by Cara Putman
“Really?” He could hear the ache that edged her words.
“Yes. Are you ready?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Yes. I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t want to wait.” Another shell whistled overhead, punctuating the wisdom of that sentiment.
Rachel squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “He’s why I came.”
“There’s my spitfire. Let’s go.” He looked for the professor, but the man had melted into the background. “Where did Professor Berti go?”
“I don’t know. He said something about needing to get someone else.”
“Well, let’s go see Renaldo.”
While her words had been eager, her steps faltered as Rachel followed Scott across the gallery. He kept his fingers laced with hers, lending his support and strength as he led her to the man who was her father.
“Renaldo, may I introduce your daughter, Rachel Justice. Rachel, Renaldo Adamo, your father.”
Chapter 36
Your father.
The words sounded sweet to her ears, blotting out the reality of where she stood. All that mattered was that the man in front of her was her father. From their conversation at Montegufoni, she knew he had a compassionate heart. Now he was here.
She studied him through a mist of tears that threatened to erupt into sobs if she couldn’t hold them in check. He didn’t stand much taller than she did, but as she studied the planes of his face, she could see the remnants of a handsome man who had swept her momma or any woman off her feet. He gave her the same studious examination, one she submitted to in hopes he would see traces of her momma.
“You are as beautiful as Melanie.” The accented English was musical and tentative.
“Thank you.” Rachel swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “I wish I knew more about you.”
“A grief for us both.”
“One we can fix.”
He shrugged in a languid motion. “If we are blessed. Tell me about Melanie.”
“She is sick, dying.” Rachel bit down before she said too much, too quickly.
“This I am sorry to hear.”
“Thank you.”
“But why come find me now? In a war?”
How to make him understand how truly desperate she had been? “We have no money and the hospital could do no more without it. All I knew was my father was somewhere in Italy near Florence. It wasn’t much, but Momma is everything to me. I had to try. Here I could take photos to sell to newspapers. And I could find you.” Her breath shuddered.
“Can she be cured? She was always so alive.”
“She has tuberculosis. The doctors think it’s been dormant since she lived here.”
“But how?”
“It can hide for years. In her case it did. Then it came and went. Now it stays.”
“Why not remain with her?” His question made sense. Her momma was the only one who never asked it. Others had and hadn’t understood.
“I had to find you. Find help.”
Scott stepped forward. Other than his hand on her shoulder, she’d forgotten he remained. Later she could think about how odd and wonderful it was that she could share her pain and this moment with this man her heart adored.
“We can’t stay much longer. Renaldo, come with us.”
The man shook his head. “I need to collect more information. Return tomorrow, about noon. I will have something for you both.” He stepped to her, tentatively touched her cheek. “Your momma captured my heart. Now you have.”
Rachel turned to Scott. “Please, can we stay a few minutes?”
“I’m sorry, Rachel, but it’ll be tricky crossing the bridge. We need light to avoid the mines.”
He was right. She didn’t have to like it, but she would acknowledge it. “Renaldo?” What to call this man? “You promise? You’ll return tomorrow?”
His smile was slow, like a sunrise, and it lit his face. “I will do all in my power. If not here, I will find you at the gardens.” He turned to Scott. “Keep her safe. I have much to learn from my daughter.” Then he faded into the shadows.
Rachel felt a tremor work from her heart to her toes. “I can’t let him leave.”
“You can’t stay. It’s too dangerous.” Scott tugged her toward the staircase. “Renaldo will be here tomorrow. You’ll see.”
The next day she paced the glass-littered gallery again. Had she made a fatal mistake in following Scott across the Ponte Vecchio, to the jeep, and back to Montegufoni? The return trip to Florence this morning had left her harried, always waiting for a misplaced shell to land on top of them and then stepping around a poor civilian who’d been shot by a sniper and left where he’d fallen in the ultimate indignity. Killed by a countryman.
And now her father hadn’t returned.
“He’ll be here.”
She brushed aside Scott’s assurances. “What if he stepped on a mine last night? We’d never know.”
The sound of steps shifting through the glass had Scott pushing her into the shadows. “We stay here until we’re sure it’s Renaldo.”
She nodded, pressing as far as possible into a nook along the wall. She hadn’t made it this far to die because she was too stubborn to take precautions. Still, she sagged against the wall when her father’s small frame came into view.
“Scott? Rachel?” His whispers carried through the space, held by the walls that used to hold the artistic heritage of the Medicis and Florence.
“Over here.” Scott stepped around a pillar, letting Renaldo see him. Her heart swelled at the way he continued to protect her. “You are alone?”
“Sì. Who would come? Where is my daughter?”
“I’m here.”
Renaldo walked to her as if he carried a burden too heavy for him. “I made a decision last night. May it be in time to assist Melanie. The art I entrusted to Scott you may have. Sell it, keep it, do as you please. My wife may have what is in our flat and Montegufoni.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled weakly. “It is little but what I can do. I wish we’d had time to know each other. You are an adult. I wish to have known you as a baby, a child.” He traced a hand down Rachel’s cheek. “You have her eyes. They drew me to her in the first moment and never let me go. Even many years after she left.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out an envelope he handed to her. “This has what you will need to take ownership of the paintings. Scott will help with the details.”
Rachel took the envelope and slipped it into her rucksack. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for finding me. If God smiles on us, we will spend hours together. I long for that.”
He shook his head and turned to Scott. “For you I also bring a gift. Information on where the art is hidden. More recent and detailed than you had. Any information I could compile.”
“Locating the art is a high priority.”
“Long we have questioned the Germans’ purposes. But when they destroyed the bridges. When they destroyed the Ponte Santa Trinita taking the four seasons with it, . . .”—the man’s sigh ripped from his soul—“their dishonorable intentions became clear.”
There was something about the way he said it that sounded worn by worry and life. This time her father—the words sounded funny—reached into a valise she hadn’t noticed. He pulled out a sheaf of papers, the writing tiny yet very legible. “What I know from watching and listening is here.”
Scott accepted the rubber-banded papers with a nod. “Thank you.”
“Maybe when you Americans have pushed the Germans far from my city, I will enjoy moments with you, Rachel.” His look was so intense, so knowing yet scarred, that Rachel wanted to walk away yet felt compelled to stay. Was he memorizing her features, the details that made her unique or the ones that reminded him of her mother? Would she someday find herself painte
d onto one of his canvases?
“Do I have any siblings?”
He shook his head. “My wife and I were not blessed. You and my paintings are what I leave.”
Such an odd way to say something. Almost as if he thought he had a foot already in the grave, which as another series of shells whizzed by might be true of everyone near Florence.
Glass crunched in the distance. Scott jerked toward Renaldo. “Did you expect anyone?”
“No, but the building is not closed. Anyone can enter.”
“It’s on my list of items to fix immediately.”
Rachel had seen his list, seen the innumerable items that filled it. But with soldiers not allowed into the area except for essential AMG officers, the chance of getting guards for a building, no matter how historic and significant, remained small.
Scott pushed her behind him. “Stay in this nave until we know who’s coming and hang on to these papers for me.” She nodded and he leaned toward her. “Promise me.”
“Yes, Scott.”
He leaned closer, and her pulse picked up its pace. He stopped when they were nose to nose. “I love you, Rachel Justice.” He swooped in for a kiss, then turned to leave before she could respond.
I love you. The words reverberated through her as the men moved from the niche she’d slipped into. She longed to shout a response back to him. Whisper the words. Anything to let him know she felt the same.
This was wrong. Very wrong. Scott couldn’t shake the tightness in his gut as he moved away from Rachel. From the moment Renaldo had arrived speaking cryptically as if his demise was imminent, Scott hadn’t liked the situation. Now that at least one someone was joining their party, he liked it less. It felt like a setup, but he didn’t think Renaldo had arranged it. Why would the man give paintings to Rachel if he never expected her to collect? Unless he wanted to get rid of a woman who claimed to be his daughter. Scott shook the thoughts from his head.
The man longed for time with Rachel.
If he and his wife couldn’t have children, Scott understood why learning he had a daughter would be a powerful, moving moment.
Now Renaldo walked in front of him, not shifting from hiding spot to hiding spot. He strode toward whatever approached, occasionally stepping in the middle of glass with its accompanying crunch.
A moment later the noise near the stairs ended. Scott slid farther behind a short wall that provided a limited barrier between him and the stairwell and slipped his small pistol from his waistband. He doubted the gun would be much help in a fight, but it was all he had. Having Tyler with his rifle would be an asset at the moment, though who knew if Tyler would have fired first and asked questions later. Either way Tyler had shown himself a traitor, and Scott had no backup.
Rough German reached his ears, and Scott tried to pick out a word. German? Here? He’d heard there was the possibility of a few Germans remaining behind in this part of Florence to stir up ongoing chaos, but he hadn’t expected to run into one. He’d have left Rachel behind if he’d had to tie her to a chair to keep her there rather than bring her to the enemy. How could he keep her safe now? Warn her of the danger?
Renaldo’s voice reached him, soft, placating, words obscured.
What was the man doing?
Another voice answered, this one in Italian. Who? The professor? Surely the man couldn’t be part of this conversation. Scott hadn’t seen him since he disappeared the prior night.
Scott inched toward the passage. He had to get a glimpse of what happened on the other side of the wall. He edged closer until he could slip around just enough to eyeball the scene.
Renaldo’s back faced him as the man walked toward two men. One had the bearing of a soldier, the rigid attention and sneer of one of Germany’s elite. Next to him stood Professor Berti, who mangled his fedora in his grasp.
The muffled German and Italian mixed into a smorgasbord of indecipherable sound. After watching for a moment, Scott edged back around the corner. If a German was here, in territory the Allies supposedly held, this situation had escalated to a level Scott couldn’t manage.
Light poured through the shattered windows, limiting the shadows. How could he help Renaldo without understanding what they discussed? Maybe this was a planned meeting after all.
The snarl on the German’s face didn’t make it seem like one between equals, though.
Scott jerked when he felt warm breath on his neck. He spun and grasped Rachel’s shoulders to keep her from falling. “What are you doing?”
“Checking on you.” Her voice was low but dangerous if anyone heard. “Where’s Renaldo?”
“Out there. You promised you’d stay back and guard those papers.”
“No one’s coming from that direction, and the silence made me nervous.”
The voices rose on the other side of the room, and Scott put a finger to his lips. Rachel nodded but settled next to him.
“Why would you consult with the Americans?” The words were startlingly clear. The German must have switched to Italian and walked closer to Renaldo.
“They came to me.”
Scott frowned. The answer was partly correct. At Montegufoni they had found him, but he had sought them in Florence, brought them to the Uffizi.
The professor spoke up. “He sent a message to them.”
“What are they saying?”
Scott placed a hand over Rachel’s mouth before she revealed their location.
“You are no longer a friend of the Reich?” The clip of the man’s boot heels neared their location. “What shall we do about that?”
The sound of a slide being pulled back captured Scott’s attention. He inched back around the corner in time to see the German extend his Luger.
“Where is the art?” The man pointed the pistol at the professor. “I will kill him if you do not tell me.”
“There is none to move.” Renaldo tipped his chin, clutching his hat. “It was too dangerous to bring any back from the castle. And without transport . . .” The man shrugged. “What could I do?”
Was the man trying to buy time? “We need to go.” Scott pointed toward the other direction.
Rachel nodded, edging back toward the nave and the other door.
Renaldo turned their direction, a mask of horror distorting his features. The German pulled the trigger, and Professor Berti collapsed without a sound. A pool of red seeped from his head onto the floor.
Scott pulled out his gun, but before he could do anything, Renaldo pulled a small firearm from his jacket. The barrel wavered slightly as he pointed it at the German officer. “Run.” The word fell from Renaldo’s lips before a puff escaped his gun, and he collapsed to the side.
The German growled and moved toward them, his arm hanging at his side.
Rachel screamed and reached for her father as Scott pulled her back.
He shook her. “He did that for you. Come now. Don’t let it be in vain.”
She looked at him, eyes hollow.
“Do you hear me?”
She gave a slow nod, then tightened her grip on his hand. He tugged her after him, and they sprinted to the next wall. A spray of bullets followed them. When they reached the wall, Scott sucked in a breath. “I counted eight bullets. He’ll have to reload. Run!”
Chapter 37
Rachel sobbed as she ran back to the niche, the wrong direction from where her father must lie. She scooped up her father’s bag and kept moving. Scott led her through a maze of small rooms and chambers. Her stomach wanted to revolt at the image of Professor Berti dead and her father falling.
She trembled as Scott dragged her into another room. This one had a half wall he hunkered behind. “We’ll catch our breath here.”
The silence was as deafening as the gunshots. Where was the German? Could he creep up on them? “Should we keep moving?”
“I need a mo
ment to think how to get out.” Scott cupped her face, made her look at him. Lines etched his face. “Your father planned for this. He had a gun.”
She nodded, sinking into the feel of him with her. Would she escape this building? Glass crunched somewhere and she jerked.
Scott eased up, then back down. “I can’t see the soldier. We have to get out of here, get you to safety, send someone for Renaldo.” His words rambled as if he was talking to himself as much as to her. Of course he was. He’d known her father for years.
“All right.”
“Pray we pulled the German away in time.” He released her and fisted his hands. “We can’t stay here, but we have to be smart. Stay close, and we’ll make it back to the other side of the Arno.”
They slipped through the vast maze of the Uffizi. As they ran down a staircase, Rachel froze when she saw the German skirt around the corner. Scott tugged on her arm, but she refused to budge. She could never find her way back to her father without Scott. She’d be lost in a hopeless circle, but if the soldier had left, was it safe to go back?
He gave his life for me. She choked on the words. Why would a father who didn’t know her sacrifice himself? Had he mirrored Christ in that moment? Was that the way God loved her? Sacrificially? So much more than she could ever hope to deserve . . . yet He’d given His all for her.
Scott tugged her forward again. “We can’t stop. Not yet.”
The heat pushed against her as he led her out of the building. “As soon as I get you back to the gardens, I’ll come back. Check on your father.”
“It will be too late.” She turned to go back in. She couldn’t leave him after she’d just found him.
He yanked her back. “You can’t go in.”
“Please. The soldier left, and I just found my father.” Tears started anew and she hung her head.
Scott pulled her back into the sheltering walls of the Uffizi, then into his arms, his solid embrace that offered sanctuary. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I will give you fifteen minutes. If there is the faintest noise, I will rush you out of here.”
