White Heat (14 page)

Here was the whole Life vs. T—FLAC thing he’d thought he’d never have to deal with.

Shivering, she rubbed her arms through her pink sweater, which was dark with moisture.
“Before
more innocent people get killed?”

He sure as shit hoped so. Unfortunately, in his line of work it didn’t always end up that way. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it.” It would be redundant to mention that his heart had almost fucking stopped earlier when he’d seen her drop to the ground. He’d thought she’d been shot, and had been stunned at the visceral desperation that had knotted his stomach when he’d imagined her sprawled lifeless on the sidewalk, him not thirty feet away.

“A great sentiment. But you can’t make that kind of promise. You won’t always be around, will you?”

No, he wouldn’t be. In fact, if it weren’t for the current situation he would have blown her off long before she’d walked out of the old man’s villa this afternoon. Women and work, especially his work, didn’t mix. Ever. Oh, he knew a few T-FLAC operatives who claimed rather fervently that they’d found the Holy Grail of love and happily ever after, but Max was a pragmatist. While he’d never experienced love himself, he supposed it existed on some level. More likely it was a pretty bow of a euphemism wrapped around sex. Chemical attraction. Back to pheromones.

“I’ll be around until I discover who’s behind this,” he assured her, dismissing his inane thoughts. A pointless, fruitless tangent he’d do well to ignore. He’d stick to thoughts of a different kind of hunger. He’d missed both lunch and dinner. A thick steak, a baked potato, and a beer sounded good right now. “Any threat will be history.”

“Nicely fielded.” She met his eyes. “If
that’s
the case then I hope on every level that you get this figured out sooner than later, and go on your merry way again.”

Talk about gratitude, he thought, suddenly indignant. Jesus. “That’s pretty damn cold all things considered.”

“I know.”

He hadn’t expected the admission. A bitchy woman was a bitchy woman was a bitchy woman.

“You know?”

Color rose in her face. “I need to stay mad for a while. I’m hanging on by a thread here, Max. I feel like—like—like a soufflé and someone opened the oven.”

“Okay.” He had no idea what dessert had to do with what was going on, but if she wanted to stay mad, and make reference to cooking, he figured he’d better keep his mouth shut.

“You should have been here for your father’s funeral. And frankly I’m still not convinced that all this doesn’t have more to do with you than it does me.”

Was he supposed to yell back? Kiss her? Shut the hell up? Damn it to hell, but she was complicated.

Someone had tried their damnedest to kidnap her. In full view of dozens of people.
He
didn’t have a single connection to Franco or his family. Max and the old man had been estranged most of his life. He’d only made contact last year for the express purpose of getting into that damned party. Other than that one time, they’d rarely spoken.

“Nothing to do with me.” He no longer believed this had anything to do with himself or his work for T-FLAC.

“You showed up seconds after my intruder,” Emily said, like a dog with a bone. “Don’t you find that a little too convenient for coincidence?”

She wrapped her arms tightly around her midriff, doing what Max wanted to do. Hold her tightly.

Dismissing that as
luck,
rather than coincidence, he slouched back in his seat. “I don’t believe in coincidence.” What the fuck was he missing? What was the common denominator in all these seemingly random events?

“Me neither, not anymore.” She turned to look out of her window And apparently that argument was over.

Interesting.

Confusing, but interesting.

This evening’s developments had taken the old man’s death, and Emily’s break-in, to a whole new level. He was tempted to take a leave of absence and get to the bottom of it. But his job took precedence. In the meantime, nothing was going to happen to her. He’d make fucking sure of it.

Eight

NIIGATA AND ZAMPIERI BOARDED WITH MAX. OPERATIVES
were skilled in triage, and they grabbed a first-aid kit, then settled into their seats near the front of the aircraft to tend
their wounds. The aircraft was spacious and well appointed with whatever the operatives might need going to or from an op. The galley was always fully stocked with fresh food and quick frozen meals. A doctor could perform surgery, and frequently had, with the state-of-the-art medical equipment onboard. The copilot on all the T-FLAC jets was also always a medic.

Every piece of high-tech equipment on the market (and a lot that weren’t) was available at the touch of a button.

Max didn’t care one way or another about the navy-and-camel decor, other than that the swivel, reclining, navy leather seats were comfortable, and big enough to stretch out flat. Sometimes the flight was long, and catching a nap was all the sleep they would get until the op was completed.

Emily was halfway down the aisle, headed to the back of the plane as Max stopped to grab a few essentials from the galley, a second first aid kit, and a blanket from one of the overheads. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but she walked the length of the plane before picking one of the chairs near the back. The seats weren’t in rows, but in groupings of four with a table that could be folded open between them.

By the time he got to her she was staring unblinkingly out of the dark window. Her reflection showed him that she was hanging on by a thread. He had no idea how she’d react when the shock wore off. Everyone reacted to trauma differently. Anger. Tears. Depression.

She didn’t acknowledge him when he sat down beside her. “Want a blanket?”

She shook her head.

“Buckle up,” he instructed. The pilot didn’t give a shit who was onboard or what their condition. He wouldn’t take off until everyone was seated and strapped in. Max wanted to help her with the buckle on her belt, but when he reached over, she put up a hand to prevent him touching it, or her, and—eventually— managed it herself, even though her blood-smudged hands were shaking badly.

Twisting off the cap, he handed her the bottle he’d grabbed from the galley. “Water?” Max tamped down the urge to yank her into his lap again. This time holding on.
Tightly.
Jesus.

Like a robot, she lifted the bottle to her mouth, took a sip, then lowered it to the holder in the console of the armrest. She leaned her head back, but didn’t close her eyes as the jet taxied down the long runway. Strain tightened her features, making her more starkly beautiful than ever. Her large brown eyes were still glassy, her shoulders unnaturally stiff as she tried unsuccessfully to control the tremors racking her body.

Shit.

Life vs. T-FLAC.

Here he was: dragging his personal life into an op. Insane.

“Wanna argue?” he asked, half joking.

“Maybe later.”

Yeah. Maybe later. She was safe on the T-FLAC jet. Nothing was going to hurt her for the duration. What he needed to concentrate on was the
op.

The latest explosions in the mosque, following the church and the synagogue, were part of a pattern; a string of bombings. In a few hours a T-FLAC team would be assembled and in Spain. Ready to hunt down the tangos responsible for this latest explosion. As yet no demands had been made. Just the mysterious bouquet of lilies left near the bomb site. Max knew that a demand would come. It was just a matter of time. Tangos
always
had an agenda, no matter how convoluted it might be or how many of them there were.

He couldn’t drag Emily from pillar to post with him wherever the fuck the trail led. No matter how badly he wanted to keep her close. She’d have to be stashed in a safe house until he ascertained what the hell was going on.

He was pleased he’d asked for Cooper. As part of his team she’d already been dispatched to Córdoba. The woman was an excellent operative; he’d trust her to keep Emily safe until he returned. Damn it, that could be six hours, or six months.

Maybe he could piece together more of the puzzle before he put Emily in the safe house. The one in Wiesbaden, he decided. Keep her close.

With any luck he’d have some answers from his people in Florence by the time he got back as well.

One team was doing their thing at the scene of tonight’s crime right now. Another was tirelessly interrogating the man who’d broken into her palazzo. Yet another group was still at Emily’s home, searching for any clue that might reveal what the man had left or taken. Perhaps something that hadn’t made it as far as the vial? Or something that didn’t leave any trace inside it?

They still didn’t know

The man’s fingerprints had been on the glass vial. But a match hadn’t been found in any of T-FLAC’s extensive databases, which included AHS and the records from hundreds of law enforcement and governmental agencies around the world. God damn it. He didn’t want to go haring off to Spain without knowing what the fuck was going on. More immediately, he wanted to see her body for himself to confirm she hadn’t been physically harmed. Something he could only ascertain once the transferred blood had been washed off.

“How long were you and Bozzato an item?”

She rolled her head to look at him. “About five months. Why?”

“How much did you know about him?”

“What are you doing? Taking a survey?”

“Trying to figure out who the target really is. You or your boyfriend. Answer the question.”

“I know he was decent, hardworking, and kind.”

“Sounds like a regular AKC champion,” Max told her shortly. “What else? Did he have enemies?”

“He was a financial consultant. Maybe someone didn’t like what he told them—God. I don’t know Whoever did, did .. .
that,
wasn’t an enemy. He was a butcher. Besides, I know Franco, he wasn’t capable of making an enemy that would want him, or me, dead.”

“Did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around when the two of you went out?”

“No.”

“How about when you were out alone? Ever get the sensation someone was watching you? Maybe at the market, or the florist, or the bank?” The problem was, she was so gorgeous that people would be looking at her all the time. She probably wouldn’t notice one more pair of eyes.

“No.”

“Any strange cars outside your palazzo? Or perhaps showing up more often than could be coincidence when you were driving around?”

“No.”

“How about hang ups? Wrong numbers? Crank calls?”

“No. No. And no.”

“Other than Franco, made any new friends lately? One who asked a lot of questions?”

She shook her head.

“Filled in a survey or opened a new account? How about filling in a credit ap for that new car of yours?”

“I paid cash.”

He raised a brow. “That’s a big chunk of change.”

“I could afford it.”

“Restoration work pays that well?”

“If you’re as good as I am, yes. But I also received a large payment for the work I did for a private client. I bought the Maserati in celebration when I turned in the last painting.”

The Maserati Quattroporte Sport GT ran well over a hundred grand, more for all the bells and whistles Emily had. That was serious bank.

“Are we talking about the work you did for Richard Tillman?”

“You think a sick, eighty-year-old multimillionaire in Denver is trying to kill me? For God’s sake, Max! What kind of people do you associate with? None of this has
anything
to do with Tillman.
Or
Franco,” she added.

Maybe not. But he made a mental note to go to Denver and pay a call on the reclusive, born-again philanthropist to ask him some questions. In the meantime, he’d have T-FLAC intel check into Tillman’s activities for the past year.

“Your mentor worked for him as well, right?”

“Why don’t you at least call your father by name?”

“Because sperm donors are anonymous by nature. I like to keep it that way.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say, and a worse thing to believe. He gave you life, he cared about yo—”

“No. He did not. I hate to burst your rosy bubble about Daniel Aries, but the man was a pathological liar, a serially unfaithful husband, and he had no interest—let me repeat—no
interest
in having a son. Ever. And lest you think that this has had any bearing on my life as an adult, let me assure you that it hasn’t,” Max said flatly.

“My mother, who loved the son of a bitch to the bitter end, always welcomed him back with open arms. He’d cheat, she’d forgive him.” Elbows on the armrests he tapped his fingertips lightly on the leather. When he realized what he was doing, he bunched his hands into light fists and made a point of holding them still. “I loved the hell out of her, but it drove me insane to see her crying every time he left. And leave he did. Often.”

Emily’s brow knit.
“He
cheated?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She let out a breath she’d been holding. “Oh, Daniel.” She reached out and touched Max’s arm, regarding him from those hot chocolate eyes that melted his brain and made him want to do and say things that weren’t—had never been—in his repertoire.

“I’m sorry, Max. I really am. For years your father told me all these wild, improbable stories about you and your life. I suspected that most of them weren’t true. If they
had
been, you would have to have been in your sixties to fit all of that in.”

“Only the name was changed to protect the guilty Yeah. That was my old man describing himself. Why the hell he’d do that I have no idea.”

“Because it made him look better in comparison?” she suggested, pressing a fist against her solar plexus. He noticed that her eyes had lost focus, and guessed she was back to thinking about the murders. Her struggle to distract herself and concentrate on what she was saying, impressed the hell out of him. He could tell she was holding herself together by a very thin thread of sheer guts and determination.

She blinked herself back into the conversation and continued almost without pause. If someone hadn’t been observing her as closely as Max was, they would have missed it. “Or perhaps he was merely tarring you with his own brush?” She bit her lower lip. “I have to admit I never could understand how he frequently complained that he had no relationship with you, yet he insisted that he knew you so well. I suspect your mother wrote to him for years off and on. But even if that were true, I doubt she’d know, or even
think
that about you. And even if she did, she wouldn’t have shared that with Daniel.”