushed wet hair away from her forehead. “You’re getting all wet.”

  “I don’t care. It feels great out here.”

  “It’s kind of cold. Where’s your coat?”

  “I didn’t want to take time to find it.
I just wanted to say good-night.”

  He’d waited long enough that evening, and unbuttoning his cashmere overcoat, he shrugged it off and draped it over her shoulders, then pulled her against him. He kissed her the way he’d wanted to all night as cold drops hit their heads and rolled down their faces. The icy water juxtaposed with the heat of their mouths translated into the sexiest kiss he’d ever experienced. He lost himself for a second in the moist softness of her mouth and the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest.

  She pulled away at last and looked back toward the house. “Not here,” she said.

  “Then come back to the hotel with me.”

  “I shouldn’t,” she said, turning to look back at the house.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “You should. You must.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. No arguments. Just come.”

  Her smile was slow and sexy, and the water drenching her hair just made her look more desirable. “Do you always get your way?”

  “I’m not going to answer that,” he said, kissing her forehead and eyelids.

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I say I do you might feel it necessary to teach me a lesson, and if I say I don’t you might feel sorry for me and sympathy is the last thing I want from you.”

  Her voice so low it was hard to hear, she said, “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Everything.”

  She was quiet for a second, and the only discernable noise was the rain hitting the pavement. “Cole, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He froze for an instant. What had she seen or heard that alerted her he was more—and less—than he presented himself to be? He kissed her forehead and said, “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, and he could tell she was dismissing her own suspicions, ignoring her instincts. He wasn’t very happy with himself and decided for both their sakes this evening should come to an end.

  And then she said, “I’ll go get my aunt’s car and give you a lift back to the hotel. I can’t imagine why my uncle didn’t call you a cab. Meet me at the gatehouse.”