by Belle Ami
“Where do you live when you’re not chasing stolen art?” she asked, pulling her hand away she reached for her drink.
“I live in Florence.” The oddest of sensations, rippled through him when she pulled away—a yearning, as though holding her hand connected him to something precious.
“You’re kidding. It’s my dream to go to Florence. I haven’t been yet, which is pretty crazy for someone whose whole professional life revolves around the Renaissance,” she quipped. “Why do you live there?”
“Because most of my work is based in Western Europe, and Florence is one of my favorite cities, so it was an easy choice to make. This trip out here to California is out of the ordinary for me. I’m surprised you haven’t done an internship there. It’s usually par for the course in art history.” He grinned. “Just think, if you come work for me you’ll be living in the eternally beautiful Firenze.”
“My professor mentioned that you and I have a lot in common.” She smiled. “I’d hoped my internship with the Getty would include study in Florence, but things haven’t been going well for me there.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’d rather not right now. I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”
“Good idea because here come the meatballs.”
The waiter set two steaming bowls in front of them and they dug in.
“Hmm, these are fantastic,” Alex said. “How about I order us a pizza, too? This is barely going to scratch the surface for me.” He laughed.
“Go for it, I’m game.” She returned his smile. “I’m usually watching my pennies, but since it’s your treat I may as well indulge.”
“Good.” He picked up the menu. “Let’s see what other tasty morsels we can dive into. I’ve been living in Italy so long that, like most Italians, food has become a major obsession.”
“You won’t get any argument from me. Italian cuisine is my favorite.”
“I love a woman who isn’t afraid to eat.” He wriggled his brows. “However, we need to expand your horizons beyond meatballs.”
Alex ordered them a sampling of dishes and a bottle of Barolo. When they couldn’t take another bite, he had the bartender box up and bag the leftovers for her. He offered to drive her home and she accepted. When they pulled to the curb in front of a sprawling mansion, he let out a low whistle. “Pretty fancy. I thought you were counting your pennies?”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I got lucky. A friend of Michael’s allowed me to rent the guesthouse in the back for a song. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee before you go back to your hotel?”
“A cup of coffee would be great.”
Angela led the way to a side gate. She’d only just met Alex but she felt comfortable with him. Safe. Like she’d known him forever. True she trusted Michael Hoffman’s opinion of Alex. But there was something more. When he reached for her hand at dinner, she’d felt a current of energy course through her. A connection like she’d never felt before. Was that why she didn’t want the night to end? And invited him in for coffee?
The garden path led past bordered flower beds to the tiny cottage. Angela loved its ginger-bread house look. As they got closer she realized something was wrong. The door to her guest house was ajar.
“Did you leave the door open?” Alex asked.
“What… no… I would never—”
Alex pulled a gun from a shoulder harness under his sports coat. “Get behind me.”
“What? You have a gun?”
“Yes, now get behind me, and stay close,” he whispered. “Don’t talk, okay?”
She nodded and followed him. Chips of wood from the doorframe were scattered on the ground. She couldn’t imagine what they must have used. Maybe a screwdriver and hammer? Speaking of hammers, she could feel her heart hammering in her chest.
It was pitch black inside, but Alex seemed to have eyes like a cat as he moved efficiently and surefooted through the rooms. Her eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering in through the window. It looked as if a tornado had cut a path through the living room. The cushions and pillows from the sofa had been tossed aside. Drawers had been opened and dumped on the floor. It was a small place, but Alex checked every closet, under the beds, and anywhere someone might be hiding. The place had been completely ransacked, but whoever had done it was long gone.
He turned to her. “We’re good.”
As she followed Alex through her formerly safe haven, the upheaval was more than she could handle. Tears streamed down her face. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. It wasn’t cold, but she couldn’t stop shaking. “Who would do this?”
He holstered his gun, put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the sofa. Picking up the cushions, he slipped them back in place and sat her down. “It looks like a burglary, but why you when there’s a mansion chock full of goodies? I think we should notify your landlord.”
“They’re out of town.” Her eyes swept the room.
“Don’t they have the entire place on an alarm system?”
“They do at the main house, but not here.” She crossed her arms. “I’ll certainly ask them to install one when I let them know what happened.”
“Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
“No, I… I can’t imagine.”
“Do you want to call the cops?”
“I don’t know what to do?” She brushed away the tears with her hand. “I have nothing here that’s of any value.”
“Well, it’s obvious someone thinks you do.” He glanced around taking in the mess. “Do you have any gloves?”
“Hang on.” She scooted into the kitchen and came back out with kitchen gloves.
“Those will do. Put them on and take a look around to see if anything is missing. With gloves you won’t contaminate the crime scene. If anything important is missing I can call a detective friend of mine to come and open a case file, but my guess is, this was a professional job and they won’t find a thing.”
“Okay. I mean I’ll do whatever you think is best.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “While you look I’m going to find a twenty-four-hour locksmith and get that door fixed. And then you and I can tidy up.”
“Thanks, Alex. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”
He smiled. “Get busy.”
She slipped on the gloves and headed for the bedroom. Everything on her nightstand had been swept onto the floor. Getting down on her hands and knees, she searched the floor and under the bed. She found her clock, her reading glasses, her pen, hair pins, the book she was reading, and some loose change, but her journal was nowhere to be seen. Why would anyone take my journal? She searched everywhere in the bedroom, closet, and bathroom, tidying things up as she searched, but there was no sign of it.
“Alex!” She felt foolish when he came running in. He’s going to think you’re a nutcase.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine, it’s just that there is something missing.”
“What?”
“My journal.”
“Someone stole your diary?” His look of amusement made her bristle.
“It’s not my diary. It’s a record of my dreams, sleep patterns.”
He cocked his head questioningly. “Why don’t we make some coffee and talk. I think you need to level with me about what’s been going on.”
“I barely know you—”
He lifted his brows at her comment and she bit her tongue, realizing how ungrateful she must sound. She sighed, regretting her hasty comment. Alex was a friend of Michael’s, of course she could trust him. Between Scordato’s harassment and now the break-in her nerves were on edge. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Thank you for helping me. I do need a friend right now.”
Seeing him smile made her smile.
“I’ll straighten things up here, while you make us a cup of coffee.”
She nodded and stepped into the kitchen. At least the thief didn’t steal the Keurig. She shook her head at the irony. Her Keurig machine had been a gift from her dad when she went off to university. The daughter of a welder from Lake Bluff, Illinois, Angela wasn’t used to extravagance, and the stylish kitchen appliance was important to her because it came from her dad.
A few minutes later she felt better with a cup of chamomile tea in her hands, sitting beside Alex on the couch. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“And why is that?” he said, blowing on his black coffee.
“I started having nightmares and suffering from insomnia when I began my internship at the Getty.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “So, I did some research and found out that writing down your dreams can help discover what’s really going on. Hence, my dream journal.”
“Has it helped?”
“No.”
“Care to share what the dreams are about?”
“I took a nap before we met tonight—I know it sounds odd for someone my age, but as I said, I haven’t been sleeping well—I dreamt of a young woman who was friends with Leonardo da Vinci and they went to a party at Lorenzo Medici’s palace. Crazy, huh?”
“Are your dreams always the same?” He wasn’t laughing at her, which made her feel less like a loony bird.
“No, they’re different, but they seem to be time capsules of events that took place.”
“Perhaps my initial phone call with you about my investigation, along with your stress at work, may have triggered your dreams.”
“No, these dreams started well before I spoke to you.” She took another sip. “But there’s something else…” She hesitated, worried about what he might think of her.
“Trust me, there’s nothing you could say that I haven’t come across before.”
She cleared her throat. “Sometimes, I’ll find myself at my desk at work and I don’t know how I got there. I mean, it feels like I’ve missed a chunk of time and I can’t figure out if I just blacked out in front of my computer, or if I went off somewhere.”
“Did you note that in your journal as well?”
She nodded. “I want it back, Alex. It’s important to me.”
“I totally get that.” He set his cup down on the coffee table. “You mentioned that your internship at the Getty has been stressful.”
She nodded.
“I take it your stress has something to do with Alberto Scordato?”
“H-he’s harassing me. Inappropriate touching, innuendoes, and he keeps insisting on having dinner together to supposedly discuss work.” She didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping her cup until Alex took hold of it and placed it on the table. He held her hands in his, his touch calming, but his eyes flashed with anger.
“Scordato’s a scumbag. Have you reported him?”
She shook her head. “He’s very powerful in the art world. I’m afraid he’ll blacklist me. I worked so hard to get this internship and now my whole career is in jeopardy.”
She’d been staring at her hands in his, but when she looked up she found his striking, different-colored eyes gazing at her. The concern written there soothed her, a safe harbor in a storm.
“I have to wonder if Scordato is behind your break-in.”
“Why?” Relunctantly, she pulled her hands away.
“Because he’s the one responsible for you being miserable at the Getty. And he’s connected to the missing da Vinci.”
“How is he connected?”
“He was the consultant for Max Jaeger, my client. Scordato quit after spending the entire summer in Florence. Now he’s declaring the painting doesn’t exist.”
She leaned forward. “But I never told him about the journal.”
“Did you tell anyone about it?”
She sat up, her eyes wide. “I told Kathryn, his assistant.”
“Well, I guess we solved the case of the missing dream journal.”
His phone pinged and he took it out of his pocket and swiped for the message. “The locksmith is on his way over. Look, the last thing you need to be worrying about is that asshole. It’s getting late and I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is you’re going to bed and I’m going to sleep on the couch. Tomorrow we’re going to straighten this place up and I’ll drive you to work. Stay away from Scordato, I’ll deal with him—”
“What are you going to do?”
“I can’t tell you now, but suffice it to say, you won’t have to worry about him ever again.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that predator gets what’s coming to him.”
“He’s really powerful, Alex.”
“He may be powerful, but he’s fallible. I have an important lunch meeting, but I’ll pick you up after work. I think we should have dinner and talk about your future plans.”
They both stood. “Thank you for listening to my sob story.” She smoothed her hair back. “Does the job offer still stand even after all of this?” She gestured to the topsy-turvy room.
“It stands, Angela. I think we’d make a great team. I know we’ve just met, and it’s really none of my business, but I want to help you.” He smiled. “Now get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
She went to the linen closet, grabbed a blanket, towels, and a toothbrush, and set them on the couch, while he was on the phone with the locksmith. Waving goodnight, she slipped into her room and closed the door.
Twenty minutes later, after grabbing a hot shower, Angela lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The hoot of an owl echoed outside her window. She tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She dreaded returning to work tomorrow and having to fend off the director’s advances. Alex told her to stay away from him. She would certainly try.
The more she thought about Alex the more she wanted to accept his job offer. It wouldn’t be the gold star on her resume she’d hoped for, but there was the bonus of living in Florence. Besides, it might be exactly what she needed to get her life back on track.
The problem was her attraction to Alex. What woman wouldn’t be? He was caring, intelligent, successful, and hot. But this was tricky territory. She’d have to be careful, not to get emotionally involved. She already had enough problems fending off the unwanted attention from Scordato, worried that he might blacklist her. But this was different. It was hard to fight off your own feelings for a knight in shining armor. She sighed, letting go of her tumultuous thoughts. She needed sleep.
She grabbed an extra pillow and slipped it under her knees. Using a deep breathing technique she’d read about, she blew out a big breath, then breathed in deeply through her nose, holding it for a few seconds then let it out slowly through her mouth. Repeating it several times, her eyelids grew heavy, her body sinking into the softness of the bed… Her mind began to drift as a breeze fluttered around her, tucking under her legs and shoulders, lifting her up. Lighter than air, she opened her eyes to complete darkness. Hearing a voice, she turned her head and glimpsed a bright light in the distance, as though at the end of a tunnel. Whether she floated or walked, she had no idea, but she wasn’t afraid as the wind picked up, swirling around her, propelling her forward. Closer and closer, until she could see a young woman standing in a pool of light.
Reaching out, she touched the woman’s shoulder.
Fioretta…
Chapter 4
Florence, Italy
Leonardo da Vinci’s Studio
September 1, 1475
“Amico mio, you have been working on this sketch of me for hours. I’m exhausted. I must stretch.” She stood up from the platform where she’d been re
clining. Her body draped in only a sheet.
Fioretta yawned, forgetting to cover her mouth. She shivered, feeling a tingle on her shoulder. Her aunt had warned her that the Devil himself could catch you unawares and enter your body when you yawned. She shook off the foolish notion but crossed herself just in case. Her aunt was always trying to scare her. Admonishing her for going out, even to the market. And especially for her friendship with da Vinci. If her aunt knew that Fioretta was posing for Leonardo she would have an apoplectic fit. Unfortunately, secrets were necessary if she was to have any enjoyment in life.
“If you must, Fioretta. But I’m close to getting what I’ve been looking for. I would like to continue once you’ve had time to rest.”
“Leonardo, you must practice patience.” She walked around the artist to view the drawing. “Is this what I look like?”
Leonardo regarded his drawing and frowned.
“I think you need to work a little more on this one—”
A knock at the door brought an end to her words. Leonardo opened the door and bowed.
Fioretta grabbed her clothes and tried to flee to the back of the studio, but she stumbled on the sheet, tripping to the floor. When she looked up, she stared into brown eyes so dark they seemed black. A young man dressed in royal garb stared back at her.
“Giuliano Medici, meet my model and friend Fioretta Gorini.”
O Dio, it’s the impertinent young lord from the Medici Palazzo. Seeing her like this he must think her a fool or a wanton woman. Who else posed for artists? She was certain her blush was discernible from the roots of her hair to her toes. She struggled to arrange the sheet adequately so she could stand without revealing any of her body.
He smiled and bent to help her up. “At your service, signorina.”
“You will excuse me if I don’t curtsy.”
Leonardo had retrieved her clothing and stood there with a grin on his face. She grabbed her clothing, still holding tight to the sheet, and with as much dignity as she could muster left the room to change.
