Learning to Trust (7 page)

Almost domesticated now
, Jon thought with a wry grin as he leaned against the wall of the college. It came as a surprise to Jon to discover that Lina had sorted out her life to this extent. She was so interested in the shelters, she was doing a night school course in social work.

His patois had increased, but his sojourns in the café at nights had also made him aware of an atmosphere, a tension that had not been immediately apparent. It underlaid everything and while most people were willing to drink and chat, others watched him warily. Probably because he’d managed to do with Lina what they had not. He even managed to avoid calling her by the name the society belles and paparazzi knew her as in New York. But she’d always be Bella to him. He’d fobbed off several inquiries about his mythical knockoff T-shirts and handbags. He kept telling them he was expecting a consignment soon.

He wanted to take her back home. He’d have to persuade her. What scared him was her ability to vanish. He’d gotten most of the details out of her, and he knew that what she’d done twice, she could do again. She had the nuns in Rome to help her, and he had no doubt she could do it on her own if she wanted to. He could wake up one morning and find her gone, with no trace left behind. Franco paid her in cash. That, plus her tips, probably went into a bank account under her own name, with a substantial amount secreted somewhere as an emergency stash. He knew too little about all this to be certain of following her again.

Every time she went out of his sight he felt on edge, worried about if and when he’d see her again. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to lose sight of her, but his first reason, that she was the only link between him and Byron, had gone now.

It wouldn’t be long before the coroner’s report was complete, the paperwork done and the cremation taken place. He’d informed his mother, who was arranging a memorial service for when they got home. Transporting a body, or the remains of one, took a great deal of paperwork, he’d discovered. And a fair bit of palm-greasing, too. Otherwise he’d still be here this time next year. But not in that little room. It was sauna-hot right now, and he’d bet in winter it could be bitterly cold, despite the heat from the café below. That she should come to this.

Not for much longer. Neither would he allow her to face anything alone. He’d sat back and watched her destroy herself once, longing to take her in hand, knowing she wouldn’t accept it, would probably hate him for the rest of her life. And then, that terrible night when Byron had told him he wanted her for himself. What could he do except watch?
Well no more
, he thought with a surge of anger. Something had driven her in those years. Sure now that she didn’t have the addict’s personality, one writ large in Byron, he knew something else must have driven her to chase oblivion.

She’d grown up. Time to face whatever it was but not alone. Not now.

He straightened when he saw her exchange a smile with a fellow student and wave goodbye as she sighted him. Strolling toward him she smiled, a light sparkling in her eyes, and he loved knowing he’d put it there.

What should have been a mournful journey of discovery had become a mutedly happy one instead. He’d said goodbye to Byron years ago, recognizing the downward spiral his brother would inevitably take. That hadn’t stopped him doing everything in his power to halt it, but after Byron went to Italy, they’d lost him. For good. So this visit established the formality before they could put the unhappy soul to rest. So far he’d felt hollow, a curious absence of feeling where Byron was concerned. He had to assume that meant his emotions were wrung out, gone.

Now he bent and gave her a kiss, which she responded to in a way that swept warm feelings through him. Not even sexual, not yet. He looked forward to sharing a meal with her, maybe treat them to a bottle of wine. Talk and laugh together.

Shit, this was bad. Worse, it felt good, natural. That worried him most. He had to persuade her to come home with him, but he’d never known her so settled, so happy. He was seriously considering relocating.

They walked hand in hand back through the narrow streets to the café, chatting about her classes and what they’d have to eat when they got back. She was on nights again this week. He enjoyed sitting at the tables with the locals, watching her as she worked, fended off advances, laughed with the regulars. He was even beginning to pick up a little Neapolitan.

The dim streetlights and the light flooding from the windows made the run-down café look almost cheerful with its faded and peeling blue paint. The dusty and litter-strewn street was a chunk of the Old World. It could almost be romantic. In fact, Jon realized with a shock, probably the most romantic moment of his life. So far. Maybe there’d be more to come.

Until a missile zipped past his ear and embedded itself in the plasterwork behind him with a
ping.

No cars were passing, no people nearby, but much as he’d like to ignore it, Jon knew exactly what it was. Without conscious thought, he bundled Lina to the ground and covered her with his body. She fought back, but he overwhelmed her and forced her back down. “Stay there.”

Immediately she subsided, but her heart hammered against his. She’d landed on her back, so if they needed to run he’d better drag her up fast. “Wait for a minute.”

He counted slowly until three minutes had passed with nothing further happening. They couldn’t stay here all night. “When I say go, get up and run straight inside the café. I’ll cover you.”

“What if it’s not me they’re after? What if it’s you?”

He’d hoped she wouldn’t think of that. “If you run fast, so will I. It’s our only chance. Otherwise whoever it is will pick us off when he’s refocused.”

“Or she.”

“Yeah.” This so wasn’t the time for political correctness, but yeah, women could shoot just as well as men. “On my mark. Ready?” She nodded. “One, two, three,
go!
”

As one, they stood and ran. He reached past her to shove open the door of the now ominously lit café. They stumbled inside, and fell to the neatly black-and-white-tiled floor.

Several heads turned in query, a few smiling as if they’d done something funny. Perhaps they had, but they were still alive.

Franco hurried up to them as they got to their feet, keeping close to the wall for any kind of protection. Jon wanted to get Lina upstairs and out of sight, so the delay annoyed him, but Franco stood in front of them, his bulky body partially concealing them, forcing him to pause. He kept a good hold of Lina, kept her to his left side, so his body blocked her, too.

Franco jabbered a string of words he didn’t understand, but pointed at Jon and then waved his hands around. If Jon wasn’t sweating with tension, the display would have amused him. As it was, it annoyed him.

“He says you must go.”

That jibed with what he was thinking. “Tell him to come upstairs.”

Lina answered and Franco nodded. At least Jon could understand that. After Franco gave the waitress serving at the bar some sharp orders, he gave a jerk of his head, indicating he was ready. Jon let Lina lead the way upstairs, keeping his body between hers and Franco. At this stage, he didn’t trust anybody.

When they got into her apartment, he crossed to the window, intending to draw the drapes, but Franco became agitated, his “No!” easy to understand.

“He says if you do that, they’ll know you’re up here. They could aim at the window blind.”

Jon swung around, careful to keep away from the window. That made sense, but something else didn’t. “How did he know someone just shot at us? Ask him, Lina.”

With Lina interpreting, he got the message clear enough. “The Colleghi paid me a visit this afternoon,” Franco told them, wringing his plump hands together. “They are not happy that a seller of fake goods has moved into their territory.”

Shit, that had been Jon’s cover story. He’d seen the sellers down by the harbor, selling everything from handbags and belts to electrical equipment. The idea had come to him, and it seemed like a good cover for his being here, explained why he’d turned up that first day in designer gear.

Fuck, he came from New York. He should have known someone owned the rights—someone working outside the law, or perhaps with its connivance.

Franco continued to give them the bad news. “They want you gone. If you go, they say they will leave us alone. I pay my protection and I haven’t had any trouble in the last ten years. I want it to stay that way. You have to go.” Even without Lina interpreting, he would have understood that last remark from the glare Franco gave him. “What they did tonight was a warning. If they had wanted to hit you, you’d be bleeding on the pavement.” Lina stopped and Jon hauled her close, feeling her shiver.

He sighed and leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “I’ll go. But I want you with me.”

“Will you be safe?”

He nodded, letting the silk of her hair caress him. “I gave a false name to the guys downstairs. I’ll go to a good hotel and give my real name, make use of the suit I’ve been hauling around. Make a fuss when I arrive. They won’t connect me with the American at the little café, if they inquire.”

“They’ll follow you.”

The answer came fast. “I can dump my luggage if I have to.”

“But that’s Louis Vuitton!”

Her gasped protest made him smile. She’d never have thought that way five years ago. “If it saves my life, it’ll have earned its money.”

She began to translate for Franco, who grinned and nodded. Jon wasn’t too happy she’d told him, but at least he didn’t hear his own name. By his own admission, the café owner was in touch with the Colleghi. “No, Lina. Don’t tell him.”

He spotted a spark in Franco’s eye. Suspicion rose in his mind. “You speak English, don’t you?”

Franco sighed and glanced away. “A little. Not much.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

He paused before he answered. “It is useful. And I speak—bad. Not many—words.” His vocabulary was poor. But Jon wouldn’t assume that he wasn’t lying this time. The bastard could be fluent, could have been listening to everything he and Lina said.

Franco spread his hands. “You go.”

Jon nodded. “I go. But Lina comes with me.”

He’d bet his company that the alarm he saw in Franco’s dark eyes wasn’t feigned. His eyes opened so wide Jon could see the whites above the dark irises. “They will follow for sure. Not safe.”

No, it wasn’t. Two people were far harder to conceal than one, but he didn’t want to leave her alone. “Will she be safe here?”

Without hesitation, Franco nodded and spoke in Italian once more. Lina translated. “He says he’s paid his dues so they won’t hurt us. All they want is for you to leave. They assumed I picked you up, and they want to see that I’m left behind. That will prove that you were a casual pickup.”

So that they could hold her hostage, no doubt. That would not happen, but he couldn’t see any way around leaving her here, at least temporarily. He spoke in English, but he watched Franco carefully as she translated. “I am not without influence. If any harm comes to Lina, I will ensure you personally suffer. Is that clear?”

That seemed to get the message across. Franco nodded, but Jon was pleased to observe the reassurances weren’t effusive. He wouldn’t have trusted that. “Okay, I’ll go. Lina, remember the hotel you recommended?” She nodded, but he was relieved when she didn’t say the name aloud. “I’ll go there. Follow me, you hear? If you don’t, I’ll come back. And if for some reason I can’t stay there, I’ll leave word at the desk for you. For—Cassie Francis.” Not her real name, not her assumed name. One he’d just made up.

“Okay. Just go.” He hated the way she looked, hesitant, afraid. He never wanted to see that look in her eyes again. And for that, for her, he’d go.

He pulled out his cell phone and hesitated, before shoving it back in his pocket. They could trace him. It’d have to go. Franco handed him his, a well-worn Samsung. He’d owned that model three years ago. Jon called the taxi firm that had taken him from the airport to his hotel his first night. They asked him to repeat the address, no doubt surprised to find him there. He obligingly repeated it.

By the time it arrived, he’d shoved some clothes in the sports bag and dragged the suit carrier out from the shelter of her little curtained closet. Shit, he hated this. Before he put his toilet bag away, he hesitated and glanced inside. Nothing he couldn’t afford to lose.

He grabbed five hundred euros from his wallet and shoved it inside. Then he gave the bag to Franco. “Give this to them. Show them. Say Lina became suspicious when I told her not to look inside. Then I said this was my stake. With any luck they’ll think I’m small potatoes, if all I had was this. Tell them she stole it from my luggage.”

Franco gave him a tight grin, and touched his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. “Good. I will tell them. I am sure this will help.”

Either that or the five hundred would help him to keep his mouth shut. Jon didn’t much care as long as it worked one way or the other.

A sharp blare of a car horn outside alerted him but he didn’t go to the window to discover if it was the taxi. It might not be. He wouldn’t tell Lina he could be riding to his death, but he knew enough to realize that if he called the police, they were all dead. The gangsters in this part of the world didn’t take prisoners. But they wouldn’t want to kill him if he obeyed them and cleared out. He was banking on it. This would have to work.

He dragged her close and took a kiss from her. She gasped and opened her mouth, even now so sweet he could have lost himself in her. If not for the danger to Lina, he’d never be doing this. Never leave her alone. But from what he understood, if he took her now they’d chase them both. Hunt them down. And he couldn’t protect her like he wanted to until he was safe. That he’d do. He drew away from her reluctantly to find that Franco had left them, probably to clear the way.

Her jaw trembled but her eyes remained steadily fixed on his. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“You’d better be.”

He left without looking back but couldn’t resist a glance up at her window as he climbed into the waiting taxi. To his relief she didn’t stand there and wave him off.