Shadowed by Grace (36 page)

It was past time to confront the man. Tyler was up to something.

Scott eased toward the door. Tried to squeeze through the opening.

Instead, his shoulder brushed into the door, and the door groaned.

“What the . . . ?” Tyler’s startled words were followed by a growl. “Scott. Mr. Goody Two-shoes. Mr. I’m-Here-to-Save-the- Art-World.” The man pushed his weight into the door, squeezing Scott between the door and the frame.

Scott huffed and pushed back.

“I’m not letting you in.”

The man must not understand that throwing a challenge like that made Scott more determined to get inside. He shoved against the door.

Tyler grunted and the door shifted.

It wasn’t enough.

If he couldn’t force Tyler to move, Scott would never get in the room.

One.

Two.

Three.

He shoved against the door with everything in him.

The door shifted.

He thrust his full weight against the door.

The door flung open.

Tyler must have moved.

Scott lowered into a stance he’d seen boxers use when preparing to absorb blows.

In the middle of the floor, a trapdoor was pulled up revealing a gaping hole. Could that be a former well? The next moment Tyler launched at him. Scott fought to stay on his feet as Tyler’s head connected with his stomach. Air whooshed from Scott’s lungs.

His feet grappled across the floor, fighting for purchase, as Tyler pushed.

“I am tired of you and your superiority.” Tyler spit out the words through gritted teeth. “You’re not the only one with an art degree.”

Tyler pushed harder, and Scott felt himself falling. He had to stop this movement. But he couldn’t breathe. “What?”

“You underestimated me. I took a painting here. Another there.” The man grimaced as Scott swung an elbow into his gut.

“Why?”

“I’m not returning home without a retirement plan. If I have to be here, I can take care of myself.”

Scott’s heel caught on a dip and he lost his balance, falling to the ground.

The action threw Tyler off balance and he staggered. Scott thrust a foot out and tripped Tyler. The man landed with an
ooff
. He groaned as Scott struggled to his feet.

Scott’s gaze searched the room.

He had to find something to disable Tyler long enough to get help.

Nothing.

There was nothing he could use.

“Why here?” Scott panted as Tyler stood.

“Remember that summer of mine in Italy? I played in here. This was my place, one everyone else forgot. The cellar is the perfect place to hide things. No one else will find it. I’ll return after the war and collect my reward. As long as your girl doesn’t do more exploring.”

Red clouded Scott’s vision at the thought Tyler would harm Rachel.

Tyler moved, lumbering like a bear. An angry bear based on the fire in his eyes.

Scott pulled air into his shaky lungs and settled back into the boxer’s stance. It hadn’t worked so well before, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Tyler’s lips curled into a snarl, and he launched at Scott.

In the moment he had to respond, Scott threw himself to the side. He kicked out again. Tyler stumbled and fell into the upright door.

His head caught the corner, and he slumped to the floor.

Scott approached with caution. When Tyler didn’t move again, Scott leaned over him and felt for a pulse. He kept breathing but didn’t stir.

A soldier edged into the building. “What’s going on?”

“Do you have any military police here?”

“No, sir.”

Scott blew out a breath. “Then go get somebody to help. I need to see what’s down there.”

The soldier eyed him uncertainly. Scott struggled to stand as upright as he could with his screaming ribs.

“Private Salmon attacked me and told me he’s stolen and stashed something there. I need someone to make sure the private doesn’t escape.”

Rachel dipped the bread into the soup and felt warmed. The broth was rich, and she was grateful for something fresh that wasn’t army fare. As she ate, she could feel the cook’s gaze on her. The small woman had an intensity about her that drew Rachel’s attention.

She pushed the bowl back and smiled. “That was good. Grazie.”

The woman nodded. “You are her.”

The broken English surprised and delighted Rachel. “Her?”

“She stole heart.” The woman looked away and frowned. A moment later she seemed to find the word. “Beautiful.”

Rachel stared at the woman, mystified. “My mother?”

“Mel-a-nie.” Each syllable acquired a musical tone as she strung them out. “Renaldo.” She shrugged. “He change.”

“How?”

“He loved Mel-a-nie. More than others.”

“Momma loved him too. So much she never married.”

“Renaldo has wife.”

Rachel’s heart quivered at the thought. She’d imagined her father as in love with her momma as she adored him. It was impossible to think their love had been unrequited on both sides, but it had somehow made the separation bearable. Now she sat across the table from her aunt, a woman who knew her father and seemed willing to talk.

Slowly she pulled details from the cook. The man was an artist of growing fame. Occasionally he would speak of Melanie and their year together, but family pressure had dictated he marry a woman from the right Italian family. He had been content. Then the war came.

“All so difficult.”

In the struggle to survive, he’d taken a post with the government. Assistant art superintendent.

“Why bring his art here?”

“Safe. Protected.” The woman puckered her lips and rubbed her forehead. “Is okay.”

Rachel nodded. “Can you tell me where he is in Florence?”

The woman shrugged. “Always moving.” She gestured in the air as if writing. “Make list.”

“Thank you.” Rachel stood. Should she hug the woman? She didn’t feel like family really, but the woman had accepted Rachel wasn’t a spirit. That was an improvement.

In the end the woman decided for her by turning around and sticking her hands in dishwater. Rachel slipped into the courtyard, mind spinning. Her father worked with the German Kunstschutz in Florence. Maybe he had no choice, but the thought made her a little sick to her stomach. Yet he’d kept much of the art safe here.

Rachel glanced at the twilight settling over the courtyard’s activity. Scott hadn’t come back yet, which worried her. She’d expected him to return after he found Tyler.

The families had settled in, and she paused when a sweet Italian ballad reached her. The haunting melody sounded like a benediction over those assembled in their makeshift shelters under the sky. The last note of the song rose to the sky, and she stirred. She’d never find Scott standing here. She walked from the courtyard toward the area surrounding the castle. As the stars twinkled overhead, she imagined what it would be like to walk across the fields hand in hand with the man she loved. A line from her momma’s diary returned to her.

Tonight he took me to see the stars.

If the sky had been like this one, she could understand how her momma was swept away in the passion of the moment.
Protect my heart, God. I don’t want to repeat my momma’s mistakes.

A muffled scuffle pulled her toward the well house. A subdued curse carried on the evening air; then she heard silence. That didn’t sound good. A soldier hurried away from the structure. What if Scott was in there? She couldn’t leave him.

The door stood open, and a form stretched across the front. A sound rustled beneath a hole that gaped in the floor. “Scott?”

The rustling stopped, but the form stirred and reached for a pistol stuck in the back of his pants. Tyler? There was only one person she could think of he would fight.

She couldn’t stand by and watch him shoot Scott.

She scanned the ground. She needed something she could use as a weapon. Something that would make Tyler believe she could hurt him.

“Come on.” The whispered words slipped out. She couldn’t see anything useful. A rock. A board. Anything would work. There had to be something.

Her limbs trembled at the thought she would lose someone she loved if something happened to Scott. In that moment she was confronted by the truth that she wanted more than friendship with Scott. Much, much more. She wanted him to be the man she could build the rest of her life with.

There!

She spied a rock. She hefted it in her hand, the weight heavy, but the heavier the better.

“I’ve had enough of your interference, Lindstrom.” Tyler stood to his feet, gun held unflinching in front of him.

“You don’t want to do anything drastic.” Scott’s voice sounded hollow as it rose from below. “If something happens to me, they’ll hunt you down.”

“No, they won’t. I’ll leave you there with the art. You’ll disappear, and they’ll assume you wandered off and got killed. Especially when I bring them the sob story about you taking the jeep and heading to Florence alone. Too bad a shell got you. Left nothing to collect and send home. Another man destroyed by this war.”

Rachel eased closer as he blabbered on. The man was so sure of himself, he never noticed. She cocked her arm and threw the rock at his head.

The rock bounced off. He growled and spun on her. “You.” He grabbed her arm. “You couldn’t leave this alone, could you?”

She whimpered against the pain.

“You just became my insurance.” He pointed the gun at her. “Come after me, Lindstrom, and I’ll kill her.”

Scott caught her eye and mouthed a message.
I will find you. I won’t let him hurt you.

She struggled against Tyler, tried to find his face, scratched, twisted, kicked.

Tyler cursed yet pulled her toward the jeep.

Somebody had to help her. She screamed and thrashed, but the refugees slipped into the shadows. “Help me!”

Tears poured down her cheeks as she realized no one was coming unless Scott did. Still she fought.

She wouldn’t give up.

Not now.

Chapter 33

SCOTT GATHERED HIMSELF. PAIN
coursed through his ribs, and his lungs still refused to grab and hold a full breath, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t let Tyler hurt Rachel.

Stealth was impossible. At any moment Tyler would get her in the jeep and carry her out of range. Then anything could happen, and he might never see Rachel again. A wave of anger surged through him. He couldn’t let that happen. He would fight for her, and he would win. The alternative . . . wasn’t an option.

When he got outside, he saw Rachel twisting and screaming. She couldn’t fight harder if she tried. She placed a solid elbow into his side, but Tyler twisted her arm ferociously.

Scott clenched his fist and picked up speed. There weren’t many places to hide. So he’d replace stealth with speed.
God, I need an idea.
Tyler had a gun and he didn’t.

He worked his way until he was about ten feet behind them.

Tyler spun around, hand clamped around Rachel’s arm. “You’re as stealthy as a herd of buffalo.”

“You can’t take her.” Scott wished he had his pistol. Even that would help even the fight.

“I have the gun. Since you don’t have your pistol out, I assume you forgot yours. The one with the gun wins.” The gun wavered, Tyler taking turns pointing at each of them. “So move back.”

Scott took a shuffle step back.

“Not far enough.” When Scott took another step, Tyler nodded. “Keep going that direction. If you follow, I will kill her.” The hard look in the man’s eyes convinced Scott he was serious.

Where was the soldier he’d sent for help? Why hadn’t he returned? He must have expected Tyler to remain unconscious. Instead Tyler would get away, taking Rachel with him.

Scott eased back another step, then watched as Tyler edged Rachel to the jeep. Her eyes pleaded with him to do something.

His mind raced, trying to concoct a plan.

The problem was, his brain refused to work. He wasn’t a real soldier. He was here to work with art, not subdue the enemy. This time the enemy wore his country’s uniform, and he felt inept.

Rachel’s life depended on him doing something heroic.

If things continued on this course, he’d fail.

He had to think. Tyler pushed Rachel into the jeep, then forced her to slide across. In that moment his attention was on her instead of Scott. This might be his only chance.

Scott launched at the vehicle, putting every ounce of effort into driving his legs as hard as he could. His feet pounded, and he covered the distance before Tyler turned around.

One more step.

Then he jumped on top of the man who’d turned toward him. In that moment he pinned Tyler’s gun arm. “Run, Rachel! Get away from here.”

She stared at him a moment, then scrambled out the other side of the jeep and ran screaming for help. Maybe one of the remaining light infantry men would finally come.

Tyler threw an elbow at him.

Not again.

Scott didn’t want to repeat the well-house fight.

He pressed all his weight onto Tyler and pulled back his right arm for a punch.

He put all he had into it and it smashed Tyler’s cheek. The man grunted but acted like it hadn’t hurt more than a bee sting.