The Rome Affair

by Addison Fox

  He took a step away from her before glancing down at the crumpled silk shirt bunched in her right hand. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I wasn’t going to wear it, anyway.”

  “Do you have what you need?” He pointed to the handgun she’d set on the bed next to her purse. “Are you comfortable shooting that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Because I have others.”

  Her hand snaked out, covered his forearm. “I’m fine. Really. And I’m a pretty good shot. Not quite as crack as my brother Liam but well above average. I can take care of myself.”

  The words caught him up short. And with it, a memory he’d believed long buried.

  I can take care of myself.

  His mother had said those same words to him years ago. Just before she left him and his two older sisters eating their breakfast to wait for the bus.

  She’d never returned.

  He was one of the lucky ones, he knew now, and had avoided the additional upheaval of the foster system or the courts. Kathy was already eighteen and both she and Susan were determined to keep the family together, so she worked and scraped by and managed to keep them afloat and together.

  But no matter how hard Kathy and Susan worked to make a life for him—for all of them—nothing could fix his mother’s leaving. And no amount of persuasion from his sisters had ever convinced him to stop searching for her.

  Which was how Beatrice Andrews became his first job. He’d been twelve when she left, and his father was already a distant memory for all of them, but he hadn’t stopped looking for her. Never gave up until that one day at the start of his senior year of high school. He’d gotten quite good in his computer class, perfecting an investigative form of hacking that got him in and out of various state computers while everyone else was still playing around with their C++ programming.

  It was there he’d discovered the woman formerly named Beatrice Andrews when she’d gone off the grid. And with a bit more digging, he found the alias she’d taken on after leaving Washington. The one she’d used as she settled into her new life in Santa Barbara.

  With minimal additional effort, he’d found her death certificate, written two years after she’d left her children behind to fend for themselves.

  “Jack?”

  Real concern blinked from Kensington’s vivid blue gaze, effectively pulling him from his bleak memories. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. I’m ready to go. You?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get going.”

  Chapter 9

  Wine flowed freely from waiters who circulated around the room and Kensington simply stood still and watched, familiarizing herself with their comings and goings. She’d already identified the kitchen schedule and every entrance in and out of the château. Now she was trying to get a handle on the traffic to and from the wine cellar.

  Pryce was proud of his vintages, pouring several years’ harvests for the assembled crowd all while highlighting tasting notes for each wine. The polite sips she’d taken from her glass had proved that he had some talent at wine making.

  Or directing the winemaker, as the case may be.

  Either way, his interest in the art seemed sincere enough.

  Her gaze caught on Jack’s across the room. They each wore an earpiece but the tight crush in the room had made any real level of communication difficult. What they had been able to convey on chance passes across the room had reinforced each other’s intelligence while confirming areas where they still had gaps.

  His expression was all business, his gaze ever watchful, but she still couldn’t shake her last image of him. That strange look that had come over him earlier in her B and B room. Their kiss had been hot—erotic and all consuming—but it was the bleak look that rode his features after that had occupied her thoughts for the better part of the evening.

  Something had triggered that response and she didn’t think it was the impromptu rush of passion that had gripped them both.

  Although she’d sensed a slight reticence in his personality—more from what she knew of his reputation than from any overt action—she’d assumed that he was a man who kept most people at arm’s length. But that look?

  It suggested secrets.

  Or some long-buried hurt that wouldn’t go away, no matter how badly one wanted it to.

  She knew that look. She lived with that sort of anger and pain. And despite how deeply she valued her own privacy, she couldn’t deny wanting to know more about Jack’s past.

  “Ms. Steele?” A deep voice, full of the cultured notes of prep school, time in Europe and the distinctly European background of his native country peppered Hubert Pryce’s words. “I’m delighted you’re here.”

  “Good evening, Ambassador.”

  “Hubert, please.” The older man took her hand in a firm grip, placing a gentle press of his lips against her knuckles. Although his hair edged toward white, the pale features of his Dutch ancestors were readily evident in his ruddy complexion and vivid blue eyes. “My appreciation for your assistance this weekend.”

  The acknowledgment of her role gave her the briefest sensation of being off-kilter before she recovered, her smile broad. “It’s my pleasure. You have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you. I have always loved this part of the world and it delights me to now own a part of it.”

  She couldn’t quite ignore the odd pinch to the base of her skull at his words. As someone who knew she was privileged—had grown up with both the luxury as well as the responsibility—she knew what it was to own things. And never in her life had she fancied herself owning a part of the world.

  If her parents’ early deaths had taught her anything, it was that you simply leased it for a while.

  “I can see why. The grounds and your home are stunning.”

  “As are you, Ms. Steele. Or may I call you Kensington?”

  She smiled broadly and hoped like hell Hubert Pryce didn’t notice the gesture never reached her eyes. “Of course.”

  “Your reputation precedes you, Kensington. The Italian police speak highly of your skills and my chief of staff was well acquainted with your talents.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve not met him yet.”

  “Holden’s around here somewhere.” Pryce gestured with his full wineglass—his fifth by her count—and gave the room a vague glance. “The boy’s always running here and there. He ensures I stay on point and make all my appointments.”

  Boy? The briefing she and Jack had received indicated the man was nearly forty.

  “You’re lucky to have him.”

  “Quite.”

  Pryce’s gaze roamed her face, his irises never dipping below her neckline. She had to give him credit for maintaining the proper decorum, even if his perusal still gave her the willies.

  “May I offer you some of our special reserve label? The finest of the Castello.”

  “I’d love some.” She laid a hand on his extended forearm and followed him toward the large bar set up on the far side of the ballroom. “I’d also love to know how you came up with the name of the vineyard.”

  “Castello di Carte? Don’t you know?”

  “Know what?”

  Jack’s heavy cough echoed in her ear at the blatant lie but she refused to take the bait, never even glancing in his direction.

  “The name means house of cards. It’s a bit of a joke.”

  She smiled once again and forced the subtle notes of a purr into her voice. “Oh, do tell me more.”

  * * *

  The overwhelming urge to beat something—namely Hubert Pryce’s round red face—coursed through every fiber of Jack’s being. And even though he wished like hell he could do it, he was also amazed and awed at Kensington’s suave handling of the man.


  He’d watched her, the cat-and-cream smile that tinged her lips as she spoke with the ambassador. The lightly flirtatious notes in her voice. The gentle play of her fingers on his forearm.

  She was a virtuoso and if he weren’t so damn crazy about her himself he’d probably enjoy the performance a heck of a lot more.

  Instead, all he had was the increasing urge to punch something.

  A flash caught his attention from the corner of his eye and he reluctantly pulled his gaze from Kensington and Pryce to investigate. He’d kept tabs on all the waitstaff all evening, but the face exiting toward the wine cellar, decked out in waiter’s clothing, didn’t look familiar.

  The slight tingle at the nape of his neck was all he needed to give free rein to his instincts, and Jack headed for the exit on the man’s heels. A throng of waitstaff blocked his way—some with silver serving trays either full or empty of canapés and others pouring fresh glasses of Pryce’s wine—and he almost lost his quarry a few times, but still he kept on.

  The cool winter air greeted him as he followed the man out the back of the château and ran smack into a throng of workers on their break, huddled in circles smoking or relaxing.

  “Scusi, signore?” One of the men stopped him, waving a hand to get his attention. “Can we help you?”

  “Just taking a break.” Jack kept his tone casual as his gaze continued to drift over the huddled groups, but the waiter he’d followed was nowhere to be found.

  Another member of the staff tried a fresh tack with slightly more enunciated English. “We are happy to show you back to the party.”

  “No need.” He held up his hands. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

  He gave the servants’ area one long, last look before turning to go back inside. Whatever instinct had him racing for the door had struck equally hard in the man he’d followed. A few whispered murmurs echoed in his wake before Jack stepped back inside the château.

  The long corridor that he’d followed out beckoned him, but a small offshoot behind the kitchen caught his attention and he decided to follow it. The house party was going to last all weekend, but this would likely be his only chance to use a cover of semi-drunkenness and a sudden hankering for a tour of the residence, so he took his shot.

  Kensington’s voice still echoed in his ear, her polite platitudes to Pryce’s increasingly insistent questions grating on his nerve endings. Jack followed the hallway to the end, then headed toward the back of the first floor. The external sounds of the party died even as he continued to hear them through his earpiece and he forced his attention on what he was doing and off the lush, seductive tones of Kensington’s voice.

  They’d been given a tour of the premises before the start of the party, but the ambassador’s private offices on the first floor had been strictly off-limits. He’d not made a fuss at the time, taking the deliberate omission as a sign they were here for the right reasons. Following the hallway, he walked into a library and a small sitting room before he found the office he was looking for.

  A large desk sat in the center of the room, its top devoid of anything but a thin laptop, a leather portfolio and a small personal desk calendar. Dark wood bookcases sat behind the desk and an oversize globe sat on a stand by the window. Add on the heavy accents of Louis XIV scattered around the room and Jack figured he’d walked into a designer’s version of “Diplomat Decorating 101.”

  Ignoring the lack of anything original, he crossed to a small credenza strategically positioned between the globe and the desk. A tug on the drawer had it opening easy enough, which was his first clue he’d likely find nothing in the unlocked piece. The fact that the drawer held only packaged, sugary desserts and a few unopened bottles of bourbon only sealed the deal.

  “Ambassador, I’m afraid I’ve hogged far too much of your time.” Jack keyed in on the sultry tones of Kensington’s voice as he moved to the file drawers on either side of the desk. “Much as I’m enjoying hearing all about the rich landscape of Tierra Kimber, surely I can’t monopolize you.”

  “Of course not, my darling. Which is why I insist you have lunch with me tomorrow. Before we begin the afternoon’s activities.”

  “I can’t—”

  Pryce steamrolled over her protests. “You must. Now, I’m afraid I do need to excuse myself.”

  “Of course.”

  Jack heard a muffled sigh before his name echoed in his earpiece. “Jack. Where are you?”

  “Pryce’s office.”

  “What?”

  He smiled to himself as the second desk drawer slid out, unlocked just like everything else in the room. “Cover, darling. Keep your cover.”

  “My cover is fine. Yours, however, will be blown if you’re not careful. What the hell are you doing in Pryce’s office?”

  “I had a shot and I took it.”

  “Well, get out of there. He just left the room to check on something and I have no idea where he’s going.”

  The second drawer turned up nothing and he closed it, then glanced around the room for anything else to search. The oversize globe drew his attention once more and as he stared at it, Jack realized there was a small drawer at the bottom of the thick base.

  “I’ve got one more place to check before I head out.”

  “Come on. We can do it later.”

  “I’m here now.”

  He heard the distant voice of a waitress, offering Kensington a refill on her glass, and knew the woman’s presence was the only thing stopping their argument. The globe beckoned and he dropped to his knees before it. He pulled out his handkerchief, intending to use it on the heavy drawer, but the piece didn’t budge.

  With quick fingers still protected under the cloth, he ran his hands around the base, curious to see if he’d find a key in easy reach, but no such luck. He tried tugging on the drawer once more, testing to see if the stand was as sturdy as it looked, but all he managed to do was spin the globe by a few rotations.

  Curious.

  The desk and credenza held nothing, but an innocuous drawer in the globe was locked.

  “What did you find?” Kensington’s voice hissed in his ear and he heard the sharp click of her heels.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How far down the hall are you?”

  “At the end. Why?”

  “I’m headed your way.”

  “No. Stay in the main room.”

  “Like hell I will.”

  That same prickle at the back of his neck went off as he imagined her vulnerable and alone in the hallway. “Seriously. I’m finishing up. Go back and keep an eye on Pryce.”

  “He disappeared and I have no idea where he went.”

  The sound of her heels continued as a distant click in his earpiece. “And what do you propose to do if you run into him?”

  “Same thing you’re going to do. Play dumb and admire his artwork.”

  “There’s no artwork in here.”

  “Then I’ll admire his books. Or his furniture. Or whatever the hell else is handy. Just like you would have if you got caught.”

  Her voice brooked no argument and, yet again, he found himself on that odd precipice between being aroused and fascinated as all get-out and mad as a hornet the woman didn’t know how to listen.

  Oh, and scared out of your mind for her life. Can’t forget that one, Andrews.

  The door clicked open and Kensington slipped in, then closed the door quietly behind her. “What’d you find?”

  “Unlocked drawers full of nothing interesting and this small drawer I can’t get open.”

  “Did you bring picks?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “No, but I’ve got something almost as good.” She dragged a bobby pin out of her upswept hair, letting loose a small curl that fell over her cheek. “Let me try this.�
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  He stood back to give her space and light as she matched his knelt pose before the globe stand. “Keep watch on the door.”

  “And what’s going to be your handy excuse after someone walks in?”

  She smiled and pulled one of the hoops out of her ear. “Lost earring.”

  “That works.”

  Kensington went back to work, her fingers repeatedly plying the lock at different angles with the bobby pin. “How’d you end up in here, anyway?”

  “I sneaked out when I saw something suspicious.”

  Her head whipped up from where she worked. “What? Who?”

  “A waiter I hadn’t seen before caught my attention. I followed him out back to the waitstaff’s break area but he disappeared before I could question him.”

  “You think he was after something?”

  “My instincts went off loudly enough that I wanted to go check.”

  “At least you had something to do. I had Pryce slobbering all over my hand as he regaled me with all of his feats of diplomacy.”

  “He’s got his eye on you.”

  “Which I tried to keep in mind—” she broke off as she worked a section of the lock “—as I nearly fell asleep listening to him.”

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “Which is why there are two of us here.”

  And there it was again. Complete lack of concern for her own personal safety or risk.

  “Come on and get up. I can get my hands on some picks tomorrow morning and we’ll do this again.”

  “I nearly have it.”

  “We’ve been missing too long and we need to get back out there. Especially since you’ve attracted the eye of the ambassador, your new boyfriend’s going to get worried if he doesn’t see you.”

  “He went off to take care of—” She broke off as the both heard the lock click at the same time.

  Without waiting for her to agree, Jack reached for Kensington, snagging her around the waist and dragging her to the closest chair. Louis XIV wasn’t the most comfortable, but it gave him a place to sit as he dragged her onto his lap and plunged his hands into the updo of her hair.