Shadowed by Grace (40 page)

“Thank you for finding me. If God smiles on us, we will spend hours together. I long for that.”

He shook his head and turned to Scott. “For you I also bring a gift. Information on where the art is hidden. More recent and detailed than you had. Any information I could compile.”

“Locating the art is a high priority.”

“Long we have questioned the Germans’ purposes. But when they destroyed the bridges. When they destroyed the Ponte Santa Trinita taking the four seasons with it, . . .”—the man’s sigh ripped from his soul—“their dishonorable intentions became clear.”

There was something about the way he said it that sounded worn by worry and life. This time her father—the words sounded funny—reached into a valise she hadn’t noticed. He pulled out a sheaf of papers, the writing tiny yet very legible. “What I know from watching and listening is here.”

Scott accepted the rubber-banded papers with a nod. “Thank you.”

“Maybe when you Americans have pushed the Germans far from my city, I will enjoy moments with you, Rachel.” His look was so intense, so knowing yet scarred, that Rachel wanted to walk away yet felt compelled to stay. Was he memorizing her features, the details that made her unique or the ones that reminded him of her mother? Would she someday find herself painted onto one of his canvases?

“Do I have any siblings?”

He shook his head. “My wife and I were not blessed. You and my paintings are what I leave.”

Such an odd way to say something. Almost as if he thought he had a foot already in the grave, which as another series of shells whizzed by might be true of everyone near Florence.

Glass crunched in the distance. Scott jerked toward Renaldo. “Did you expect anyone?”

“No, but the building is not closed. Anyone can enter.”

“It’s on my list of items to fix immediately.”

Rachel had seen his list, seen the innumerable items that filled it. But with soldiers not allowed into the area except for essential AMG officers, the chance of getting guards for a building, no matter how historic and significant, remained small.

Scott pushed her behind him. “Stay in this nave until we know who’s coming and hang on to these papers for me.” She nodded and he leaned toward her. “Promise me.”

“Yes, Scott.”

He leaned closer, and her pulse picked up its pace. He stopped when they were nose to nose. “I love you, Rachel Justice.” He swooped in for a kiss, then turned to leave before she could respond.

I love you
. The words reverberated through her as the men moved from the niche she’d slipped into. She longed to shout a response back to him. Whisper the words. Anything to let him know she felt the same.

This was wrong. Very wrong. Scott couldn’t shake the tightness in his gut as he moved away from Rachel. From the moment Renaldo had arrived speaking cryptically as if his demise was imminent, Scott hadn’t liked the situation. Now that at least one someone was joining their party, he liked it less. It felt like a setup, but he didn’t think Renaldo had arranged it. Why would the man give paintings to Rachel if he never expected her to collect? Unless he wanted to get rid of a woman who claimed to be his daughter. Scott shook the thoughts from his head.

The man longed for time with Rachel.

If he and his wife couldn’t have children, Scott understood why learning he had a daughter would be a powerful, moving moment.

Now Renaldo walked in front of him, not shifting from hiding spot to hiding spot. He strode toward whatever approached, occasionally stepping in the middle of glass with its accompanying crunch.

A moment later the noise near the stairs ended. Scott slid farther behind a short wall that provided a limited barrier between him and the stairwell and slipped his small pistol from his waistband. He doubted the gun would be much help in a fight, but it was all he had. Having Tyler with his rifle would be an asset at the moment, though who knew if Tyler would have fired first and asked questions later. Either way Tyler had shown himself a traitor, and Scott had no backup.

Rough German reached his ears, and Scott tried to pick out a word. German? Here? He’d heard there was the possibility of a few Germans remaining behind in this part of Florence to stir up ongoing chaos, but he hadn’t expected to run into one. He’d have left Rachel behind if he’d had to tie her to a chair to keep her there rather than bring her to the enemy. How could he keep her safe now? Warn her of the danger?

Renaldo’s voice reached him, soft, placating, words obscured.

What was the man doing?

Another voice answered, this one in Italian. Who? The professor? Surely the man couldn’t be part of this conversation. Scott hadn’t seen him since he disappeared the prior night.

Scott inched toward the passage. He had to get a glimpse of what happened on the other side of the wall. He edged closer until he could slip around just enough to eyeball the scene.

Renaldo’s back faced him as the man walked toward two men. One had the bearing of a soldier, the rigid attention and sneer of one of Germany’s elite. Next to him stood Professor Berti, who mangled his fedora in his grasp.

The muffled German and Italian mixed into a smorgasbord of indecipherable sound. After watching for a moment, Scott edged back around the corner. If a German was here, in territory the Allies supposedly held, this situation had escalated to a level Scott couldn’t manage.

Light poured through the shattered windows, limiting the shadows. How could he help Renaldo without understanding what they discussed? Maybe this was a planned meeting after all.

The snarl on the German’s face didn’t make it seem like one between equals, though.

Scott jerked when he felt warm breath on his neck. He spun and grasped Rachel’s shoulders to keep her from falling. “What are you doing?”

“Checking on you.” Her voice was low but dangerous if anyone heard. “Where’s Renaldo?”

“Out there. You promised you’d stay back and guard those papers.”

“No one’s coming from that direction, and the silence made me nervous.”

The voices rose on the other side of the room, and Scott put a finger to his lips. Rachel nodded but settled next to him.

“Why would you consult with the Americans?” The words were startlingly clear. The German must have switched to Italian and walked closer to Renaldo.

“They came to me.”

Scott frowned. The answer was partly correct. At Montegufoni they had found him, but he had sought them in Florence, brought them to the Uffizi.

The professor spoke up. “He sent a message to them.”

“What are they saying?”

Scott placed a hand over Rachel’s mouth before she revealed their location.

“You are no longer a friend of the Reich?” The clip of the man’s boot heels neared their location. “What shall we do about that?”

The sound of a slide being pulled back captured Scott’s attention. He inched back around the corner in time to see the German extend his Luger.

“Where is the art?” The man pointed the pistol at the professor. “I will kill him if you do not tell me.”

“There is none to move.” Renaldo tipped his chin, clutching his hat. “It was too dangerous to bring any back from the castle. And without transport . . .” The man shrugged. “What could I do?”

Was the man trying to buy time? “We need to go.” Scott pointed toward the other direction.

Rachel nodded, edging back toward the nave and the other door.

Renaldo turned their direction, a mask of horror distorting his features. The German pulled the trigger, and Professor Berti collapsed without a sound. A pool of red seeped from his head onto the floor.

Scott pulled out his gun, but before he could do anything, Renaldo pulled a small firearm from his jacket. The barrel wavered slightly as he pointed it at the German officer. “Run.” The word fell from Renaldo’s lips before a puff escaped his gun, and he collapsed to the side.

The German growled and moved toward them, his arm hanging at his side.

Rachel screamed and reached for her father as Scott pulled her back.

He shook her. “He did that for you. Come now. Don’t let it be in vain.”

She looked at him, eyes hollow.

“Do you hear me?”

She gave a slow nod, then tightened her grip on his hand. He tugged her after him, and they sprinted to the next wall. A spray of bullets followed them. When they reached the wall, Scott sucked in a breath. “I counted eight bullets. He’ll have to reload. Run!”

Chapter 37

RACHEL SOBBED AS SHE
ran back to the niche, the wrong direction from where her father must lie. She scooped up her father’s bag and kept moving. Scott led her through a maze of small rooms and chambers. Her stomach wanted to revolt at the image of Professor Berti dead and her father falling.

She trembled as Scott dragged her into another room. This one had a half wall he hunkered behind. “We’ll catch our breath here.”

The silence was as deafening as the gunshots. Where was the German? Could he creep up on them? “Should we keep moving?”

“I need a moment to think how to get out.” Scott cupped her face, made her look at him. Lines etched his face. “Your father planned for this. He had a gun.”

She nodded, sinking into the feel of him with her. Would she escape this building? Glass crunched somewhere and she jerked.

Scott eased up, then back down. “I can’t see the soldier. We have to get out of here, get you to safety, send someone for Renaldo.” His words rambled as if he was talking to himself as much as to her. Of course he was. He’d known her father for years.

“All right.”

“Pray we pulled the German away in time.” He released her and fisted his hands. “We can’t stay here, but we have to be smart. Stay close, and we’ll make it back to the other side of the Arno.”

They slipped through the vast maze of the Uffizi. As they ran down a staircase, Rachel froze when she saw the German skirt around the corner. Scott tugged on her arm, but she refused to budge. She could never find her way back to her father without Scott. She’d be lost in a hopeless circle, but if the soldier had left, was it safe to go back?

He gave his life for me.
She choked on the words. Why would a father who didn’t know her sacrifice himself? Had he mirrored Christ in that moment? Was that the way God loved her? Sacrificially? So much more than she could ever hope to deserve . . . yet He’d given His all for her.

Scott tugged her forward again. “We can’t stop. Not yet.”

The heat pushed against her as he led her out of the building. “As soon as I get you back to the gardens, I’ll come back. Check on your father.”

“It will be too late.” She turned to go back in. She couldn’t leave him after she’d just found him.

He yanked her back. “You can’t go in.”

“Please. The soldier left, and I just found my father.” Tears started anew and she hung her head.

Scott pulled her back into the sheltering walls of the Uffizi, then into his arms, his solid embrace that offered sanctuary. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I will give you fifteen minutes. If there is the faintest noise, I will rush you out of here.”

In a flurry of action, he swung her through a reverse course, retracing their steps to the main floor. Nothing stirred except for a bird that flew in one window and then raced out another. When they reached the top floor, he set her in the niche. “Do not move from this spot unless I tell you. Understand?”

She nodded, afraid to trust her voice. Long minutes passed as she waited. Finally Scott returned. “Come quickly.”

When she saw her father, she cried out. Red covered his chest and shoulder. She rushed to his side and fell next to him. “I am so sorry,” she sobbed. “I should have stayed back.”

Her father’s dark eyes fluttered open, then closed.

“Stay with me. Please.”

“Daughter.” The word was a benediction on his lips. A balm to her aching heart. “You are worth this.” He shuddered, then was still.

“Papa!” She rubbed his shoulder, looked for breath, any sign of movement. “Scott, help me. Help.” She could feel her panic rising in the face of his utter stillness.

She couldn’t lose him, not when he’d tried so hard to protect her.

Scott pulled her back. “I’m sorry.”

She twisted away from him, feeling emptied inside, like every emotion had been scooped up and thrown across a canvas. A smattering of color and form but an absence of depth. She’d wanted to know him, learn more about him, but now she couldn’t.

You can know Me.
The words resounded through her heart. An invitation to come closer. How she wanted to.

“We have to leave.”

Rachel stood. “Thank you for the paintings, Renaldo.” Sobs edged her words. Then she turned and followed Scott from the Uffizi. The weight of what had happened followed her.

She pulled into herself and searched her heart as Scott led her back to the gardens and then back to Montegufoni. Over the next days Scott spent more and more time in Florence, and she spent time in her room or in the baroque gardens at Montegufoni. She read the Bible Scott had found and pondered what her father had done. Most of all she sought peace. That elusive feeling.