by Hazel Hunter
“Who…” she started, but her lower lip trembled badly. “Why…”
“History,” he said quietly, as he pulled her back against him. She tucked her head under his chin. “I put his brother in prison.”
They had sought to hurt him by hurting her. Few people in the world knew of his connection to Natalia, but all of them were in Vegas. If anything happened to her he’d never forgive himself—or those responsible.
“We must leave the city,” he said.
She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”
He gazed down into her tear-stained face. “But your equipment,” he said gently. “It was all destroyed.”
She shook her head. “He wants the show to go on. He’s relocating it.”
They had begun to attract a few looks from passers-by, particularly in front of a strip club.
“How can he relocate it?” Matteo asked. “With no equipment? With no props?”
“Honestly,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t know. We were just going to leave when…”
“But surely, now–”
“It’s only one show,” she said. She took a breath, and shakily let it go. “It’s the last show. I just need to get through it.”
“But–”
She backed away from him, her body suddenly stiff. “Matteo, please. Let’s not go through this again. I’m doing the last show.”
The tremble in her lip was gone, replaced by a firm set to her jaw. Though she still looked like the helpless young girl he’d once met, that was obviously no longer the case.
“So be it,” he said. “But from now until then, we will not be parted.”
Though she looked as though she was about to protest, he indicated the strip club with a glare. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her lips drew into a thin line, but she finally met his eyes.
“As long as I do the show,” she said.
21
NATALIE SAT UNCOMFORTABLY between Conleth in the driver’s seat and Matteo next to the passenger door. Normally the front bench seat of the F-350 had plenty of room. But the bodies and testosterone left little space. She knew that Conleth was enjoying the showmanship of the secret location. But at the same time, she sensed Matteo seething. Las Vegas was now twenty minutes to the north and getting further away each minute. The four lane highway had wound sinuously through the orange sandstone hills, with an occasional vista of the sandy desert with a powder blue sky above. Since they’d already passed through Henderson, the next city where they might possibly be able to perform was on the other side of the Colorado River. They hadn’t even seen a sign for it yet.
Conleth slowed as traffic backed up. The highway had narrowed down to two lanes to cross Hoover Dam. Tourists took photos from the adjacent walkways to either side. To the north was Lake Mead, a glittering blue jewel of color in the arid landscape. To the south, several hundred feet below, where they couldn’t see it, was what remained of the river.
They passed a cement building at the end of the dam, part art deco and part bunker, maybe some sort of control room.
“Ah,” Conleth said. “Here we are.”
Matteo looked at him over her head, while she checked each side of the road. They were here? He pulled into a small parking lot with some trucks emblazoned with the Nevada state logo.
“Can we park here?” Natalie asked, just as Conleth pulled to a stop near some heavy construction equipment.
“Of course, my dear,” he said smiling broadly. He turned off the engine.
“You can not be serious,” Matteo said to him, but Conleth had already opened his door and climbed down.
Conleth extended a hand to her. “Nat?”
He and Matteo had been doing this ever since she’d changed at the hotel: each offering her their arm, both trying to open doors. It was getting old.
“I can manage, Conleth,” she said, scooting to his door. “And while I’m doing that, maybe you would care to explain.”
Behind her Matteo’s door opened and closed, as she jumped down. No sooner was she out of the door than she noticed the temperature. It had to be a good ten degrees warmer than Las Vegas. In her jeans and sweater, she might be overdressed.
A man in a khaki uniform and dark green jacket approached. He held out his hand to Conleth.
“Mr. Conleth,” he said, smiling. “I’m Randy Buchanan. We talked on the phone.”
Conleth wore his most winning smile. “Mr. Buchanan,” he said, shaking hands. “May I introduce my lovely assistant, Natalie Thomas.” Natalie smiled and shook Buchanan’s hand. “And her associate, Mr. Monti.” Buchanan and Matteo shook hands.
“Would you like to see the crane?” Buchanan asked Conleth.
Crane? A sinking feeling settled in Natalie’s stomach.
“This way!” Buchanan said, motioning them across the road.
As Buchanan waved for the sparse traffic to stop, Matteo came to Natalie’s side and took her hand.
“This is ridiculous,” he said, as they followed Buchanan and Conleth across the road.
“I’m not too thrilled either,” she said.
Buchanan pointed at something Natalie had thought was construction equipment. “This is it,” Buchanan said. “We’ll move it into position before the show.”
“And where is the position?” Matteo asked, his voice full of the disapproval that his face showed.
Buchanan motioned to follow him.
Around the back of the giant crane, its tires at least ten feet tall, they finally saw the dam.
“Oh my god,” Natalie muttered.
The two-lane highway along its top was a knife’s edge compared to the mass of the dam itself. Its sheer cement face plummeted down and away. Hundreds of feet below them, it curved outward before it ended in a massive horseshoe-shaped set of buildings. The drop was so far and the scale so huge, that the river below, the electrical towers on the canyon’s rock faces, and the cars parked at the buildings looked like miniatures.
Natalie averted her eyes before vertigo could set in.
“This is–” Matteo began, but Natalie put her hand on his arm and squeezed. His steely glare met hers, and she shook her head.
“You’ll have some space for you gear in this intake tower,” Buchanan said, pointing in the other direction.
They crossed the road again to the back of the dam, and entered a short, narrow bridge that jutted out from it. It led to a tall cement tower, and behind it was another. In fact, Natalie now realized there was another short bridge on the Arizona side of the dam, and another two towers. Dark encrustations surrounded their bases before they disappeared into the water far below. Buchanan passed the front of the strangely louvered building, where an art deco clock gave Nevada time.
“And what, pray tell, is an intake tower?” Conleth asked.
Buchanan led them around the back of the faceted building. As he unlocked the burnished metal door, he glanced over his shoulder.
“They’re the intakes,” he said, as though it were obvious. “The dam holds the water back. But in order to generate electricity, the water comes into these towers down below the water line. Then it gets routed to the turbines.”
He opened the door and stood aside so they could look in. There wasn’t much to see, just a dusty cement room, with a hoist in the ceiling and a rusted metal door on the floor.
“It’s not open to tourists,” he said and closed the door.
As he ushered them back across the bridge, he pointed at the lake. “See the water level?” They all looked over the side. “It’s at an all time low in the history of the dam. It’s hard to judge the distance, but the surface of the lake is about twenty stories down.” He led the small group across the road again to the enormous curved front of the dam. “Of course this view is the best. It’s seventy stories from top to bottom.” He eyed Conleth. “So heights don’t bother you, eh Mr. Conleth?”
“My boy,” Conleth said, clapping him on the back. “In my line of work, you simply can’t be bot
hered by such things as falling or catching fire.”
As Matteo wrapped an arm around her shoulders, Natalie closed her eyes. Conleth didn’t have to be bothered. He wasn’t the one who might fall.
“Of course, in this case it will be both,” Conleth said. “In a first time ever event, I’ll be performing the legendary Living Torch escape suspended higher than has ever been attempted.” He gestured to the tiny landscape far below. “Of course it’s not the fall that kills you.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It’s the landing.”
• • • • •
In the hotel lobby, Conleth’s rambling monologue finally slowed. Frankly, Matteo was amazed he found the energy.
“The Bureau of Reclamation will be earning a pretty penny,” Conleth said. “I can tell you that. But the ticket sales will far exceed it. There’ll be standing room only in that canyon. Standing room only.”
The more content the old man looked, the more Matteo ground his teeth. His cell phone buzzed again in his pants pocket. He reached in and turned it off. The only person he wanted to hear from was standing right in front of him. Though he tried to catch Natalia’s eye, she kept her gaze on the floor.
“Perhaps she’s not in the mood for conversation, Mr. Monti,” Conleth said, sounding impossibly smug.
They came to a stop at the elevator doors, and Natalie pushed the call button.
“Maybe she does not want to hang upside down over Hoover Dam,” Matteo said, barely controlling his anger.
“Nonsense,” Conleth said, gazing up at the elevator numbers. “She’s done that escape thousands of times, I tell you. Thousands.” He looked Matteo in the eye. “No, if Natalie is not in a conversational mood, perhaps it’s the coming Wiccan holiday.” He glanced at Natalie. “Or perhaps I should say anniversary.”
Natalie hugged herself, and Matteo’s hands balled into fists.
Her parents had been killed on Samhain nine years ago.
“That’s why we always perform on Samhain,” Conleth said. “Not that it matters to you.”
“Anything having to do with Natalia matters to me.”
“Really,” Conleth said. “An immortal like you? No doubt you’ve seen so many holidays, another one isn’t even noticed.” The elevator dinged, but Natalie didn’t look up. “But for a mortal like me,” Conleth continued, “each remaining one is precious. Particularly for a mortal like me.”
The elevator doors opened.
Although Conleth immediately entered, Matteo stood back. Natalia moved toward the elevator until she saw Matteo wasn’t coming. The private elevator to the penthouse was behind the reception area.
Natalia stopped at the threshold to the elevator. When she looked back at him, he realized how tired she looked. She’d been abducted only this morning.
“Amore mio,” he said quietly. “What a day this has been.”
Despite how she must have felt, she mustered a smile for him—the kind that broke his heart.
Conleth put his hand over the elevator door. “Come, my dear,” he said. “We must be rested for the show. The most important show of my life, I might add.” He eyed Matteo. “The most important show of my very mortal life.”
Fatally ill or not, Matteo could have punched the old man. He used guilt and manipulation to get his way. For a moment Matteo had a glimpse into what the past nine years had been like.
But perhaps Natalia did too, because she didn’t get in the elevator. Instead she glanced behind her and offered Matteo her hand. Matteo quickly took it in both of his. It was cold, and he rubbed it a little, as she turned her attention to Conleth.
“I’ll see you at noon,” she said. “Here.”
Though Conleth’s eyebrows quickly arched and his jaw dropped a little, he was quick to recover.
“Of course, my dear,” he said, smoothing out his mustache. He glared at their hands for an instant, then let go of the elevator door. “Of course.”
22
FOR THE FIRST time that day, Natalie let herself relax. As the elevator smoothly and soundlessly rose to the penthouse, she leaned into Matteo. His embrace was immediate, but light. Warmth radiated from his powerful frame. As her eyes closed, she drank it in, her arms circling around his waist.
He didn’t say a word, but his big hands ran up her spine. Gently his fingers kneaded into her tight shoulders, then her knotted neck. The tips of his fingers worked in small circles, using a slow steady rhythm.
The elevator came to an almost imperceptible stop, and the doors opened.
“Maybe the jacuzzi?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and was just about to reply, when her stomach gurgled. Although she clamped a hand over it, there was no hiding the ridiculously loud sound.
“Or maybe dinner,” he said grinning.
He led her from the elevator toward the sunken living room. The fireplace was already blazing, and the lights of the city had started to come up.
“What shall I have the chef send up?” he asked, embracing her in front of the fire. “The man has a real talent for osso bucco, never dry, a very rare thing. And the gnocchi, never too heavy or–”
“Bread and cheese?” she said. “Do you have any of that?”
Matteo chuckled. “A woman after my own heart,” he said and kissed her on the forehead. “Be right back.”
She watched him head to the kitchen before she turned to the view. But instead of seeing the lights of The Strip, she recalled the sheer drop of Hoover Dam. Her shoulders tensed up, but she willed herself to relax them. What Conleth had said was true. She’d done the escape thousands of times. This one would be no different.
In the kitchen, Matteo was humming. A plate clinked on the counter. The refrigerator door opened. She smiled a little at the domestic sounds. This was something she could get used to. Behind her the fire fluttered quietly.
Matteo came through the kitchen door with a platter in one hand, a bottle of wine and two glasses in the other, and a loaf of bread tucked under his elbow. He squatted, set the platter down on the floor, and handed her the round of bread. As she sat on the carpet in front of the fire, she lifted the bread to her nose. The sharp tang of sourdough made her jaw twinge. She tore off a hunk and took a bite. It was amazing, and tasted every bit as good as it smelled.
“Oh my god,” she said, as she covered her mouth.
“And the baker is not even Wiccan,” Matteo said with a wink.
He sat crossed-legged in front of her, and put the glasses down between them. He poured a little red wine from the dark, dusty bottle. He swirled it in the glass, inhaled deeply at the rim, and then tasted it.
“Molto buono,” he said. “Very good.” He poured two glasses and offered her one. “From the old country.”
As she took the glass and looked into his fire-lit eyes, a memory slowly surfaced: another night in Las Vegas, in front of a fire nine years ago. Like now there had been bread, cheese, wine, and Matteo. It had been their first date. She’d been so nervous, the wine glass had shook.
As she gazed at the wine, she realized Matteo had raised his glass. “To the future,” he said, smiling. “Never has it looked so beautiful.”
“To the future,” she said, smiling back, and clinked his glass.
The wine was smooth and fruity, but not too sweet.
As he sliced some hard cheese, she ate more bread, and took another sip of wine. With the fire at her back, and the wine warming her insides, she felt herself unwind. He’d been right. It had been a long day, starting with the Russians. Though the headache had disappeared, the fact they’d kidnapped her seemed like a lifetime ago. She’d been about to ask Matteo about the brother he had somehow put in prison, when he held up a slice of cheese to her lips.
She gratefully took it and recognized it as aged parmesan, which she followed with another sip of the wine.
“It really is wonderful,” she said, gazing at it.
“It must taste better when the glass does not shake,” he said.
Her eyebrows raised. He
remembered!
He cocked his head a little, looking almost quizzical. “It was the most important night of my life,” he said. “The night that everything changed.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “You wore green,” he said. “The crisp color of grass after a spring rain.”
Had she? She couldn’t remember.
“We agreed that five children would be the perfect number. A mix of boys and girls.” Matteo set down his glass, uncrossed his long legs, and got up. “The sun had set, and it was chilly–”
“So you gave me your coat,” she said, suddenly remembering it.
He stood in front of her and offered her his hand. “We talked until two in the morning,” he said, as she took his hand and he helped her up.
“You told me about Tuscany and growing up on the farm,” she said, looking up into his face. “I could picture it.”
“I promised to take you there,” he said looping his arm around her waist. She pressed up against him. “And I never break my promises.”
• • • • •
Though his heart thumped in his chest, Matteo forced himself to move slowly. Last night had been glorious, but it had also been almost frantic. He had to remind himself that there would be many such nights.
He kissed her lightly, enjoying the delicious cling of her lips for just a moment. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. Although he saw her glance at the enormous bed, he guided her past it.
“One jacuzzi,” he said, flicking on the light in the dark room. “At your service.”
She blinked and put a hand to her chest. “I think you mean pool.”
He’d had it designed to resemble the public baths of Rome. Without mirrors or modern fixtures, the room was simple but elegantly furnished with wood furniture. Off to the right was the door that led to the actual bathroom. Off to the left were wall pegs hung with thick, Turkish bath robes, and a narrow table with white towels of Egyptian cotton. Cream-colored flagstone lined the walls and floors, giving it a rustic but warm feel. The jacuzzi was sunken into the floor, with several wide steps that led down from the edge. Steam rose from the ultra-clear water and, of course, lilac petals waited in a wicker basket.
