The Rome Affair

by Addison Fox

  The distinct notes of disgust were evident, even under Marco’s many bruises. “Far more than I’d like.”

  “Then you understand our role in this perfectly.”

  Marco waved them toward a few stiff chairs that ran along the window. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll tell you what I know?”

  Kensington took the proffered olive branch and snagged one of the seats, then realized Jack hadn’t followed suit. Instead, he filled a plastic cup with water from an icy pitcher on Marco’s bedside and handed the cup to the man.

  That same arrow to the belly that had pierced her earlier struck once more, only this time it hit a bit closer to her heart. The gesture was simple, really, and shouldn’t produce such a reaction, but it did.

  Oh, how it did.

  Such a small, fascinating insight into the man underneath that cool, competent exterior, but a powerful one all the same. Jack dropped into the seat next to her, oblivious of her scrutiny, which only made it that much sweeter.

  “What do you want to know?” Marco set down his now-empty glass. Even with the bruises on his face, it was hard to miss the odd mix of resignation and a subtle hopefulness that rode his features.

  “How deep did you get into the organization behind the drug smuggling? Dante’s convinced Pryce needs to be watched, yet the ambassador’s behavior hasn’t rung any bells.”

  Marco shook his head. “Nor will it. We’re convinced he’s in the thick of things, but he’s not responsible for day-to-day operations.”

  “Yes, but he can’t have that many confidants.” Kensington edged forward on her chair. “By all accounts, this operation is small and tightly run. In order to keep it that small, he’s got to have a significant role.”

  “I was in there for almost two months and never detected his presence.”

  Marco’s clear gaze faded as if he’d never been awake and Kensington wondered at the sudden change. Sad memories? Anger at his failed mission? Whatever the reason, Jack’s next words were just harsh enough to pull the man back to the conversation. “Do you know how your cover was blown?”

  “No.”

  “So why that morning?”

  “I don’t know!” Whatever thin thread Marco clung to snapped. “It’s all I think of in my waking moments. If I’d sensed. If I’d known. My grandfather would be alive now.”

  Kensington laid a hand on Jack’s knee, but even as she did, she sensed the gesture was unnecessary. Knew it when that same compassion that had him reaching for the water had his voice going gentle. “I’m sorry, Marco. We’ve pushed too hard this morning.”

  “No, no.” Marco waved a hand and Kensington used the moment to leap up and fill his glass.

  The small action kept her busy, yet gave her a moment to gather her thoughts.

  This wasn’t like her parents. It wasn’t the same.

  Yes, he was grieving, but Marco wasn’t a young man woken in the middle of the night to find out the news of his family.

  Even if he had witnessed the loss of his grandfather.

  A hard shake gripped her hands and she quickly set the cup of water on Marco’s bedside table.

  “Perhaps we can come back tomorrow?” Jack moved to stand beside her, his hand firm on her shoulder.

  “Of course.” Marco waved a hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, we are the ones who owe you an apology. This is new. Fresh.”

  “One thing.” Marco’s voice stopped them.

  “Yes?” Kensington saw a flash in the man’s eyes and moved closer before she could stop herself. “What is it?”

  “Did Dante tell you about the house party? The one at Castello di Carte?”

  “He suggested Jack and I should make the house party our first assignment, but he gave no further details.”

  “It’s Pryce’s vineyard. It’s in the same appellation—the same grape-growing region—as my grandfather’s.”

  Kensington was beginning to get a picture of Marco’s involvement in the case and she wasn’t entirely convinced Dante had done the young detective any favors. Had Marco simply been an expedient choice?

  “Castello di Carte? I’m fuzzy on the translation.” Jack’s question pulled her from her dark thoughts. Something about the name tugged at the back of her mind. Her own knowledge of Italian was limited, but she sensed that she should know the translation.

  “Castello di Carte.” Marco’s voice was solemn. “House of Cards.”

  Chapter 6

  Jack waited until they were both settled into a cab, their driver practically leaping off the curb before the door closed, when he acknowledged Marco’s parting words. “Please don’t tell me I’m the only one who thinks the name Pryce gave his vineyard is oddly ironic.”

  One slender eyebrow lifted at his suggestion. “Ironic or calculated. It could be nothing more than a clever ploy.”

  “Or a subtly veiled clue.”

  “Or we’re giving Pryce too much credit.”

  All three options were a possibility, and Jack turned each over in his mind. Was Pryce clever? From Marco’s account, Pryce was clearly savvy enough to avoid any hint of detection with whatever was going on in the vineyard. And Marco, along with the rest of the Italian Special Forces, was equally sure Pryce was involved up to his eyeballs.

  “Something I’m still not fully understanding.” The face of her phone lit up and Kensington glanced at it before dropping it into her lap. “Why would Pryce even concern himself with the Italian drug trade? Diamonds, I get, but not the drugs. And I’m sure it’s a lovely piece of property, but the man’s not in the wine industry. The vineyard is small, only one location, so it’s not like it’s producing mass quantities of wine.”

  “That could make it the perfect cover. It would be easy to assume the vineyard was a vanity purchase and pay it minimal attention. The rich aristocrat who wanted to own a vineyard and fancy himself a winemaker.”

  “True.” She shifted in her seat, grabbing at a roof handle as their driver took a particularly sharp turn, before pressing her point. “But even if Pryce is looking to run afoul of the authorities, he’s not producing enough wine to make it worth his while. How much could he possibly smuggle in a year? Certainly nothing that would make him a player.”

  Jack turned her words over in his mind. “What do you think he produces in a year? Fifteen hundred cases? Maybe two thousand?”

  “At most. It’s just not that much when all’s said and done. Why would Pryce risk his reputation, his status and his ambassadorship for something that can’t be scaled to any real degree?”

  A flicker of a memory ran through his mind. “I did some research on the Italian wine industry in advance as I investigated whether or not I wanted in on this job. There are over two million wine producers in Italy, which would make it an easy place to hide any activity. Especially when you add on his built-in diplomatic immunity.”

  She tilted her head, assessing, then nodded. “There’s that, too.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “A cheekily named vineyard and a drive to Tuscany for a house party.”

  His gaze snagged on the phone in her lap, the face once again lit up. “No one leaves you alone on that thing, do they?”

  She glanced down and shrugged, but he didn’t miss the small smile. “My sister and grandmother included me on a message string tied to wedding planning. Tell me, do you prefer tulle or Irish lace?”

  Jack fought a shudder and offered up a quick smile instead. “I’m sure she’ll look gorgeous no matter what she wears.”

  She tapped out a quick reply without sparing him a glance. “Hmm. Clever.”

  “A man says the wrong thing too many times and he eventually learns.”

  “Your sisters teach you that one?”

  “And a few misguided
relationships that didn’t end well.”

  Those magnetic blue eyes lifted off the screen before she added another eyebrow raise to punctuate the moment. “Is the great Jack Andrews suggesting he’s been domesticated?”

  The shudder that had threatened ran down his spine in full force. He had avoided thinking about old relationships for years and it was hardly the time to start. “Let’s just say with maturity and wisdom comes an ability to lead with a compliment. No domestication required.”

  “Maybe you’ve just honed that clever tongue to perfection.”

  He wasn’t sure if it was the sad figure Marco had cut in the bed that made him want to reach out and embrace life or simply that elemental tug that wouldn’t leave him in her presence, but he leaned forward, mischief brewing in his veins. “Perhaps I can give you a demonstration of just how clever I can be?”

  Where he thought he might meet with resistance, he got a loud laugh instead. “You’re incorrigible. And persistent. Can’t forget that part.”

  “I’m a man who knows what I want.”

  Her gaze remained warm but her voice held the steely notes of business. “So does that mean you want this case?”

  “Who are we fooling? Was there ever really any doubt? For either of us?”

  “Not really.”

  “So why are we fighting it so hard?”

  Jack saw it the moment the meaning underlying his words registered. The humor and attraction flitting across her face expanded with the sweetest notes of delight before she shut it down.

  And the light mood in the cab fled right along with it.

  An irrational spear of anger pierced the flirtatious atmosphere he’d done his level best to maintain, replaced with a devilish urge to fluster her.

  So how was it he was equally flustered?

  He’d worked long and hard to keep his relationships with women in check. He never struggled—never lost his balance—yet this one small woman had him in knots.

  And he had no freaking clue what to do about it.

  He was prevented from saying anything further as their hotel came into view ahead of them. Just as well.

  “Why are we back at the hotel?”

  “We should pack some smaller bags for the drive to Tuscany.” He thought of the firearms he’d had sent in advance to the hotel. “Among other things.”

  “Don’t we have to go see Dante first?”

  “To accept the job? You want to be there with me for that?”

  “Hell, yes.” She stopped and frowned. Considered. “But it’s probably better if I don’t. He’s already got a stick up his very macho ass about me. Why don’t I stay behind and see what I can dig up on Castello di Carte?”

  “You sure?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s learned a few lessons. Besides, if I’m not there you might get a bit more out of the very unhelpful Dante.”

  “I don’t think his reticence earlier was for my benefit.”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t for mine. Share some of what Marco told us and see if you can uncover anything else.”

  “Aye, aye, Chief.”

  She winked as she slipped out of her door. “Don’t you forget it.”

  Jack ordered the driver to wait until Kensington had cleared the front door of the hotel. It wasn’t until she faded from view that he took his first easy breath of the day.

  * * *

  Kensington roamed her hotel suite, the plush carpet and vividly colored walls offering little comfort to her jumbled thoughts. Jack Andrews was a problem.

  As someone used to solving problems, it was extremely vexing to know she had one she didn’t know how to handle. Damn, but the man twisted her up in so many knots she didn’t know whether she was coming or going.

  And she never felt that way. Ever.

  Of course, if she’d just give in to this crazy attraction between the two of them she could put them both out of their misery. Which was the second part of her problem.

  Had she ever been this mind-numbingly attracted to any man before? Oh, she’d dated plenty. Each and every one of her dates had been suave and pleasant, self-assured of their place in the world.

  And every damn one of them had been as boring and unappealing as day-old toast.

  That was why no one lasted past a handful of dates. She kept them at arm’s length and, if she were honest with herself, did it willingly.

  Her phone rang—a rousing samba ringtone that she’d associated with Rowan—and she smiled before answering, already anticipating the call with her younger sister. “Hey there.”

  “You’ve been suspiciously quiet.”

  “Hello to you, too. And what do you mean? I’m out on a job. Besides, I told you my feelings on tulle or Irish lace.”

  “You totally sided with her.”

  “Um. Yeah. Not only do I think it’ll look beautiful on you, but I can’t believe you’re even trying to argue that one with our very Irish grandmother.”

  “Finn said the same thing. Some champion he’s turning out to be.”

  Kensington thought of her future brother-in-law and held back the laugh. Although their grandparents had been skeptical about Rowan’s new relationship, it was short-lived once they got to know Finn and his fierce devotion to their youngest granddaughter.

  And then they fell in love when they realized how crazy Finn and Rowan were about each other.

  Add on his Irish heritage that matched their grandmother’s, and the initial chilly reception morphed into almost blind acceptance within weeks.

  “You totally ignored my other text. The one without Grandma on it.”

  Kensington thought momentarily about playing dumb and pretending she’d missed the text but dropped it. That tack never worked with Rowan. Hell, it never worked on anyone. “I refuse to answer messages that ask me if my partner’s ass is as juicy as it’s purported to be.”

  Rowan’s voice took on the slightest pout. “All I wanted was a simple yes or no. And don’t try to tell me you haven’t looked.”

  She had peeked. More than once.

  “Come on, Rowan. We’re doing a job together. That’s all.”

  “That’s what I said about Finn, and now I’m debating tulle or Irish lace.”

  “There’s no debate. Go with the lace.”

  “You know what I mean, Kenzi.”

  Kensington fought a heavy exhale—like Rowan would miss that through the phone—and also knew protesting too much would only make her sister think she’d won the argument. “You and Finn were meant to be. Since you were kids, really, you were meant to be. Jack’s a business adversary. It’s different.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. Besides, enemies to lovers sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.”

  “What have you been reading?”

  “Your face every time his name comes up.”

  Rowan had always played dirty and Kensington could only admire the neat, effective response. “I have an outstanding poker face.”

  “Not according to Molly. She said you were mad as a nest of hornets over the flowers the other day.”

  “Office gossip. Nothing more.”

  “Kenz. Come on. It’s me. I’m not taking this back to Grandma or telling Finn. It’s just you and me. Can you maybe admit you find him attractive? That you like him, just a little bit?”

  “He’s an attractive man. A powerful one, in a way that’s attractive and not insulting. He respects me. Respects my intellect.”

  “I’m surprised your panties haven’t fallen off due to that fact alone.”

  “Rowan!” No matter how hard she tried to stay immune, even Kensington couldn’t hold back the laughter at that comment.

  “You know it’s true. You like smart men but most of them don’t appreciate that you’re a sma
rt woman. Clearly one who does gets you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, there’s no maybe about it. So I’m going to give you one more piece of advice and if you’re as smart as you think you are, you’ll take it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t let that brain of yours talk you out of this. You’re entitled to a bit of fun and an excuse to let go. Take it, my dear, overanalyzing sister. Please.”

  “I don’t do casual.”

  “Well, maybe you should give it a whirl. You might surprise yourself by enjoying it.”

  Kensington struggled for something to say, even as Rowan’s suggestion took immediate hold, sprouting deep roots.

  “Oh, and one more thing, Kenzi. You still haven’t answered my question, which, in my devious-minded opinion, only reinforces my point.”

  “About what?”

  “Jack Andrews’s very fine ass.”

  * * *

  Hubert Pryce walked the perimeter of his vineyard, supervising the preparations for the weekend’s house party. The decorators had been there all day, transforming the property into a lush wonderland of twinkle lights, and he wholeheartedly approved of their efforts.

  He swirled his wineglass, satisfied at the rich legs that coated the bowl, visible in the reflection of the bright white lights. The vineyard had been one of his most favorite purchases—a home as well as a good investment—and he never failed to enjoy this particular locale. The fact that it made for an excellent entertaining spot, all while giving him an upper hand with his guests, worked equally well.

  Shifting his gaze to the row of grapes beyond the house, he walked toward the land. He had a staff who kept the vines in top shape, but he still fancied himself the brains behind the operation.

  After all, it was his knowledge that had them producing some of the region’s most outstanding vintages a mere five years after taking over the property. While all his neighbors produced the red table wine everyone in Italy gobbled up, he was already garnering a reputation as Italy’s version of a garagiste.