Forbidden Kiss (11 page)

“Rom, what are you doing?” The shakiness penetrated his thoughts.

Her eyes widened and fixed on the blade as she clutched the sheet to her breasts.

Rom looked down at himself and saw what she must see. A naked man with madness in his eyes, stalking her with a weapon.

“You mentioned before you knew this weapon,” he stopped midway across the room and balanced the dagger on an open palm. “I was hoping you might humor me in a little test.”

“What kind of test?” Caution colored her words.

“I want to measure the diameter of your scar against this dagger.”

“But I told you my scar is from a tree branch.” She pulled the sheet tighter.

“I know. But you also said you knew, intimately, this blade. I’d like to know how.”

Fringes of panic started to creep into her eyes. Her breathing increased and her chest rose and fell heavily against the sheet. A panic attack was just a breath away.

“I don’t know. I told you already.”

“Okay. Sorry.” He held up his empty hand and whipped the other with the dagger behind his back. Rom returned to the dresser and slid the dagger back into the drawer. It wouldn’t do him any good to terrify her or drive her away. Not when he’d finally found her.

He wanted to laugh, cry, or drop to his knees and pray for the first time in 600 years. Offer up a thank you to Lawrence who surely watched over them from the heavens.

“Are you all right?” Jule asked tentatively.

Rom glanced back, looking into her eyes, and saw his salvation.

“Yes. For once, I’m quite all right.”

He padded back across the room and slid back into the bed, pulling her to him. He held her, reveling in the feel of her skin next to his. The faint whisper of her breath against his neck. The drape of her hair over his chest.

Juliet. Juliet.

He must have slept because the clock tower woke him chiming the hour. It was almost midnight and time for them to go. He reached for Jule, but he found only cool, empty sheets.

He sat up and searched the room. She sat curled up in a corner chair near the balcony windows, shadows covering most of her face. “There you are. Come back to bed before we have to go,” he coaxed.

She didn’t move.

Her stillness disturbed him. “Jule?”

“Who is Juliet?” she asked in a tight voice.

Rom’s mind raced back across the last couple of hours. He
had
slept because his mind blanked out after he’d crawled back in bed with her. But no nightmares, thank God. Those typically woke him, violently.

“How did you hear that name?” Their roles reversed and Rom held back, cautious not to upset her. He couldn’t possibly tell her the whole story like this. He possessed immortality and she was his reincarnated wife from 600 years ago? She wouldn’t believe it. Christ, he wouldn’t believe it.

“From you. You shouted that name in your sleep.”

So he had dreamed. Of her.

“Is that your wife?” she asked.

“Was,” he started to get up, rubbing his forehead.

She made it as far as his side of the bed, heading for the door before he caught her, holding her tightly against his chest. “Let me explain.”

She squirmed around in his arms and faced him, fully dressed and obviously ready to leave.

“Jule, there is so much I need to tell you, about me. About us.”

She crossed her arms and looked toward the balcony, avoiding him. “We need to get going if we’re going to do this job tonight.”

“Jule, please.” He reached for her hand, ready to grovel if that’s what it took, but she stepped back. Rom didn’t follow, giving her the space she needed. “Please allow me an opportunity to explain. If not now, then when this is over.”

Her eyes shone with unshed tears when she finally turned to look at him. Her small frame shook with the effort not to cry and it nearly broke him. He smoothed the backs of his fingers down her cheek and stroked her chin.

“It’s not what you think. This whole thing is not what you think.”

“Well, that’s worse then. Because I thought we had something. A truce. An opportunity for something good.”

Her boots clicked softly on the ancient wood floor as she left the room. The front door shut seconds later and Rom raced to pull his clothes on.

She wasn’t going anywhere without him. Ever again. Secrets or no secrets.

Chapter Fourteen

Jule didn’t wait for Rom. He would follow of course, he was too gentlemanly not to, but she couldn’t simply stand there like a target and wait for him to shoot another arrow into her heart. She’d lost enough blood already.

The door from the courtyard latched closed behind her and Jule stepped out into the narrow street, crossing over into the dark shadows.

“Jule, wait.”

She heard his footsteps behind her.

“Jule.” He caught her arm, stopping her as she rounded the corner to cross the river. She looked straight up into his dark, dark eyes and glimpsed pain.

“Look. I’m sorry I screwed things up,” she said. “We should have kept this professional. I asked for your help and I’m grateful you’re here. But let’s not talk about what happened tonight. Okay?”

His hand lingered on her shoulder and Jule, heaven help her, took comfort from its penetrating warmth.

He opened his mouth, but Jule cut him off and pulled out from under his hand.

“Tell me what I need to do. I want to get this done and find out if we’re on the right track or if I just need to hang it up and go home to—” She’d almost said go home to Pio.

His gaze searched her face for several seconds. She couldn’t read his thoughts, couldn’t tell if he hurt as much as she, but he came to some internal decision and let the moment go.

“We’ll be going underground. There’s a network of tunnels that run under the palazzo to a number of nearby buildings. That’s our way in.”

Jule kept up with his pace, refusing to dwell on the feel of her hand wrapped in his.

“How do you know about these tunnels?”

“I know the city well.”

He didn’t stop walking, but Jule noticed a new tension that ticked a muscle in his jaw.

“How will we be able to get inside this tunnel? You have a key?”

Rom glanced down at her as they gained the top of the bridge and the sound of the river washed over them. If Jule weren’t in such a lousy mood, she would have stopped to take in the beauty of the Adige on such a clear night.

“I know where to find one.”

And he did.

A few minutes later, Jule stood inside the darkest hole on the planet. Or at least in Verona.

As they had approached what appeared to be a dead end to an alley a block from the palazzo, Rom had walked straight up to the back wall of the Santa Maria Antica church and pulled on several bricks until a mortar joint gave way and an ancient skeleton key popped out.

While she stood speechless and gaping, he trotted down several steps to an even older looking door and inserted the key into the lock. Viola. Tunnel access.

“I’d love to ask how you knew about the secret key, but I know it’d be a waste of time. Suffice to say, I’m impressed, Montgomery.”

She got an unreadable look for her statement.

She wouldn’t have believed it, but here she stood now, pressed against Rom’s broad back, groping the darkness for a sign they weren’t about to drop off the edge of the world and into the abyss.

“Do you know where you’re going?” she whispered to his back.

“Yes. Hang on to me. The tunnel slopes down soon and it may be slick from river seepage. At least it used to be.” He mumbled the last bit, as if talking more to himself than her.

Jule refrained from wrapping her arms around his waist and instead grasped his belt. Her hand bumped the dagger at his back and she nearly shouted at the feel of the hilt against her hand.

So warm. So familiar. And deadly.

He must have felt her stiffen because he stopped abruptly and Jule bumped her nose against his back.

“Shit. Sorry,” he said and reached behind him, removing the blade as Jule reared back.
With the knife tucked away somewhere else, God hoping somewhere where she wouldn’t encounter it again, he continued walking, clicking a flashlight on as he went.

Jule held on to the back of his jacket, far away from the knife and the lure of his body heat.

The tunnel was amazingly sophisticated from what she could see by flashlight. Neat and tidy rows of old brick ran straight up from the floor of the tunnel to round out the arched ceiling. The patina of age made the brick and mortar seem mellow in the yellow glow of the flashlight, and every so often Jule spied an arched cutout in the brick, as if made for a window.

But they were empty, looking out to nowhere. Empty sconces lined the walls and Jule wondered what year saw the last candle lit here in this tunnel under the city?

“How old is this tunnel?” she asked, awed by the engineering.

“The Romans built it the same time they built the arena. 30 A.D.”

After what seemed like miles, the tunnel sloped downward and the temperature dropped further. If it weren’t so dark, Jule knew she’d be able to see her breath in the chilly air.

They walked in silence for probably fifteen minutes, Rom never once stopping or losing his sense of direction. When he did finally slow, he reached out once again to the brick wall and pried at the bricks. This time the key lay hidden above the door and Rom had a tougher time loosening the hidey hole.

Several minutes later, he still didn’t have it. He stopped groping the wall. Rom growled and whipped back to the door. His dagger appeared from under his coat and he plunged it into the mortar joint at the edge of the doorframe.

Several more heavy thrusts and the mortar gave way and a second key spilled into Rom’s outstretched hand.

“Amazing,” Jule said, holding the flashlight so he could see. “I feel like I’m hanging out with Indiana Jones. Except I’m the ditzy sidekick brunette who gets into trouble.” Rom scowled at the comparison, which triggered a giggle from Jule. “What? You don’t like being compared to Harrison Ford, or the thought of me getting you into trouble?”

“I don’t like the idea of you being in danger.”

Well, that killed her indignant mood.

The second tunnel door didn’t open as easily as the first and Rom pushed it with his shoulder until it gave.

“Turn the light off,” he whispered as fresh air spilled into the tunnel from above.

Jule doused the light and for several seconds she was dipped into blinding darkness. When her eyes finally adjusted, she could just make out Rom’s silhouette framed against the shorter doorway.

He lowered his head and reached behind him, once again seizing her hand in his larger one. He led the way up a steep set of old stairs, keeping Jule from tripping more than once.

At the top they stopped so Rom could look around. Night draped the interior in subtle shades of dark, and the windows near the ceiling were shuttered from the outside. The only light came from random slivers of moonlight spilling from above.

“We should be fine. The electricity is off, which means any surveillance is also offline. We just need to keep it quiet and take it slow. I don’t think there are any guards stationed inside, but that doesn’t mean the locals aren’t keeping an eye on the place.”

Jule nodded and followed him into the center of the room.

“Once we’re off the main gallery, you can turn the light back on, but keep it low and pointed at the floor.”

He turned right off the main room and headed down a hall to the back of the palazzo. They passed several rooms with doors standing ajar. Jule noted art and furniture as she passed, but Rom never slowed. He knew where to go.

Which was good, right? Because Jule didn’t have a clue. She would have wasted time looking into each room and going over any little piece of canvas and oil that presented itself.

As they approached a closed set of double doors at the end of the hall, Jule smelled…incense? A family chapel?

“Turn the light off for a minute.”

She did and Rom opened the left door with a soft click.

Yep. Definitely incense and oiled wood. Which meant pews and altars.

They were going to find the paintings in a family chapel?

“Why do you think they’re in here?” She whispered.

“A hunch,” he replied over her shoulder.

“Oh.”

He moved into the room and Jule followed closely behind. Her footsteps echoed off a distant ceiling and the chill sent goosebumps racing down her arms.

Marble. She was in the presence of a great deal of marble.

“Turn the light back on. I don’t want you to trip over any furniture.”

The first thing she noticed as she flipped the flashlight on was the checkerboard marble floor. Moving the beam higher, she saw the large columns running along the sides of the nave leading directly into the large chapel at the end. Two additional chapels scooped out the front sides of the long and narrow room.

Rom headed for the chapel on the left.

Jule watched him go, suddenly afraid of what they’d find. And if they found the paintings, what then? Would Rom just let her walk away with the discovery or did he have some other agenda?

“Jule. The light,” he said from somewhere ahead of her.

She caught up as he moved into the shallow chapel. He took the light and shone it over the altar and beyond to the frescos on the wall.

Iconographic images filled the space from floor to ceiling. Virgin Mary. Christ. The Apostles. But nothing that fit her series. The paintings here were newer, maybe by as much as two hundred years.

Rom moved away through the pews to the flanking chapel with Jule right behind him. He stopped inside the low wooden rails that separated the chapel from the larger nave and again shone the light over the walls.

Something caught her eye on the gilded altar below the frescos.

“Drop the light down, Rom. The altar.” She pointed to the wooden dais spanning the interior.

The light revealed an old and scarred altarpiece with considerable damage to the middle and the ends. But what she saw in between the damage had her dropping to her knees.

Her Anonymous. She’d found him.

Jule closed her eyes for a moment and offered up a silent thank you.

Returning her focus to the altar, she noted it had been designed for nine separate panels. The first and last were missing, but Jule knew the subject of those as one was in Rom’s possession and the other at the Institute.Four remained.

The second image in the series appeared at a quick glance to be a celebration or a feast with dancing and revelry. The third a ceremony—possibly a wedding?—set against a stormy sky. And the fourth—

Rom pulled the light back and dropped the beam to the floor.

“Why’d you do that? We found it, you know. I want to see.” She waited for him to apologize and readjust the light, but he didn’t.

“Rom, I want to see. Shine the light back on the altar.” She couldn’t make out his expression in the dark although tension poured off him, making her increasingly nervous.

Afraid, she stood and moved next to him. “What is it? Did you hear something?”

“No. No one is coming.”

“Then what? You’re scaring me.” She grabbed his arm, pulling him to face her.

He shone the light back on the altar and the fourth painting. Jule moved closer to examine the woman in the portrait, feeling a niggling feeling of recognition creeping over her.

When she stood less than two feet away, she pitched forward and grabbed the edge of the altar, sinking to her knees for the second time in as many minutes.

The face staring out at her from the portrait was her own.

…

“The bastard.” Rom couldn’t believe what he saw. The modern day Jule captured in a fifteenth century painting.

How had Lawrence known?

“Who?” Jule questioned, her voice low and shaky.

“Lawrence. The friar who painted the bloody thing.”

Jule turned from the altar, her eyes wide in the light.

“You know who painted these?” Her face had lost a lot of its color and looked pale and cold like the marble in the shadowy chapel.

“Knew. He’s long dead. Thankfully for him.”

She didn’t react, just stared in shock.

Rom joined her at the base of the altar, running a hand over her hair to curl around her neck. He needed to touch her. Reassure himself she was still there. Still his.

“Jule? Are you okay?”

“Sure.” She didn’t push his hand away or strike him with sarcasm. Her acquiesce meant she was anything but fine.

“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

She took the flashlight from his hand and shone it on the altar. “Find out what?” she said absently.

“Jule. Look at me.” He wanted to see her eyes.

She ignored him, fixing her attention on the portrait.

He turned her chin towards him and waited until her eyes met his.

“Take your hand off my fiancée,” came a voice out of the back of the chapel.

Rom shot to his feet, protecting Jule with his body.

She raked the light against the last row of pews.

Pio Mascaro stood to the side of the last marble column near the entrance. A manic smile stretched his lips thin.

He’d been watching them. But for how long?

Long enough for him to fix a gun on Rom’s chest. Little good it would do him, but Jule could be hurt.

“Pio!” Jule jumped to her feet as well and came to stand beside Rom. “What are you doing here?”

“Protecting you, of course,” he said paternally, his voice softening a degree for her.

Rom felt his blood begin to boil.
Fianc
é
e?

“Jule. You were expressly told to stay away from this man. And here I find you with him. Despite the warnings I gave you about his lies and false identity,” Mascaro said in a disapproving tone.

Jule went stiff beside him. So Mascaro had been the one to tell her.

Rom tried to push her behind him, but she moved away.

“It’s not what you think. We’re cooperating on…” Jule paused, but her voice stayed strong and sure, “a research project. He has expertise I need.”

“Breaking and entering?” Mascaro sneered at Rom and clicked the safety off the gun.

“That’s enough, Mascaro. What do you want?” Rom growled, throwing out a hand to keep Jule from moving anywhere but right next to him.

“To claim what’s mine.”

“You can’t mean Jule because she doesn’t belong to you.”

Jule tried to squirm free from Rom’s hand, but he held tight. “I don’t belong to anybody.” The shock from earlier had been replaced by anger.