Why her first thought was of David and not her twin she could not say. What she did know was that the idea of never seeing David again tore at her heart with razor-sharp tiger claws.
And where was her sister? Without Maddie to look after her, track her down and save her, what would happen to her? Maybe she could trust David to take care of Cassie when she was gone?
No. She couldn’t depend on that. She’d never been able to depend on anyone except herself. She had to get out of this mess. Had to save her sister.
But she was in serious trouble. No one knew where she was. When David returned to the hotel to find her gone, he would have no idea what had happened to her. No clue where to look for her body.
Cassie had to do something. David had gone to save Maddie. She paused a second to savor that image. For once in her life Maddie was the rescuee instead of the rescuer. But with David in hot pursuit of Blanco, there was no one to stop Shriver. No one except herself.
But how?
She was at least thirty minutes away from the Hotel Vivaldi and what was she going to do when she got there anyway? Shriver had hired security guards and he wasn’t dumb enough to let her fool him again. If she went to the police, they would probably arrest her as a fugitive.
She’d exhausted her charm and her luck.
The jig was up.
That is, unless she invented something completely creative.
Think. How could she marshal a squadron of police to the Vivaldi pronto?
Think, think, think. Quick, quick, quick.
Then inspiration struck.
She hurried to the phone and called the police. The dispatcher answered in Italian. Cassie asked for someone who spoke English. After a wait that seemed agonizingly long but was probably only about three minutes, a man with a sexy sounding voice came on the line.
“This is Dominic Salveto. I speak English.”
Cassie swallowed hard and forced herself not to flirt. This was serious business. She couldn’t let herself get side-tracked by sex appeal.
“Dominic,” she said sternly and then lied through her teeth. “There’s a bomb in the Rialto room of the Hotel Vivaldi and it’s set to go off in fifteen minutes!”
David zipped through the Grand Canal in a borrowed police boat. Blanco had a good ten-minute lead on him and he could only pray his suspicion that the thug was headed out to sea was a correct one.
If the bastard so much as breathed germs on Maddie and gave her a cold, David would hunt him down and squash him like the cockroach he was. The vivid intensity of his bloodlust took him aback, but he couldn’t help his feelings. His gut squeezed, his head churned, his heart thundered with fear and concern and something much, much more.
At this point, right and wrong didn’t exist. All that mattered was Maddie.
You should never have left her alone in the hotel room. If you’d stayed you would have made love to her and you know it.
And she would be safe in your arms at this very moment.
But he hadn’t stayed. He’d let both his fear of emotional intimacy and his almost maniacal need to capture Shriver, drive him away from her.
Just when she needed him most.
He picked up a pair of police issue binoculars, brought them to his eyes and scanned the horizon. Straight ahead of him several boats bobbed together in the distance, most of them in a cluster.
Blanco would shy away from witnesses or potential rescuers. David swung the glasses to the right, saw two or three boats motoring along in that direction. He looked left. Only one boat over there.
Knowing he was taking a calculated risk by changing his course, knowing Maddie’s very life lay in his hands, David headed north, following his gut.
“Hang on, Maddie, I’m coming,” he said aloud, refusing to believe he was on a wild goose chase. This was the right direction. It had to be. He was going to rescue her.
Unless she was already dead.
TWENTY-THREE
B
LANCO WASN’T BUYING
her art forgery story, even though Maddie kept bargaining, elaborately embellishing the lie.
“What kind of idiot do you take me for?” he snapped.
A big one, she hoped. Maddie batted her eyelashes at him. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
“Then you must be as big an airhead as Shriver says you are.”
“He called me an airhead?”
“He said killing you would be easy because you’re too much of an airhead to even see it coming.”
Maddie was insulted on Cassie’s behalf. “Like you and Shriver are nuclear scientists. For your information, you don’t even have the right woman.”
Blanco narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Weren’t you supposed to go to a hotel and find me chained to a toilet?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why do you suppose you captured me out on the street?”
“Because you got loose. Peyton’s notoriously terrible at tying people up. He’s not too good at anything that messes up his manicure.”
“No. That’s not the reason. It’s because I’m not Cassie.” She shifted uncomfortably. The only thing between her bottom and the hard wooden bench was one thin layer of bedsheet.
“Okay, I’ll play along. Who are you?”
“I’m her identical twin, Maddie. Kill me, you kill the wrong sister and Shriver will be highly ticked off at you.”
“Your forged painting story was more plausible,” he said. “I’d stick with that one if I were you.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Not for a minute.”
“Okay, it’s your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. When you get back to Venice and find Cassie got free and called the cops, you’re going to feel really stupid.”
“Blah, blah, blah.”
“You were with my sister when you forced her to rob the Prado. Can’t you tell she’s twenty pounds heavier and soft as a marshmallow?” Maddie flexed a bicep. “You’re saying you can’t tell a difference?”
Blanco glanced at her muscle. “Well, Miss Smarty Pants, if you’re not Cassie, then how do you know I was the one who robbed the Prado? The news media is blaming Shriver. And you. Nobody’s even mentioned my name.”
“What was that all about, anyway?” Maddie asked. “What’s going on with you and Shriver? How come sometimes you’re working together and sometimes you’re fighting each other?”
“It’s complicated. Besides, you already know the answer.”
“No I don’t.”
“Hmph.”
“What’s so complicated about your relationship with Shriver? You guys gay or something?”
“No!” Blanco scowled. “He’s my half-brother. We got the same old man. Except he was married to Peyton’s mama but not mine.”
Ah. Sibling rivalry. That explained a lot. She could tell Blanco resented his brother’s legitimacy. “So what happened between you two?”
“Jerome Levy paid Peyton and me to heist the Cézanne from the Kimbell for a high-powered collector. Except Peyton got a better offer from Cory Philpot. He had the hots for you and was thinking of quitting the business, so he double-crossed me.”
“That was rude.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, I understand completely about thoughtless siblings,” she said, still frantically trying to figure a way out of her predicament.
“To get even with him, I horned in on his deal with you at the Prado. I figured I’d steal the El Greco out from under him and we’d be even.”
“When did you guys kiss and make up?”
“When Peyton found out you were still working with the Feds and he knew he was going to have to get rid of you.” Blanco’s lip curled in a snarl. “Pretty Boy doesn’t have the guts to do his own dirty work so he calls me and says he’ll cut me in for half on this auction deal if I do away with you.”
“What auction deal?”
“Stop playing ignorant. You’re getting on my nerves with that.” Blanco waved the gun in her face. “Shut up.”
He stared out over the bow of the boat. Maddie turned in her seat to see what he was looking at. Up ahead loomed a small island with what appeared to be a crumbling, abandoned monastery.
Uh-oh. This looked like the place where he planned to put a bullet between her eyes and stash her in a shallow grave.
Over my dead body.
Well, yeah, Maddie, that’s sort of the general idea.
Blanco killed the motor and slowly beached the boat on a pebbly shoal. The gravel grated against the hull and the air hung thick with the odor of dead fish. Maddie tasted the coppery flavor of her own fear.
Don’t panic. Stay calm. No worst case scenarios. She was living a worst case scenario. No need to obsess about one.
She wondered how much time had passed since Blanco had abducted her and if David had gotten back to the hotel yet. She imagined his rugged handsome face, drawn with concern and her eyes misted with tears.
Would she ever see him again?
A deep longing filled her heart. The longing for all the things she’d missed out on. The feeling was so intense she lost her breath. She felt a monumental stirring inside her, a sharp shift, a cagey change. She wanted so badly to live, to see how things turned out between her and David.
Face facts. There’s not much hope of that.
“Get out of the boat,” Blanco commanded.
“Screw you,” she said, not to Blanco, but to the nagging, worrisome voice that had dogged her for years. The doom and gloom voice that kept her from taking a chance on life, on intimacy, on love.
“Get out,” he repeated, cocking the gun and for one dizzying moment she thought he meant to shoot her right then and there and leave her body floating in the sea.
But then he swung one leg over the edge of the boat and stepped out onto the wet rocks. She shivered, the damp chill invading her bones.
“Move it,” Blanco said. “And no more smart-mouthed backtalk.”
Stumbling a bit, she managed to climb onto shore in front of him, even though having her hands bound threw her off balance. She had to think of some way to stall him until she could come up with a plan to save her life.
“Walk.”
“Which way?”
“Toward the monastery.”
Nice. He was going to murder her in a church. Obviously, he wasn’t Catholic. Neither was she, but there had to be some rule against killing someone in a place of worship.
Maddie decided to balk. She stood her ground, refusing to move.
“Get going,” Blanco growled and pushed the gun against the back of her head. She smelled the ominous scent of gunpowder.
An odd serenity stole over her and Maddie realized Blanco could do whatever he wanted to her and it didn’t matter. The sudden stilling of her fretful voice was liberating.
“I’m not moving,” she said calmly and turned to face him.
The end of the gun was pointed straight at her nose but she didn’t flinch. Blanco looked confused.
“I’ve got a gun,” he said unnecessarily.
“So I see.”
“I’ll shoot you if you don’t move.”
“Go ahead. You’re going to shoot me anyway. What difference does it make?”
“I want to keep you out of sight. In case a plane is flying over or sumthin’.”
“Sorry. I’m not going to make it easy for you.”
He growled. “Go!”
“No.”
Blanco gritted his teeth. “I’ve met stubborn women before, but none as stubborn as you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as criticism.”
She shrugged.
“March!” He howled.
She shook her head.
Blanco cocked the gun.
Maddie stood her ground. She didn’t even blink. She had no idea what weird mental Valium her body had defensively churned into her brain, but she was not afraid.
All these years she’d spent worrying and fretting and agonizing over every small hazard, every tiny danger, every minuscule risk. For what?
“You’re not her, are you?” Amazed, Blanco stared open-mouthed. “You
are
the twin sister.”
“I tried to tell you.”
“Shit!” He stamped his foot. “Shit, shit, shit. Peyton is going to have a fit.”
Just then, the sound of a speedboat tearing through the water at full throttle drew their attention to the water.
Maddie was already facing that direction, her bound hands clasped in front of her, but Blanco had to turn to see what was happening.
The sight of the blue and white police boat raised her spirits. Was that . . . ? Could it be . . . ? She squinted. David at the controls?
When the going gets tough, men take off.
But not David. There was her man bigger than life, coming to her rescue.
Maddie’s heart soared.
But only for a fraction of a second. Blanco swung the gun around.
“David! Look out! He’s got a gun!”
Blanco got off a shot at the same time David hit the deck. He ducked his head and rolled to the back of the boat.
Oh God! She thought Blanco had missed but she couldn’t be sure. Please let David be okay.
Blanco fired again.
David jumped overboard, disappearing under the water’s surface.
The water was ice cold. He would get hypothermia in a matter of minutes. She had to dispatch Blanco’s gun. Now.
The time for calm passivity had passed. Blanco could shoot her if he wanted, but she’d be damned if she would let him hurt the man she loved.
Maddie whooped a loud war cry and with a well-aimed kick, sent Blanco’s gun jettisoning to the bottom of the Lagoon.
David popped to the surface of the icy water, his lungs crying for air. Salt water burned his eyes. He blinked, trying to locate Maddie and Blanco on the beach.
The boat blocked his vision. He couldn’t see them, but the shooting had stopped. Why? Where were they? He heard his own raspy breathing as harsh and loud as a ticking clock.
His feet touched bottom. He slogged ashore, crouching low, attempting to stay down in case Blanco was waiting in ambush.
He crept around the edge of the motorboat and cautiously raised his head. He spied Blanco dragging Maddie by the neck in a macabre dance, heading for the aged monastery. Beside the monastery, at the very edge of the water on the opposite side of the island loomed a crumbling campanile.
The minute he saw the bell tower, David knew what Blanco intended.