The Rome Affair

by Addison Fox

  Which meant he had access to all the dark, depraved places he sought.

  He had plans and he was so close to seeing them come to fruition. The diamonds he was smuggling out of the country and into the hands of a well-funded terrorist group were going to make him a very rich man—and a powerful one to boot.

  So why the hell was he stuck still doing a boatload of dirty work?

  His hand trembled slightly as he splashed several fingers of liquor into a tumbler. Here he was managing the hit on a useless underling, ensuring the weekend went off without a hitch and now dealing with the intrusion of Andrews and Steele.

  The file on the two security experts was slim—the Italian police hadn’t provided any information beyond the basic—but a quick internet search had turned up a fair bit of information on both Jack Andrews and Kensington Steele.

  However, because it was all fluff pieces, he was damn sure going to keep an eye on them. No one attained the level of success and reputation they both possessed and managed to erase their digital footprint.

  Not unless they did it deliberately.

  Which meant he was going to keep very close watch on Mr. Andrews and Miss Steele.

  Just like those glasses he’d buried underneath the vines—a prop in the event he needed one—he’d prepare for any eventuality with the elegant duo.

  And when they slipped up, which they’d inevitably do, he’d be ready to leap.

  * * *

  Kensington scrawled a few notes as she scrolled through yet another layer of yet another website. The usual insomnia had struck shortly after eleven and she’d been at it for more than three hours already, digging through electronic trails and the story of a life in ones and zeroes.

  Yet no matter how she dug, Hubert Pryce kept coming up clean.

  “Where the hell are you?” she muttered before reaching for the mug of coffee she’d made from a small travel dispenser in her room. And then nearly choked on the cold, hard taste as it registered.

  Disgusted with the fruitless search and the miserable excuse for caffeine, she slammed the lid of her laptop closed and reached for the phone. It was only around eight at home, but even if it had been the middle of the night she’d have no qualms about calling her brother.

  “Yo.”

  Heavy sounds assaulted her ear and she dragged the phone away to confirm whether she’d hit the correct contact. “Campbell?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Family night at McBane Communications.”

  “Why do you sound like you’re in the bottom of a barrel?”

  Another loud sound echoed through the phone followed by what sounded like several screaming children. “I’m in the dunking booth. Abby’s rented out the pier to kick off the holidays. It’s a corporate event.”

  “Got it.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Aren’t you concerned about getting your phone wet?”

  “Perk of marrying into the head of a communications company. The waterproof covering.”

  “Clever.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m frustrated and I thought my hacker-extraordinaire brother might have a few suggestions for something I may have overlooked.”

  “You’ve got the skill for electronic forensics. I just know how to get in and out of the system.”

  “Not tonight.”

  She walked him through the problems she was having, pleased when he immediately clued into what was bugging her.

  “That’s just it. I can’t find a single damn thing this guy’s done wrong and I’ve been at it for a while. Do you think he’s hidden it?”

  “Wouldn’t be unheard of, especially if he’s into as many things as he’s suspected of. But it’s still odd. You know how to find dirt, and the lack of any is a red flag all by itself.”

  They traded a few more ideas and he gave her a few more strings to tug before they wound down the call.

  “You sure you don’t want some help?”

  “I may need your assistance at some point, but right now let me try these threads. Thanks.”

  Campbell hesitated for the briefest moment and she thought she might have lost him to a dunking. “I talked to Rowan earlier.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She said you’re knee-deep in this job with Andrews.”

  “We’re about to be. We only landed in Rome this morning.”

  “You doing okay?”

  With the skill she’d honed through years of practice, she layered the subtle note of disinterest into her voice. “Of course.”

  “You’re good at that.”

  “At what?”

  “The deflection act. Come on, Kenzi. It’s me.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the truth. Are you doing okay? Are you in over your head? Do you need help?”

  “What, exactly, did Rowan tell you?”

  Despite the four thousand miles that separated them and the screaming families in the background, she heard the frustration loud and clear in her brother’s heavy exhale. “Not much. That’s what’s got me worried.”

  “Look. I’m not going to have this argument with you.” Before he could push back, she pressed on. “You’ve clearly got a bit between your teeth so whatever I say you won’t believe me. And it’s after two in the morning here and I’m not in the mood to argue. Thanks for bouncing a few things off me.”

  A loud grunt echoed through the phone before she heard a big splash of water.

  Clearly her brother finally had gotten dunked.

  Saved by a well-placed softball was all she could think as she disconnected the call. She tapped out a quick text to tease him about the dunking and confirmed she was heading to bed when she heard a soft knock on her door.

  “Kensington. It’s me. Open up.”

  Jack stood on the other side, the soft lighting in the hallway forming a halo around his large form. “What are you doing up?”

  “I could say the same for you. And since you’ve been blowing up my phone for the past three hours with emails, I knew you were still awake.”

  She gestured him in. “Why didn’t you turn the phone off?”

  “I never turn my phone off.”

  “Well, you can turn off email notifications.”

  “It’s fine.” He crossed to her computer, his gaze on the small notepad she kept on hand. “You’ve been sending me updates but I thought maybe you could put it all together for me.”

  The image he made caught her up short and she had a momentary lapse in thought as she simply stopped and stared at him. An old gray T-shirt stretched taut across his chest, and she could see a small hole at the side of his waist that gave a tantalizing glimpse of skin. Navy sweatpants completed the outfit, and all she heard was the devious voice of her sister as she’d studied the firm outline of his rear end when he’d turned to cross to the desk.

  She’d swear the man didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. Although his suits didn’t exactly hide his taut form, the workout clothes definitely showed his body off to full advantage.

  And hoo boy, had her hormones sat up and taken notice.

  He pointed toward her notebook. “So what’d you find?”

  “Not much.” She swallowed hard and fought for composure. “There is simply nothing to be found on this man, no matter how hard I dig.”

  “I’ve been doing some digging of my own.”

  “On what?”

  “The timeline since Pryce purchased the vineyard and when the Italians began getting a read on him.”

  As an avenue of inquiry, it was brilliant. And it reinforced once again just how sharp and on point Jack Andrews really was.

  “And?”

&
nbsp; “He’s had the vineyard for about five years but the issues only kicked in within the past twelve months.”

  “What changed in that time?”

  “I haven’t found that yet.” He looked up from the notepad. “But I’m here and you’re here and two heads are better than one. Especially when one of those heads is yours and has your electronic investigation skills.”

  She sneaked around him to the desk to get to her laptop. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

  Until the scent of him filled her senses and heat rose up off his body, practically scorching her.

  And the moment she felt all that glorious heat, she knew all the reasons she kept resisting him were baseless.

  Without giving another thought to the calm, methodical behavior she was known for, she stepped up on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him against her.

  And then she took.

  * * *

  One moment he was looking at lines of scribbled notes and the next he had an armful of woman. Fortunately, no one had ever accused Jack Andrews of not knowing how to take advantage of an opportunity.

  Despite the urgent, all-consuming passion arcing between them, he stopped, unwilling to let the moment pass him by. With gentle fingers that might have trembled from the need coursing through his system he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She murmured the word before the hands that settled around his neck pulled him close.

  And then he took.

  Her lips were soft under his, the sweetest welcome as she opened her mouth. His tongue slipped inside the entrance, a slow, erotic play that mimicked what he longed to do with their bodies.

  He wanted to take things slow—wanted to savor the moment—but the racing of his pulse and that crazy, driving need for her kept pressing him on. The hands that played around his neck drifted, grew more frantic as she ran her fingers down the length of his spinal cord before settling at his hips. With demanding pressure, she pulled him closer into her body, the thin material they both wore doing nothing to hide their mutual desire.

  “Kensington.” The word—just her name—dragged from his lips as he pressed a line of kisses along her jaw, then down her neck. She tilted her head, allowing him better access, and his body tightened painfully at the soft moan that whispered across his ear.

  He wanted this woman. It was so fierce—so elemental—he burned from the inside out.

  The desk behind her back provided leverage and he lifted her onto it, then moved to stand between her parted legs. Her thighs rubbed against his hips, telegraphing her need, and in that moment he knew he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.

  Bright. Vivid. Passionate.

  And his.

  The urge to brand her as his own rose up with such a fervor Jack wondered that the feelings could really be coming from within himself.

  When had this happened?

  And how had she sneaked past the armor he kept in place—firmly in place—at all times?

  The jarring peal of a phone tugged somewhere at his subconscious, even as it vibrated against the back pocket of his sweatpants. He ignored it as he continued the erotic byplay of their lips, teeth and tongue.

  Until the insistent ringing finally broke through his sensual haze and he pulled away from her on a growl. “What the hell?”

  “Jack?”

  “Sorry.” He ripped the phone from his pocket, intending to throw it across the room when his gaze landed on the number. “It’s Dante.”

  “Now?” Confusion warred with the rapid return of reality as her sloe-eyed gaze drifted to the face of his phone. “Answer it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Jack. It’s after two in the morning.” The gentle press of her hands against his chest offered another layer of reality and he fought the urge to growl once more.

  “Fine.” He hit the answer button with his free hand but kept the other firmly wrapped around Kensington’s waist. “This is Andrews.”

  “There’s been another murder.”

  Chapter 8

  The soft light of dawn danced around Dante Ferrero’s frame as he stood over the body. The neck was twisted at an odd angle, and even the foggy haze of early morning that had settled over the vineyard couldn’t hide the unnatural placement or the bullet hole that speared clean through the man’s head.

  “You’re an awfully long way from Rome.” Jack clutched a paper cup the proprietor of their B and B had managed to dig up despite her protests that she had no idea what “to go” meant.

  Dante stood up from where he knelt by the body and rubbed his hands together. “And yet clearly not far enough away for this to touch on my case.”

  “Don’t you mean our case?” Jack’s gaze drifted to where Kensington stood with two members of Dante’s team, her perusal of the body already completed. “You know who he is?”

  “Carlo Morelli. Low-level enforcer for one of the region’s biggest dealers.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say we’re looking at the triggerman who took out Marco’s grandfather and attempted to silence Marco.”

  Jack had suspected as much, but his desire to speculate had vanished the moment he’d heard the words, “There’s been another murder.”

  His gaze drifted across the rows of vines. The body had been found at yet another of Tuscany’s endless vineyards about four kilometers from Pryce’s, in the opposite direction of the DeAngelo farm. The local examiner had estimated time of death shortly after midnight, and it had been sheer serendipity one of the local farmhands had stayed late, carousing with the son of the vineyard owner and stumbling over the body on his way back to a small bunkhouse on the property.

  The young man had lost the contents of his stomach along with his buzz and was still crying off and on while sitting on a small porch off the back of the main house.

  Jack stood still to absorb the scene. Although there was no one to back up the farmhand’s alibi, nor the owner’s son’s, early review of the site indicated the body had been dumped at the edge of the property. The local police would do their job, but the question of guilt was pointed elsewhere.

  On Pryce?

  Once more, Jack turned over what he and Kensington already knew of the ambassador. Both couldn’t hide the fact that something seemed out of their reach, but what? And no matter how much he enjoyed working with her or how much he valued her insights and her quick mind, had he made a mistake bringing Kensington in on this? They hadn’t even been in Italy twenty-four hours and they were dealing with another murder.

  Images of the two of them wrapped up in each other assaulted his senses. She was a bright, vivid, vibrant woman and his decisions had put her in jeopardy. A sick curdle of fear coated his stomach, turning the coffee he’d drunk over and over in hard, choppy waves.

  He’d let her go before he risked her safety. Would watch her walk away, secure in the knowledge she wouldn’t be hurt. He knew how to watch those he cared about walk away.

  Was more comfortable with that outcome, anyway.

  Only this time, he’d live secure in the knowledge she was safe. Protected. Alive.

  Dante interrupted his jumbled thoughts. “We texted him a photo and Marco positively identified the man as his attacker.”

  “Where’s Carlo been for three days?”

  “In hiding, most likely. Nursing his wounds. Marco’s grandfather got a good hit on him with his vine clippers.” Dante gestured toward the dead man’s bandaged arm. “That’s several days old.”

  “Have you ever seen any problems like this in the region before? I find it hard to believe murderers are running rampant along the countryside.”

  “Hardly.” Dante snorted, his gaze dropping to Carlo’s body before he glanced away.


  “You said the drug cartel’s been here for a while.” Jack pressed on, anxious to gather as much knowledge as he could. “Has there been anything like this?”

  “No. The guys around here, big as they may think they are, are still small business. The big dealers are in Rome. Milan. The guys out here work a little, manage their business and then play a lot. But when all’s said and done, they’re small time.”

  “So someone’s trying to up their game.”

  “Or take out any local competition.”

  Jack stopped and considered that angle. “You think this is a turf war?”

  “It’s why we’ve been watching Pryce so closely. Someone with his power and clout could significantly change the game in these parts. Make himself a player if he chose.”

  A player in the region’s drug trade.

  As theories went, it was as good any other, but something still rang false for him. Pryce had shown absolutely no evidence of being a career criminal. So why start now?

  “Are you and Miss Steele ready for the weekend’s events?”

  Jack caught sight of Kensington once more, her phone glued to her ear as she nodded repeatedly to whatever was said on the other end of the line. “Of course.”

  “There’s a possibility things will further escalate during the party.”

  “We’re prepared.”

  “That’s why I hired you. Both.”

  * * *

  Kensington still fought the residual effects of nausea at the sight of Carlo Morelli’s body. He’d been killed quickly, but none of it changed the fact the man had a bullet in his head.

  Their game of “observe and report back” for the weekend had grown considerably more dangerous.

  “You okay?” Jack’s voice was low but contained a subtle note she’d not heard there before. Fear.

  “I’m fine. Not sure I ever want to eat again, but I’m doing fine. I’m sorry I missed the discussion with Dante. My brother called me back and I made the mistake of mentioning a dead body.”