Halo (K19 Security Solutions Book 8)

by Heather Slade

  “I can’t stay long—”

  “Wait. When you said here, you meant at Valentini?”

  “You’re catching on.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  I had no idea how I’d explain to Ben why I had to leave so abruptly. I couldn’t lie and say Pia needed me. What if he ran into her and asked?

  “Everything okay?” he asked when I went inside.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to cut our evening short. I, um, have some things I have to take care of.”

  He walked over and cupped my cheek. “Anything I can help with?”

  I took a step back. “No, but I appreciate the offer.” I put my phone in my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

  “Oh, you mean you need to leave now? I thought we could at least finish dinner.”

  I nodded and apologized again. “I’ll see you soon?” I said, heading for the door.

  “You don’t need to walk. I’ll drive you up to the casina.”

  “That isn’t necessary, really. Thanks. I’m fine walking.” I doubted Brand would show his face, but I didn’t want to risk it any more than him seeing Ben.

  “Catarina?”

  I was about to slip out the front door. “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” I knew my cheeks were flushed, but I didn’t have time to try to come up with a lie to explain why I was acting this way. “Bye, Ben.”

  I rushed out and closed the door behind me, hoping he wouldn’t follow. I felt terrible, but I had no choice but to leave the way I had. I raced through the vineyards and up the hillside. When I walked into the casina, I saw Brand standing in the bedroom doorway.

  “I’ve been so worried,” I cried, running into his embrace.

  Brand stroked my hair and kissed my forehead. “It’s okay, passerotta.”

  Brand’s nickname for me, which translated to “little sparrow,” was an Italian term of endearment for anyone metaphorically “learning to fly.” I couldn’t remember when he’d started referring to me that way, but I loved it.

  “Come,” he said, pulling me into the bedroom. “You’ve been a very bad girl, Tara,” he said, his expression darkening.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you we needed to talk when you returned to New York. Instead, you’re here.”

  “But, my dad—”

  Brand put his fingers on my lips. “You need to go home, Tara. Now. If not tonight, tomorrow.”

  15

  Halo

  When she went out the front door of the farmhouse, I followed out the back, keeping far enough away that she wouldn’t hear me, but close enough that I could see her. I’d anticipated there would be someone waiting for her at the casina, but not my reaction to seeing it was a man close to my own age—particularly one she looked so happy to see.

  I clenched my fists when I saw the man in the casina, with Tara, put his arms around her, but when I saw them go into the bedroom, it was all I could do not to break the fucking door down and put him through a wall.

  I crept around to the other side of the structure so I could see in the window of the other room and watched as they sat on the edge of the bed and talked. I wanted to rip his arms off when I saw him touch her.

  I took out my phone and captured several photos, hoping I’d get at least one that would allow someone from K19 to identify the man.

  They stood and turned off the light in the bedroom, so I crept back around to the other side of the casina. I got there just in time to catch the end of their embrace. When the man brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, I assumed it was because she was crying.

  In what felt like a mixture of sorrow and trepidation, I watched as she flung herself back into his arms. I looked away, knowing that if she kissed him, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.

  The front door creaked, and the man stepped outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow in Florence, passerotta,” he said, shaking a finger at her. “Do not forget what I told you.”

  Florence. That’s where she said she was going tomorrow, evidently to meet up with this man. I could say one thing with absolute certainty. I was headed to Florence tomorrow too.

  When I returned to the farmhouse, I called Striker, but he didn’t pick up. Wanting answers as soon as I could get them, I called Doc directly.

  “Halo,” he said when he answered the call. “I was about to send you an email.”

  “About?”

  “I haven’t been able to find anything on AISE’s investigation into the accidents at Valentini, but wanted you to know I’m still working on it.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Why’d you call me?”

  I told him about the scene I’d just witnessed up at the casina.

  “Any idea who the guy is?”

  “Negative, but I’ve got images.”

  “Send ’em over, and I’ll work it on our end. It may be a day or two before you hear back from me.”

  “Copy that. Thanks, Doc.”

  When the call ended, I threw my phone on the sofa, the same one I’d sat on with Tara only a couple of nights ago. Imagining her there made me sick to my stomach. Worse would be going into the kitchen, where our half-prepared dinner still sat. There was no way I could deal with that shit tonight. I picked up my phone and went upstairs, knowing I wouldn’t be getting a moment’s sleep tonight.

  When I saw the sun on the horizon, I took a shower and went back to one of the places I’d used to surveil Tara’s casina when she thought I was away.

  Two hours later, she came out the front door and walked in the direction of the villa. I followed, and when I saw her join Pia on the terrazza for breakfast, I did the same. As a guest staying at the farmhouse, it was something I’d been invited to do during my stay.

  “Good morning, ladies,” I said, walking over to make a cup of tea.

  “Buongiorno, Ben,” said Pia, looking from me to Tara, who stood and approached me.

  “Good morning,” she murmured, a soft smile on her face. “I’m sorry about having to leave so abruptly last night.”

  Interesting. If this was how she was going to play it, I could play along. I leaned forward so my mouth was close to her ear. “I’m looking forward to picking up where we left off.”

  Not only did her cheeks flush, but her nipples hardened. “I’d like that,” I heard her whisper.

  Inside, a war was waging, but on the surface, I kept it together. “Still heading to Florence today?”

  “I am.”

  I couldn’t wait to see how she’d handle this. “Up for some company?”

  “Do you have time?” she asked, stunning me.

  “I’ve got all day. Night too,” I added with a wink.

  “Do you think it would be a problem if I brought someone with me,” she asked Pia, who picked her mobile up from the table.

  “Let me check, but I don’t think so.”

  “Pia was kind enough to make me a reservation at the Museo di San Marco,” Tara explained.

  “No problem to add another person,” Pia said, setting her phone back down. “I’m so happy you’ll be able to enjoy it together.”

  I decided to push harder. “Can you spare our Catarina tomorrow?”

  Tara’s eyes scrunched, and Pia smiled. “Take all the time you’d like. Our Catarina deserves some time off after all the wine she sold in the last two days.”

  “I thought I’d make a reservation at a pensione. That way, we could have dinner in Florence too.”

  “Um…sure…we can talk about it before we head out,” said Tara. She turned her back to get more coffee, but I didn’t miss that she bit her bottom lip.

  “Is there something else you need to do while you’re in Florence?”

  She looked up at me and cocked her head. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem distracted.”

  “Not at all.” She filled a plate with fruit and sat down at the table.

  “What time is our reservation?”


  “At one. You should leave soon,” answered Pia.

  Given it would take at least two hours to get to Florence from here, soon meant within the next thirty minutes. If I wanted to keep up the charade until Tara was forced to end it, I had to make her think I’d meant what I said about spending the night.

  “Shall I help you grab your things, and then we can get mine from the farmhouse?”

  “I won’t need much. I’ll just meet you down there.”

  Sure, that would give her time to call Romeo and alert him she wouldn’t be visiting Florence alone. “I can walk with you.”

  Pia cleared her throat. “You go on, Catarina. I need to speak with Ben about something.” She leveled her gaze at me and waited until Tara was at the bottom of the stairs before speaking again. “What is going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Please, sit.” She motioned to the chair beside her. “Catarina is too polite to rescind her invitation, but I am not. You are speaking to her as though you are angry with her. Why?”

  I could tell Pia it was none of her concern, but that certainly wouldn’t serve me well.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She leaned over and put her hand on my arm. “I’ll admit I don’t know very much about Catarina. However, over the two days we worked in the winery together, every time I mentioned your name, she smiled. Sometimes it quickly turned to sadness. It was then I wondered if something had gone wrong between the two of you.”

  “You’re imagining things, Pia.”

  She sat back and folded her arms. “I am not imagining anything.” She studied me. “If you hurt my friend, I will not be happy, Ben Knox.”

  If anything, it shouldn’t be me she was warning.

  “There she is,” said Pia, pointing at Tara, who was walking in our direction, carrying the same small bag Lucia had brought out to her the other night. “She was looking forward to this, Ben. Please don’t spoil it for her.”

  “I won’t,” I muttered, going down the steps so she wouldn’t have to come all the way up to the terrazza.

  “Ready?”

  “If you changed your mind, I’ll understand,” she said. I put my hand on her chin and pulled her lip from where she was biting it.

  “Why would you say that?”

  She shrugged.

  “I do want to go. There was something on my mind, and I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I was angry with you. I’m not.”

  She nodded and folded her arms.

  “There’s one other thing.” If she was really going to go through with this and stay the night in Florence, I didn’t want her to think she had no choice but to share a room with me.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I can reserve two rooms at the pensione.”

  “Is that what you want to do, Ben?”

  Did I? When I looked into her eyes, no. When I thought about the man I’d seen her with, yes.

  “I’m sorry I had to leave the way I did last night. It had nothing to do with you.” It was the second time she apologized.

  “I know.”

  It took me a couple of seconds to notice Tara had stopped walking. “What?”

  “You haven’t accepted my apology.”

  “I didn’t realize it was required.”

  “I’ve lost interest in going to the museum. You’re welcome to still go.”

  “Because I didn’t accept your apology?”

  “Something changed, Ben. At first, I thought it was because I had to leave the way I did, but I said I was sorry. If that isn’t good enough, then there’s no point in our continuing this…this…whatever it was. Flirtation.”

  I stepped around her and rested my hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t say I accepted your apology, because there was no reason for you to be sorry. Something came up. You had to leave. I understand. That’s it.”

  “You’re acting different.”

  “I’m not. I’d really like to go to the museum with you. Hell, I’d like to go anywhere with you. Can we please just do that?”

  She stared into my eyes long enough that I expected her to turn me down. “Okay.” I wished her voice conveyed more enthusiasm, but at least she still wanted to go. I took her hand, and we walked the rest of the way to the farmhouse.

  I loved the feel of her hand in mine. Honestly, I just loved the feel of her. The warmth that spread throughout my body was almost enough to make me forget what I’d seen last night. Almost.

  16

  Tara

  There were many museums in Florence. So many, in fact, that visiting them became overwhelming and, to some, repetitious.

  “God, Tara, not another one,” I remembered Penelope complaining when I dragged her, Ava, Aine, and Quinn to Museo Nazionale di San Marco. Once inside, though, her attitude had changed, mainly because this wasn’t as much a museum as a step back in time.

  Rather than galleries, there were thirty small rooms, called cells, in the convent where Fra Angelico and his disciples had painted beautiful frescoes from the New Testament. My favorite was the Annunciation fresco on top of the staircase that led to the dormitories. Its intricacies took my breath away.

  It depicted the archangel Gabriel visiting the Virgin Mary, but rather than indoors and with Mary enthroned like so many other Gothic paintings of the same theme, in this, they were outdoors.

  I looked over at Ben, who instead of looking at the fresco, was studying me.

  “Tell me why you love this so much.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “Are you bored?”

  He cocked his head. “Not even a little.” He stepped behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. “I want to see it through your eyes. Tell me why you love it,” he repeated.

  “Some say the Annunciation marked the transition from the Gothic period into the Renaissance. The spatial awareness Fra Angelico achieved is unlike any other iteration. Look at how ethereal they are. And Gabriel’s wings.” I sighed. “They are so magnificent. I wish I could paint like that.”

  “Do you? Paint that is?”

  I nodded. “You could call it that. I certainly don’t have a fraction of Fra Angelico’s talent. I dabble.”

  “What do you like to paint?”

  I stepped away from the fresco and walked in the direction of the libraries. “Right now I’m obsessed with painting Valentini. It seems everywhere I look, the view is more breathtaking than the last.” Oddly, this seemed to surprise Ben. “So far I’ve only done sketches.”

  “I’d love to see them.”

  “Why?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “They’re just sketches.”

  “So, why not show them to me, then?”

  I shook my head. “Too insecure, I suppose.”

  “I’d bet you are far more talented than you give yourself credit for.”

  I laughed. “Are you saying that in hopes I’ll agree to share a room at the pensione?”

  He grabbed my hand, jerked me against him, and kissed me. “That is me trying to get you to share my bed at the pensione.” He kissed me again. “Feel the difference?”

  I licked my lips. “I think so. Maybe you should do it again.”

  This time his kiss was chaste. “Where to next?”

  We wandered the Dominican convent, stopping every so often to admire something I liked or that Ben did. Each time, he stood behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders, telling me again that he wanted to see the work through my eyes. There’d never been anyone, outside of my professors, who were asking for a different reason, who’d cared about my opinion about much of anything—art in particular.

  Thanks to Pia’s graciousness in securing our reservation, Ben and I were able to enjoy parts of the convent that weren’t always open to the public. Because of this, I’d saved the Tabernaculum for last only because I could spend hours studying it. It wasn’t just one work of art; it was several.

  The rectangular marble frame, with a triang
ular top with a sculpted almond, depicted the Blessing of Christ and Cherubims, and was considered to be a masterpiece in its own right. Some said it housed a different work originally that was eventually replaced by Fra Angelica’s paintings.

  There were two shutter panels on the front of the Tabernaculum. On the external side were paintings of Mark the Evangelist and Saint Peter. Beneath those, on the altarpiece’s predella, was a triptych of Saint Peter Dictating the Gospel to Saint Mark, Adoration of the Magi, and Martyrdom of Saint Mark.

  The opened panels revealed John the Baptist and John the Evangelist in place of Mark and Peter, flanking the enthroned Virgin Mary and Jesus. Surrounding them were twelve angels, each playing a different musical instrument.

  From San Marco, we walked down to the Arno and stood on the iconic Ponte Vecchio, looking at the other bridges and tourists taking photos and shopping for jewelry.

  “It is even more breathtaking at dawn,” I murmured, remembering how I was the only one of the five of us who came out to admire it.

  “I look forward to seeing it,” said Ben, turning to me. “Thank you for allowing me to see not just San Marco but Florence through your eyes. I cannot imagine a better view.”

  Since we’d left Valentini, Ben was back to being flirtatious and sweet, and I was so relieved. I’d spent the last couple of years with people who, more often than not, seemed as though they didn’t like me very much. The last thing I wanted was someone else in my life who treated me the same way.

  “Do you have a favorite place for dinner in Florence?”

  I laughed. “There are far too many to choose from. What about you?”

  “I’m afraid my choice would be too turistico.”

  “I’m curious.”

  Ben smiled. “Maybe I should show you rather than tell you.”

  We walked for twenty minutes, from the Arno up Borgo Pinti. When Ben led me into the Four Seasons Hotel, I had to concur that some might consider its famed restaurant “touristy.” On the other hand, Il Palagio had garnered a Michelin star rating.

  “What do you think?” he asked.