Glittering Promises (37 page)

I looked back and saw the men, just a block away now—Nathan and the big man from the car—then back to the shopkeeper. “Help! They’re after me!”

I hoped my tone and the sight of the men pursuing me would leap our language barrier. Perhaps we could take refuge inside the store, place a call, if she had a phone…

She lifted a hand to my shoulder and glared at the men coming at us, her broomstick before her like a sword.
“Fermata proprio ora!”
she yelled at them.
“Problemi qui,”
she muttered to someone on the other side of the screened door, barely turning her head.

“Come, signora,” I said, desperately pulling her arm toward the door. “Come inside!”

But she remained where she stood, unwavering. Her dark brows lowered as the men pulled to a stop but steps away. I straightened my shoulders and stood slightly behind her. I didn’t doubt that these men would pluck me from my spot, but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

“It is all a misunderstanding,” Nathan said, lifting his hands, gesturing to me. The woman surely couldn’t comprehend his words any more than my own, but he was playing it as charmingly as possible. The role of the spurned boyfriend, or husband, perhaps.

She frowned and glanced back at me, probably wondering if she were entering a marital spat, but I shook my head. And the presence of the second man seemed to steel her resolve against them.

When a motorcar drove by at the end of the street, Nathan lost his patience, stepping toward me, but the woman lifted her broomstick and made a
tut-tut
sound.

He grunted, sneered, and then reached for his pistol. But just as he drew it out, the man came through the store screen door, a rifle in his hands.

He leveled it at Nathan’s temple, just inches away, and Nathan froze. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nathan said, lifting his hands, the pistol slack in his hand. The man behind him began to reach for his weapon, but the old woman again made her
tut-tut
sound and nodded toward the glass.

Directly behind the window was a teenaged boy, also holding a rifle.

I took my first breath in what seemed ages. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Nathan said.

“Was Pierre…somehow
in
on my kidnapping?”

Nathan looked away, clearly not wanting to say anything on the matter. But the fact that he didn’t immediately dismiss it told me all I needed to know. Pierre
was
in on it, somehow. How could he? How could he be a part of all this when he purported to love me? And to leave me behind… His only thought had to have been that I would end up…

Dead.

No other supposition made sense. I shook my head. His words of going for help were said only to placate me, give him time to exit. But he never intended…

“
Polizia
,” I said to the old woman. “I need to get to the
polizia
.”

~William~

They had driven for miles on the roads about the hill town, desperate to find any semblance of a clue as to where Cora and Pierre had been taken. But all they discovered was the police pushing a car back onto the road, and the kidnappers’ abandoned black motorcar. When they found it, and Cora’s hat discarded in the back, Will thought all was lost. A part of him wondered if he’d ever see Cora again, alive.

Desperate, they returned to Tivoli to meet with a whole roomful of police officers—clearly thrilled with a case of this magnitude—and to make a plan.

But the police’s plan was for them to stay put and let the police do their jobs.

The group had spent a large part of the afternoon and evening running back through their story, trying to summon patience as the officers took notes. Will paced, and paced, and paced some more. He was still pacing when a servant whispered in their host’s ear.

Signore Biotti gestured to him. “Come, William. There is a phone call.”

He hurried over to the man and tried to suppress his frustration as they lumbered through the doorway of one room to the next, making their way to their host’s office. Cora’s sisters and brother followed behind, hanging back as if they feared they were intruding but sensing what Will did—they might finally gain some word of Cora. Signore Biotti handed him the telephone. Will moved so the mouthpiece was close to his lips as he placed the earpiece up to his ear.

“
Buona sera. Ciao?
This is Will McCabe.”

“Mr. McCabe, this is Captain Giovanni Russo in Napoli,” said the man in Italian, his voice deep and raspy. “We have Signora Cora Diehl Kensington here.”

Will held his breath. “You do? Is she all right?”

The captain paused. “A bit worn from her ordeal, but she is all right, yes. A doctor is seeing to her now.”

Will felt the blood pool to his toes in relief. But fear sent prickles over his scalp and down his neck. “Please, Captain. Can you please make certain she is under armed guard at all times?”

The man let out a scoffing noise. “We are in a
police
station, signore. I assure you, there is no place more safe for the woman.”

“I know. But Signora Cora’s enemies…the men who kidnapped her—”

“Two of them are in our cells now. And the rest…I assure you that we have every available man on the hunt for them.”

They caught them? “Who? Whom do you have? Do you have Nathan Hawke?”

“Yes. Come, and we shall discuss it further in person.”

“
Grazie
,” Will breathed in relief. To have Nathan…“
Grazie mille
. We will be there as soon as possible.” He took down the address of the police station, and then he paused. “Captain, one more thing. You said you have Cora. But do you not have Pierre de Richelieu?”

“No,” he said. “Pierre de Richelieu…escaped, it seems. We are still searching for him. Come, and we will tell you all of it.”

“Right away. We’ll be there soon.”

They all hurried to their motorcars and made their way as fast as possible to Napoli, but the miles seemed to drag by. When at last they pulled into the police station, Will did not wait for the women—he ran inside, taking the steps two at a time. Madly, he looked about, hurrying past an inquiring secretary, down one hall and then another. At last, he saw her.

“Cora,” he said from the doorway.

“Will!” she cried, leaping up and running to him.

He pulled her close, stroking her hair, which was still wild and out of place but perfect. She was well; she was whole. And they were together. “Cora, how I feared for you! How those men managed to grab you—in the space of an instant—” He leaned back and shook his head. “I’m so sorry I could not protect you.”

“Will, no one could have protected me. Us,” she corrected, but then she looked to the side, appearing confused. “They were intent on taking us. And I believe they had help,” she whispered, looking up at him. “From inside our group.”

Will frowned. “One of Biotti’s guests?”

“No.” So beautiful, so earnest, she took his hand and stared into his eyes. “Will, I think Pierre was a part of it. Somehow,” she amended, as if she weren’t quite settled with her suspicions herself.

Will’s frown deepened. “P-Pierre?” he spit out. “But Nathan Hawke was caught and arrested, right?”

“Yes, but—”

The others found them then, surrounding them, hugging and giving kisses, the girls full of nervous chatter, the men shaking hands and clapping one another on the back as if they had personally been a part of bringing Cora here. The detectives had no doubt taken up position as Will had directed earlier—one at the back, one on each side of the building, and two at the front. If those who wished to do Cora further harm dared to come here now, they would die trying. Will had every man’s word on it.

With everyone asking her at once, Cora sat down and related what had transpired, which sent the girls to gasping and the men to grumbling. The longer she went on, the more Will admired this girl he so loved—her tenacity, her inner strength, her courage when all seemed so set against her. But there she was, holding something back, racing over what exactly had happened with Pierre, particularly at the end…

What on earth had he said, done, to make her suspect him so?

“And then the most unlikely angel appeared,” Cora said. “I had prayed for someone to help me, picturing a big, strapping man like our bear.” She smiled shyly up at Will, then turned her face back to the Kensingtons and Morgans. “But no. It was the shortest, fattest Italian
mamma
you’ve ever seen! I thought I was lost. But she did it. She saved me with nothing but a broom!”

“Truly?” Felix asked, arms folded. “Nothing but a broom?”

“Well, that and her husband and son pointing rifles at Nathan and his man,” she added reluctantly, and the others laughed in approval.

“You will pull that story out for years,” Hugh said, pointing at her in satisfaction. “Mark my words. People will beg to hear it, once the reporters get ahold of the story.”

Cora’s smile faded. “Always the reporters and their stories.” She sighed. “I think I wouldn’t resent it as much if they represented who we truly are. But there is only so much of us that can be placed in a column inch of newsprint.”

“Perhaps we should be grateful for such limitations,” Vivian said.

At that, Cora smiled and quickly agreed.

“Well, can we get you out of here?” Felix said, rising from his perch on the arm of the couch. “To someplace more comfortable for the night?”

Will nodded. “We’ll go to a hotel I know about. My men can easily guard it because it has few entrances and exits. And I myself,” he said, pointing to his chest and turning toward her, “will be sleeping at Cora’s door. No one shall disturb you this night.”

“But what about poor Pierre?” Lil asked. “What if he is still lost and looking for aid?”

“I don’t think he is lost,” Cora said softly, looking to the window.

“What?” Viv asked. “Do you know where he is?”

Cora shook her head. “But I think he is all right.”

The room was silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Will said quietly, “do you mind waiting for us out in the lobby for a minute? I just need a word with Cora alone.”

The others did as he asked, filing out, murmuring together. He closed the door and turned back to Cora, folding his arms. “So … tell me what you must.”

She swallowed hard and looked to the window again, then back to him. “Will, I need you to think about how it would be, if you were in a dangerous spot, alone against so many, with one other…”

It was his turn to swallow hard. But he managed to nod. He thought he understood what she meant. That it had made things more…intimate for a time with Pierre for her. It was made sense. She had to have been so frightened…

“He thought…when we escaped Hawke’s men for a time, when we’d made it to town…” She gathered herself and seemed to force herself to say the words. “He thought that I would be grateful. And I was, of course, but…”

“So, he…stole a kiss? Made an inappropriate assumption?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Cora, please,” he said. “This will be far less tortuous for me if you simply tell me what happened.”

“He said that now I could see him as I saw you. As a hero,” she rushed to say. “That
he and I
were as God-ordained as I had told him you and I were.”

He took a breath. “I see.”

She shoved away from the desk and walked a few paces, wrapping her good arm around her waist, and then turned to him. “But when I told him again, as I’ve kept repeating for days now, that I was yours, that I’d always been yours, he seemed…different. Angry.
Livid
, in fact. And utterly humiliated.”

Will didn’t know why this so surprised her. “That seems like a logical reaction. It’s a man’s response to—”

Cora shook her head. “He said he’d be a laughingstock. And then he seemed to turn away from me, inwardly. That’s the only way I can describe it. As if we’d been in a theater, and the curtain came down, and he was on the other side. He said he was going for help and left through the back door.”

“Perhaps he thought you were safe there, and he could find a policeman in time to—”

“He left me, Will. He pulled the door shut behind him, and he left me.” She walked over to him, and he put his arm around her, waiting for her to go on. “And then he whistled, as if giving a signal. A minute later, Hawke and his man were there.”

Will’s blood seemed to stop. “He
whistled
. You think he
intentionally
gave you up to Hawke?”

Cora turned fearful eyes up to him. And then she nodded.

“But why? He loves you! Why would he
do
such a thing?” Will asked. It made no sense.

“The only thing I can figure out,” she said, “is that when he knew he couldn’t have me, he decided he’d prefer me dead. I was dead to him in a way, already…”

“Dead?” Try as he might, it still seemed impossible. Pierre? Laughing, dancing, chatting Pierre? But then the last pegs seemed to slide into their holes. “Because it would allow him to preserve his reputation? Set the reporters on the story of your kidnapping and death versus his spurned pursuit?”

She nodded, looking guilty for her assumptions.

“What about Hawke? Has the captain interrogated him?”

“He’s with him now, I think,” Cora said.

Will stared into her eyes a moment. “Let’s go see if he’s made any progress.”

CHAPTER 35

~Cora~

Nathan Hawke was not talking to police or anyone when we left, nor the next morning when we stopped by the station again.

“He could simply be protecting himself,” Will said quietly as we departed.

“Or his employer,” I said. But after a night’s sleep, I doubted my wild thoughts, wondering if I was so collectively exhausted I was liable to see a wolf behind every door.

“Has anyone heard from or seen Pierre de Richelieu?” I asked the captain. Will translated our conversation.

“No,” the man said with a firm shake of his head. “Either Monsieur Richelieu is in hiding, or he is…indisposed. If he was still seeking assistance, he would be here by now.”