Soldier's Redemption (7 page)

The goal had been to get close to Luca and find out the truth of that thirty-year-old explosion, but now that he’d wormed his way into the house, Cole wasn’t sure how to proceed. Maybe reminding the man of the one slim bond they’d forged would help. He waited until dinner was almost finished before broaching the subject of Aneta Cazo’s murder, asking once again about leads.

“I hear they have one,” Luca said, setting his napkin aside.

“Can you share the details?”

“There aren’t many,” he said with an elegant shrug, “and none I would care to discuss in front of my wife and niece.”

“Your wife is tired,” Eleanor said, folding her napkin. Her voice did sound strained, suggesting that maybe she was in pain. “It’s time for me to retire.”

“I’ve overstayed,” Cole began, but she cut him off.

“Nonsense. It’s this damn disease, or maybe the treatment is even worse. Stay and talk to Luca.”

“Let me summon your nurse,” Futura said.

“That’s not necessary. Skylar will help me upstairs. Won’t you, dear? And once again, thank you, Cole, for your support yesterday.”

“I was happy to be of service,” he said, and watched as Skylar ushered her aunt from the room.

“Let’s adjourn to my den,” Luca said. “I have a bottle of excellent French brandy.”

“Thanks,” Cole said and fought the impulse to bus his place at the table. All these servants and fancy sauces were a little tricky for a guy who was still more accustomed to eating MREs in a trench.

They were crossing the foyer when a loud knock sounded and the butler showed up. He ushered in a slightly built man with slick blond hair that looked damp—it must have started raining. The man took off his coat and all but threw it at the butler. Ignoring Cole, he made straight for Luca, who towered over him.

Ian Banderas in the pale flesh, and mad as a hornet, as well.

He spoke rapidly and in a language Cole understood three words of: hello, goodbye and please. As far as he could tell, Banderas didn’t say a single one of those words.

Futura scowled at Ian in response. In fact, it looked as if the older man wanted to pitch Banderas out altogether. Instead, he spoke to the butler, who led Banderas away toward what Cole assumed was the den.

Futura turned back to Cole and spread his hands. “I am very sorry, Mr. Bennett. This situation demands my attention. My associate should never have come here, but now that he has—well, suffice to say I will have to terminate our evening without the brandy. Perhaps if business brings you back to Traterg, you will look us up. Until then, good night.”

The butler was back with Cole’s coat in hand, leaving Cole with little choice but to gracefully make his exit.

He stood outside the door under the portico as the rain drummed overhead, contemplating walking back to the hotel in the rain or calling a cab. Luca must have been more upset than he let on to dismiss a guest without asking if he needed help. Not that Cole did. It was just a little over four miles and the walk, wet or not, would do him good.

What really kept him standing there was the fact that he had hardly spoken to Skylar. She’d been polite that evening but nothing more, the kisses and growing intimacy of the night before missing as though they’d never happened. He shouldn’t care. He’d used her to get in the front door, and while there was still need for a return visit, he could think of another strategy if he had to.

What bothered him was the concern he’d said or done something the night before that had alerted her to his secret mission. What if she said something to her uncle? That was the problem, right? Not that he wanted more of her, just that she might jeopardize what he had to do.

So why did her demeanor that evening leave him feeling alone? He hardly ever felt that way—not as an only kid growing up or as a soldier with his own agenda or during the months of hospital care and recuperation for his injured leg. Vulnerability was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Never had.

He stepped into the rain and started down the curving drive until he heard his name called and turned. Skylar stood under the portico now, her fair hair gleaming in the overhead light. As he stood staring at her, she dashed out to meet him.

“You left without saying goodbye,” she said.

“Your uncle had a guest. And truthfully, I didn’t know if you’d care. You were so formal tonight.”

“It’s that house,” she said, hugging herself. “It gets to me. Normally it’s okay, but seeing you there just felt weird and watching my aunt struggle to act normal was painful. She and my uncle try so hard to pretend nothing is wrong.”

“Is her prognosis good?”

“Yes. If she can survive the treatments, she should recover. She’s just worn out.”

“I shouldn’t have come,” he said, feeling like the lowest bug on earth.

“No, that’s why she wanted me to go upstairs with her, so she could tell me how nice she thought you were. She enjoyed meeting you. It’s just me being a worrywart. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He brushed wet hair away from her forehead. “You’re getting all wet.”

“I don’t care. It feels great out here.”

“It’s kind of cold. Where’s your coat?”

“I didn’t want to take time to find it. I just wanted to say good-night.”

He’d waited long enough that evening, and unbuttoning his cashmere overcoat, he shrugged it off and draped it over her shoulders, then pulled her against him. He kissed her the way he’d wanted to all night as cold drops hit their heads and rolled down their faces. The icy water juxtaposed with the heat of their mouths translated into the sexiest kiss he’d ever experienced. He lost himself for a second in the moist softness of her mouth and the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest.

She pulled away at last and looked back toward the house. “Not here,” she said.

“Then come back to the hotel with me.”

“I shouldn’t,” she said, turning to look back at the house.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “You should. You must.”

“But—”

“No buts. No arguments. Just come.”

Her smile was slow and sexy, and the water drenching her hair just made her look more desirable. “Do you always get your way?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” he said, kissing her forehead and eyelids.

“Why not?”

“Because if I say I do you might feel it necessary to teach me a lesson, and if I say I don’t you might feel sorry for me and sympathy is the last thing I want from you.”

Her voice so low it was hard to hear, she said, “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything.”

She was quiet for a second, and the only discernable noise was the rain hitting the pavement. “Cole, is there something you’re not telling me?”

He froze for an instant. What had she seen or heard that alerted her he was more—and less—than he presented himself to be? He kissed her forehead and said, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, and he could tell she was dismissing her own suspicions, ignoring her instincts. He wasn’t very happy with himself and decided for both their sakes this evening should come to an end.

And then she said, “I’ll go get my aunt’s car and give you a lift back to the hotel. I can’t imagine why my uncle didn’t call you a cab. Meet me at the gatehouse.”

She left without waiting for a response, his long coat flopping around her legs as she ran. He dashed toward the street and the protective arch that spanned the driveway, connecting the gatehouse with an eight-foot-high stone wall that he knew from satellite pictures surrounded the property.

He stared back at the house, waiting for Skylar’s headlights, wondering if she’d leave word for her uncle where she was going and what Futura would make of that. If it offended him that Cole was seeing his niece, would it jeopardize his standing with the man?

And what about Skylar?

This wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t in the plans for him to develop feelings for her. At first he’d thought their mutual attraction might be a bonus, but now it presented itself as a pit of vipers.

He heard a noise behind him, from the street side of the arch, and turned, wondering how Skylar had arrived from that direction. He sensed movement, and then something very hard smashed against his head and he fell to the ground, landing first on his hands and knees and then facedown, his cheek in a puddle. He heard a gasp as lights appeared from somewhere. He saw a leg close by and grabbed it down around the ankle. The black skin pulled away from the bone. Stockings. The person the leg was connected to made a grunting noise and tried to pull free, but even though Cole’s head filled with blurred stars, he held on tight.

He heard other sounds he couldn’t place. More voices, one of them Skylar’s, but the words were incomprehensible. His grip lessened until his attacker yanked free. Cole tried to tell Skylar to run, but his lips wouldn’t move.

His attacker fell down to the ground next to him, sobbing.

He looked up, but her face was covered with her hands. Above her he glimpsed Skylar, eyes wide with shock. And then he saw nothing.

Chapter Six

Skylar wasn’t sure what to do. Cole appeared to be out cold, and his attacker had dissolved into tears mumbling over and over again, “God forgive me, I killed the wrong man.” Not that Skylar figured that out all at once. The tears garbled the crying woman’s voice; it was only through repetition that Skylar finally understood what she was saying.

“You didn’t kill him,” Skylar said, though she’d seen the wooden bat the woman must have clobbered Cole with, and the fact he was alive seemed like a miracle.

The woman suddenly looked up toward the house. Her tone changed from remorse to fear. “He’s still here! You are friends of his?”

“Friends of who?”

“That man. He took my little girl.”

“What man?” Skylar demanded. “Who are you talking about?”

“Banderas,” she said, spitting the name as though it left a bad taste in her mouth. “How many more must he take?”

“You’re the woman from the hotel restaurant,” Skylar said, finally recognizing her. “What’s your name?”

“Svetlana Dacho. Do you know where he took Malina?”

“Listen, ma’am. I’m sorry, but you have the wrong house. My aunt and uncle live here.”

The woman shook Cole’s arm. “Maybe he knows.”

“Leave him alone. You’ve done enough.”

“Skylar?”

She looked down at Cole, trying to shield his face from the rain with her back, pulling the frantic woman’s hands away from Cole. “Oh my gosh, Cole, thank goodness. Are you okay?”

Thanks to the headlights on her aunt’s car, she could see him try to focus his gaze on her face. His hand slowly went to the back of his head and he winced. “I don’t know,” he muttered, his words broken. “I think so. Was I out long?”

“No, just a few seconds.”

His attention traveled to the woman who had attacked him. “Is that—”

“The woman from the restaurant last night? Yes.”

“Why did she hit me?”

“I don’t think she meant to hit you. I think she meant to hit someone else.”

“Ian Banderas,” he mumbled, trying to sit.

At the mention of the Banderas name, the woman sat back, and her sobs abated. “You know that slime? He left money as though he could buy my silence. Where did he take her?”

Cole, of course, didn’t understand a word of this and looked at Skylar for help. “She’s convinced Ian Banderas is here at the house and apparently has something to do with the disappearance of her daughter.”

“She’s right,” he said, trying to sit. “Banderas is here.”

The woman seemed to sense that Skylar and Cole couldn’t or wouldn’t help her, for she stood suddenly, the bat back in her hand. Skylar rose to protect Cole from another attack, but it wasn’t necessary. Without another word, the woman turned and ran toward the street, disappearing into the shadows and the rainy night.

Skylar looked down at Cole, who had managed to sit. He was rubbing his neck as rain flattened his hair to his head. He looked bedraggled but undefeated as he asked her for a hand.

“Ian Banderas isn’t here,” she said, pulling him to his feet. “I’ll help you back up to the house.”

“No.”

“Cole, really. We’ll get my aunt’s nurse to take a look at you.”

“Not necessary,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

“This is nothing,” he said, fighting a losing battle with brushing mud off his suit. “I’ve had a lot worse. All I need is my own bed...and an aspirin.” He looked down at the ground as though it hurt to raise his head. “Will you drive me back to the hotel?”

“Of course I will.”

She helped him around to the passenger door, and he got in with a grunt. “Good thing the seats are leather. I’m a little damp.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She closed his door and walked around the car. His coat had kept her body dry and warm, but the wool garment was soaked now and heavy and made slipping behind the wheel a bit tricky. Her hair was as wet as Cole’s, and she turned the heater up and glanced over at him.

His head rested against the seat, eyes closed. “Let’s go before someone comes outside to see what’s going on,” he said as though sensing her looking at him.

“Why? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I know, but I have a funny feeling that Banderas has.”

“My uncle would never employ a dishonest man.”

“Skylar? Could we just go?”

She started the car’s engine and turned out onto the street. There was no sign of the woman. “What do you mean Ian Banderas is here?”

“He came to see your uncle.”

“He never comes to the house.”

“I got the feeling your uncle wasn’t too happy about it. Banderas seemed agitated.”

“Maybe he knew that woman was trailing him.”

His eyes still closed, he shook his head and groaned. “Ouch. No, I don’t think Banderas is the kind of guy to let a middle-aged woman scare him. But I didn’t see a car. He must have taken a cab, and if he did, how did she manage to follow him on foot?”

“My uncle’s office is across the street and around the corner from the estate,” she said. “Ian probably walked over.”

Cole’s eyes fluttered open. “Do you suppose the woman’s situation is connected to Aneta’s murder?”