Читать книгу The Bride of Montefalco - Rebecca Winters - Страница 8

A STRANGE chill rippled across Ally’s skin. “How did you know where to find me?”

“The guards took down the license plate of your taxi. A simple phone call to the driver told me what I needed to know.”

As easy as that.

“I told the palace guards who I was. They didn’t even try to help me.”

His lips twisted unpleasantly. “Any woman could claim to be Mrs. James Parker.”

“But that’s who I am! I have my passport to prove it.”

“Passports are a dime a dozen. I believe that’s the American expression.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “Why are you being so hateful to me? I came to Italy expressly to meet with Mr. Montefalco for very personal reasons. You act like I’ve committed some crime.”

“Trespassing is a crime,” he muttered just loud enough to heighten her anxiety.

“This is impossible! I demand you call the American Embassy and let me talk to someone in charge.”

His mouth formed a contemptuous line.

“No one there will be available before morning.”

“In America you’re innocent until proven guilty!” she flung at him, starting to feel desperate.

“Then you should have stayed there, or wherever you really came from, signora,” he retorted in a voice of ice.

Trapped and painfully tired, Ally made the decision not to fight him. He was too formidable an adversary. This was all a terrible mistake, the kind you were supposed to be able to laugh about after you’d returned home from being abroad.

Once this man went through her belongings and found out the truth of her identity, she didn’t expect an apology. However she could hope for a quick release and the chance to talk to Mr. Montefalco before too much more time passed.

Wrapping her dignity around her like a cloak, she got out of the car and waited for him to open the door.

He pressed a button on the wall of the building. In a minute the door swung open electronically.

She’d never been inside a jail of any kind. In the small reception area there were two armed police officers, one of them seated at a desk.

They nodded to her captor.

After an exchange in Italian she couldn’t possibly understand, he left her in their charge and disappeared out the door.

“Wait—” she called out to no avail.

At that point she was photographed, fingerprinted and escorted down a passageway to a tiny room with a cot and a chair.

The door closed behind her, leaving her to her own devices.

The whole situation was so surreal, she wondered if she was hallucinating on the painkiller she’d taken before going to bed. It had been a preventive measure to ward off another sick headache.

Suddenly she heard the click of the electronic lock and the door opened. She swung around in time to see the driver who’d abducted her step inside. The door shut behind him, enclosing her in this tiny closet of a holding cell with a man who could overpower her before she took her next breath. He’d brought her purse with him.

“During your interrogation you have your choice of the chair or the bed, signora.”

She was feeling pretty hysterical about now.

“I’d rather stand.”

“So be it.”

He opened her purse. After examining the contents including her wallet and bottle of medication, he pulled out her passport.

She watched him study the picture that had been taken three years earlier. At that point in time she’d been a radiant fiancée with long blond hair and sparkling green eyes, anticipating a skiing honeymoon in the French Alps with Jim.

Ally could no longer relate to that person.

The stranger’s enigmatic gaze flicked to her face and hair. He scrutinized her as if trying and failing to find the woman in the photo.

He put the passport in his pocket, then tossed her purse with its contents on the cot next to the pathetic looking lump that was supposed to be a pillow.

Only now did she realize her suitcase was still in his car.

“I’d like my luggage. There are things I need,” she explained. “I have to have it, you know? Like clean clothes?”

“First things first, signora. Until I get the answers I’m looking for, we’ll be at this all night. Since you already appear unsteady on your feet—no doubt from fear that you’ve been caught in the act—I suggest you sit down before you pass out.”

“In the act of what?” Ally questioned, totally shocked by his assumption she’d done something wrong.

“We both know you’re one of the unscrupulous paparazzi, willing to do anything for an exclusive. But I’m warning you now. After trying to impersonate someone else, you’re facing a prison sentence unless you start talking.”

“I am Mrs. James Parker.”

“Just tell me the name of the tabloid that sent you on this story.”

Heat swept through her body into her face. “You’re crazy!” she blurted in exasperation. “My name is Allyson Cummings Parker. I’m an American citizen from Portland, Oregon. I only arrived in Rome from Switzerland this afternoon, or—or yesterday afternoon. I’m all mixed up now about the time. But I’m the widow of James Parker. He was a ski clothes salesman who worked for an American manufacturing company called Slippery Slopes of Portland. He died in a car accident outside St. Moritz, Switzerland, with Mr. Montefalco’s wife four months ago!”

“Of course you are,” he said in a sarcastic aside that made her hackles rise.

Her breathing grew shallow.

“Since you tracked me down through the taxi driver, he’ll tell you he picked me up at the train station, and had to do all the translating while I tried to find a room because I don’t speak Italian.”

Her captor nodded. “He admitted you put on a convincing performance. That is…until you gave yourself away by asking him to drive you to the palazzo. That was your fatal mistake.”

Her hands curled into fists. “How else was I supposed to talk to Mr. Montefalco? He doesn’t list his phone number. When I reached Rome, I was on the phone with an Italian operator for half an hour trying to get a number for him.”

“He doesn’t talk to strangers. If you were an innocent tourist who didn’t have a place to spend the night, you would have been much more concerned about that than brazenly attempting to ramrod your way into the ducal palace that has always been off limits to the public.”

“But I didn’t know that!”

“You’re a good liar, I’ll grant you that, but it was a dangerous act of idiocy on your part no matter how greedy you are for money. It’s the one credential you sleazy members of the media carry every time you trespass on sacred ground for a story. You have no decency or thought for the precariousness of the situation. None of your kind has a conscience.”

He folded his arms, eyeing her with chilling menace.

“As you’re going to find out, I don’t have one, either. So you can start talking now, or look forward to being incarcerated here indefinitely.”

Her mouth had gone dry. “You’re going to be sorry you’re treating me like this,” she warned him with a mutinous expression. “When Mr. Montefalco finds out I’m here anxious to talk to him, you’ll be lucky if it’s only your job you lose.”

His black eyes felt like lasers, scanning beneath the surface for any abnormalities.

“Who sent you to do their dirty work?” he rapped out as if she hadn’t spoken. “Tell me now and I’ll use my influence with the judge to get you off with a light sentence.”

A pulse throbbed at the corner of his hard jaw. He was in deadly earnest. That made the situation so much worse for Ally.

She spread her hands. “Look—there’s been a huge misunderstanding here. If you think my passport and driver’s license are doctored, then look at my airline tickets again. It proves I just flew here from Portland, with a stopover in Switzerland to see where my husband’s accident happened.”

His gaze searched hers relentlessly. “You call that proof when you could have flown from Italy to Oregon on your tabloid’s money to begin your impersonation? You’re wasting my time.”

He pressed a button above the door, no doubt sending a signal that he was ready to leave. This was a nightmare!

“No—don’t go yet—” she begged as the door swung outward.

He paused in the aperture, almost filling it with his tall, powerful body.

“Please—” she beseeched him. “There’s someone you could call who will vouch for me. His name is L—”

She broke off talking because she suddenly realized she didn’t want him to talk to Lieutenant Davis. She would be too embarrassed for the detective to know she’d flown here to satisfy her curiosity about Donata. It was a private matter she’d rather no one else knew about. Until she talked to Mr. Montefalco, it was absolutely crucial her activities and whereabouts remain a secret to everyone including her mother. Ally’s mom thought she was spending the weekend with friends from the orchestra. If she knew the truth, there would have been a battle Ally couldn’t have handled.

“Yes?” her adversary mocked again. “You were saying?”

He stood still as a tree trunk. By now she was so beside herself she felt light-headed. Her ears started to buzz.

Out of self-preservation she sank down on the end of the cot and lowered her head so she wouldn’t faint.

“Anything you’d like to confess before lights out, signora?” he asked without an ounce of concern or compassion.

His voice sounded far away. Ally had to wait until the worst of her weakness had passed before she could talk.

By then, he’d gone…

Vaguely disturbed by the woman’s insistence that she really was the wife of Donata’s last lover, Gino sped faster than was prudent through the dark streets toward his family home at the top of the mount. He wanted total privacy before searching the woman’s suitcase. En route he phoned Carlo.

“Thank you for helping me carry out my plan. The suspect is in her cell, but I realize we won’t be able to hold her for long. I asked the desk sergeant to run her passport through the scanner for verification, then report to you. Do me a favor and let me know what he finds out. When we’ve learned it’s counterfeit, I’ll expose her in my own way so she never gets another job. I’m sick of the media.”

Once they’d hung up, he used his remote to enter the estate.

After slipping in a private side entrance to the palazzo with his prisoner’s luggage, he entered Marcello’s study and set it on one of the damask couches.

Upon opening it, he was surprised to see how lightly she traveled. The interior was redolent of her flowery scent. There were only a few changes of outfits and feminine underclothing, all modest and for the most part American brands.

Frowning because he couldn’t find a camera or film, in fact nothing that sent up a red flag, his hands dug deeper.

“What’s this?”

He felt something solid, wrapped in a towel.

“I knew it!” he whispered fiercely as he pulled out a silver laptop.

No wonder she’d wanted to hold on to her luggage.

He carried it over to the desk and plugged it into the wall adaptor.

“You and your paper are about to be exposed. Believe me, signora, you’re going to pay—”

He turned it on, then sat down in the leather chair and waited to see what flashed on the screen.

He was ready to seize on anything that linked her to one of the tabloids.

Her home page popped up. He immediately clicked on her favorite pictures icon. Before long he came face-to-face with photos of Donata.

Gino let out a curse. He counted thirty pictures showing his sister-in-law in various stages of dress and undress. The outdoor pictures had been taken in Prague. He recognized the landmarks.

How in the hell had that impossibly green-eyed imposter gotten hold of these?

Donata, Donata.

He gritted his teeth. If these were to make it onto the streets… If Sofia were ever to see them…

He felt his gut twist in reaction.

There was only one reason why the champagne-blonde with the voluptuous curves locked up in the cell hadn’t gone public with them yet. Perhaps she’d decided to approach Marcello first to extort more money from him than her paper would pay out.

Sick to the depth of his being because he knew these photos were only the tip of the iceberg, he packed up the laptop, closed her suitcase and carried both out to the truck he kept on the estate.

Leaving by a hidden road that came out on a side street, he headed for the jail.

Later at the farmhouse when he had the luxury of time, he’d delve into the e-mails and other secrets of the computer’s hard drive. Until then, Gino would break her down until she was grist.

He wanted the name of the tabloid she worked for, how many more photos existed and the length of time she’d been on Donata’s trail in order to obtain those particular photos.

Ally heard the door open. When she saw a tall dark figure coming toward her before it closed again, she let out a bloodcurdling scream and pulled the sheet over her head. “Nightmares, signora?” sounded the devilish voice of her captor. “With the kinds of things you have on your conscience, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Get out!” she shouted into the darkness. “The only person I’ll speak to is a diplomat from the American Embassy. Do you understand me?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have a long wait.”

She heard something scrape against the cement floor. She shivered to realize he’d pulled the chair next to her bed and had sat down.

“What you’re doing is against the law!”

He gave a caustic laugh.

Fear of a sort she’d never known before emboldened her to say the first thing that came into her mind.

“What a tragedy that such a lovely, beautiful town produces monsters like you.”

The rhythm of his breathing changed, letting her know she’d struck a nerve. Good!

“For someone in your kind of trouble,” he began in a frighteningly silky voice, “I’d advise you to stop fantasizing and tell me everything before the chief prosecutor of the region gets here and you’re arraigned before the magistrate.”

She sat up on the cot and pressed herself into the corner of the wall, as far away from him as possible.

“Whether you believe me or not, I’m Mrs. James Parker. So far, all you’ve told me is that I trespassed. But I don’t see how I did that when the guards wouldn’t let me past the gate.”

She heard him shift in the chair.

“If you’re telling the truth, and you really are the hapless wife who was the last person to know what your husband was up to, explain what those pictures are doing in your laptop.”

Pictures? Ally rubbed her bloodshot eyes with her palms. She was so desperately tired, maybe she was dreaming this horror story.

“I asked you a question, signora.”

No—she wasn’t dreaming. He was sitting there next to her, intimidating her by his very presence. All two hundred pounds of him, hard as steel physically and every other way.

“It’s my husband’s laptop. I don’t know anything about any pictures.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath.

“So you carried his laptop with you all the way to Montefalco for no particular reason?”

“I didn’t say that!” she protested. “I told you earlier that I came to have a private talk with Mr. Montefalco and no one else.”

“In order to show him the photographs and extort thousands of dollars in the process.”

Thousands of dollars? What pictures would be worth that kind of money? She took a deep breath, scared of what she might discover.

“If there are pictures, I haven’t seen them.”

At her hotel in St. Mortiz, Ally would have looked inside the laptop, but she hadn’t brought an adaptor to fit in the foreign outlet and figured she would have to wait until she returned to Portland. Part of her knew that was just an excuse. She didn’t want to know.

“I planned to talk to him about things that aren’t your business or anyone else’s.”

After a pause, he said, “You can tell me. I have his ear.”

“Prove it! For all I know you’re just a lowly policeman pretending to be Mr. Montefalco’s bodyguard.”

Suddenly he was on his feet. She could feel his rage as he pushed the chair away. She hid her face behind the sheet even though it was dark in the room.

Still bristling she said, “Now you know how it feels to be told you’re a liar and a sleazy con artist out to cash in on someone’s private tragedy. I repeat.” Her voice throbbed. “I’m not saying another word until I can speak to someone from the Embassy.”

While she waited for his response, the door opened, then slammed shut.

The next thing she knew the light in her cell went on.

She checked her watch, which she’d changed to Italian time on the train. It said 7:30 a.m.

How long were they going to leave her in here before allowing her to freshen up?

In desperation she dragged the chair over to the door so she could push the button he’d pressed earlier.

Suddenly the door swung open, almost causing her to fall.

A guard she didn’t recognize waited for her to climb down, then ordered her to follow him.

She grabbed her purse and trailed him down the hall and around the corner to the bathroom. There was no sign of her captor. She sincerely hoped she would never have to see or talk to him again.

After brushing her hair and putting on some lipstick, she felt a little more human. When she emerged minutes later, the guard escorted her back to her cell where a tray of food was waiting on the chair.

Just looking at the chair reminded her how her interrogator had shoved it across the room in a fit of anger.

In spite of the precariousness of her situation, the fact that she’d been able to infuriate him caused her to smile.

The guard noted it before disappearing.

Locked in once more, her gaze fell on the sparse continental breakfast. Rolls and coffee. But she wasn’t about to complain. It might be a long time before she was allowed to eat again, so she consumed everything in short order.

She kept thinking about those pictures he’d mentioned. Jim had evidently stored some in one of his files. Maybe they were photos of all the women he’d had affairs with in Europe. At this juncture she didn’t put anything past him. Her husband had truly lived a double life.

Ally let out a sound of abnegation.

What a fool she’d been not to have confronted him when she’d first suspected there was another woman.

Her abductor’s words stung more than ever.

If you’re telling the truth, and you really are the hapless wife who was the last person to know what your husband was up to, explain what those pictures are doing in your laptop.

Ally hadn’t been hapless. It was a case of not wanting to admit something was wrong and have her mother say, “I told you so. A man with good looks and knows it can’t be satisfied with one woman.”

Ally didn’t believe that. She knew too many attractive couples who had wonderful marriages.

Hers had started out that way, but when she saw changes happening, she should have questioned him point-blank. But she’d been scared. They could have talked things out and maybe salvaged their marriage. Now it was too late. There was no use wishing she’d acted on her suspicions a long time ago.

She looked around her claustrophobic cell. What she needed to do was get out of here.

Her abductor was waiting for her to cooperate. Maybe if she made up a lie, he’d believe her and allow her to go free with a slap on the wrist.

Without hesitation she pushed the chair over to the door and climbed up to press the button.

While she waited for a response, she put it back against the wall.

In a minute the door swung open to reveal the guard who’d brought her breakfast.

“Signora?”

“I hate it in here and I’m ready to talk.”

He took the tray off her bed and started out the door.

“Did you hear me?” she cried. “I’m ready to confess!”

He shot her an oblique glance before the door closed.

“Ooh—” She pounded her fists against it. “What kind of a lunatic place is this?” she shouted.

When she realized she was only hurting herself, she gave it up and walked around her cell, trying to rub the pain from the sides of her hands.

Five minutes later she experienced déjà vu to hear the door open and see her captor enter the room. When she glimpsed the forbidding look in those fiery black eyes, she backed away from him.

“You’re ready to tell the truth, signora?”

“Yes, but not in here. I can’t abide enclosed places.”

He gave an elegant shrug, reminding her what an amazing physique he had.

“It’s either in here, or not at all.”

“Oh all right!” She took a deep breath. “It’s true I pretended to be Mrs. Parker to get the duc’s attention.

“I do freelance stories for a local magazine in Portland. One of my boyfriends works for the police department and once in a while he tells me something interesting.

“A couple of months ago he told me his boss was working on a missing persons case involving a married man from Portland and another woman who died with him in Europe. Just the other day he mentioned that they’d finally identified the woman and had pictures of her.

“I asked him if he would let me see them. He did, so I scanned them and downloaded them to my laptop.

“All I wanted to do was talk to the woman’s husband and ask if I could do an exclusive story on him. In case he didn’t believe I was serious, I planned to show him the pictures. But I wouldn’t have allowed them to be published, or have bribed him for money. I just wanted to write about his heart-wrenching ordeal. Americans love stories about wealthy, titled people with problems. It makes them feel better about their own less glorious lives.

“So now that you know the truth, please let me go. All I want is my passport and suitcase back. If you’ll send for a taxi, the driver will take me to the train.

How about it? You let me out of here and I’ll go straight home to Portland.”

His eyes held a frightening gleam.

“You’re lying through your pearly-white teeth, signora, but I give you credit for your amazing resourcefulness.”

His wintry smile daunted her. “As it happens, I never told you the nature of those photos. If you’d known what they contained, you wouldn’t have placed your source’s job in jeopardy. All you’ve done is convince me you’re a liar.”

He was bluffing…

“How typical,” she mocked. “If I were a man, you would have said ‘good try.’ But since I’m a woman, I can’t be trusted.”

One black brow quirked.

“Aren’t you? So far you’ve told me two diametrically opposing lies, none of which hold water. While I’m still here, want to try for a third? I have nothing more important to do for the moment.”

“Okay.” She felt all the stuffing go out of her. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you’ll let me go. No one will need to know.”

“If it were a hundred thousand dollars, I wouldn’t take it.”

He was impossible!

“Look— All I wanted to do was speak to Mr. Montefalco. This is between him and me, no one else.”

He pursed his lips. “Why is that, signora?”

She lifted solemn eyes to his.

“Because it’s very sad and very personal.”

He put his hands on hips, the picture of the ultimate male. “I’m his closest confidant. You can tell me anything. If it will make you feel any better, you can whisper it to me. I promise it will remain sacrosanct.”

Something in his tone had her halfway believing him, but it didn’t matter.

“How do I know you’re not wearing a listening device?”

“You don’t,” he clipped out. “You’ll have to trust me.”

She leaned close to him. “Sorry, but I have to talk to him alone.”

The nearness of her heart-shaped mouth and the flowery scent her body gave off, stunned him as much as the words that fell from those enticing lips underlining her intransigence.

She couldn’t be Mrs. James Parker. Any man married to her wouldn’t have felt the urge to turn to Donata or any other woman for that matter.

“If you won’t let me out of here,” she continued in a low voice, “then bring Mr. Montefalco to me. I want to talk to him, and I believe he’ll be anxious to talk to me. We might find we’re a comfort to each other.”

With his body still reacting to the warmth of her breath on his ear, Gino found himself reluctant to put distance between them. But he had to no matter how much the imploring look in her eyes and the haunting appeal in her voice persuaded him to believe she was finally telling him the truth.

He’d just stepped away, rubbing the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of frustration when the door opened to reveal one of the guards. He informed Gino that Inspector Santi wanted him on the phone.

Without saying a word to her, he strode down the hall to the office, hardening himself against her sound of protest. In truth he was oddly reticent to find out she was the beautiful dust of the enemy.

He picked up the receiver, then turned his back toward the desk sergeant.

Knowing the jail phone was tapped he said, “Inspector? I’ll call you back on my phone.” After replacing the receiver, Gino pulled out his cell and rang him on the other man’s private line.

Keeping his voice low he said, “Carlo? What did you find out?”

“She is Mrs. Parker, Gino.”

While his thoughts took off in a dozen directions, Carlo kept talking. “I guess I’m not surprised. She’s a widow grieving for her husband.”

Gino had proof of that. He’d just come from her cell. She’d claimed that she’d sought out Marcello in the hope of giving and receiving comfort. But if that was true, how did she explain the laptop? Something didn’t ring true.

“She said she’d been in St. Moritz to visit the scene of the accident,” Gino murmured.

“It’s unfortunate she chose this time to come to Italy when the press is just waiting for anything they can do to sensationalize this case. She’s the last person you should be seen with.”

Gino agreed. All it would take was a photo of the two of them together caught by one of the lurking paparazzi, and the hellish situation would escalate overnight.

“You need to leave the jail and let me handle this, Gino. I’ll instruct the sergeant to free her. One of the guards will escort her to Rome by train and put her on the next plane for the States.”

Gino grunted a response as he listened to his friend. Though Carlo made a lot of sense, Gino couldn’t forget that Mrs. Parker had come all this way with that laptop to see Marcello for a specific reason. Since she’d put herself in jeopardy to accomplish her objective, Gino couldn’t let her go until he’d found out what was so important she’d risked everything, even jail, to make contact.

“I’m sure you’re right, Carlo. I’ll leave it up to you.”

“That’s good. You need to stay as far removed from her as possible.”

He would as soon as he’d had time to talk to her away from other people. “Grazie, Carlo. It seems that’s all I ever say to you.”

“Forget it. Ciao, Gino.”

Ally had been sitting on the cot wondering what was going on when the door flew open.

It was the same guard as before.

“Come, signora. You’ve been released. Please to follow me.”

Hardly able to believe it, she grabbed her purse and started after him.

“What about my suitcase?”

“It is here,” he said once they’d reached the reception area of the jail.

Convinced her abductor had confiscated the laptop, she leaned over to open the catches and sure enough, she discovered it was gone.

For some inexplicable reason, which was absurd considering her circumstances, she wished he were still here so that in front of his colleagues, she could accuse him of absconding with it.

She shut the lid and lifted her head. “What about my passport?”

“You’ll be given it after you board your flight for the U.S.”

She almost blurted that she couldn’t leave Montefalco yet, but she stopped herself in time. All she needed was to make that mistake and then be shuffled back to her cell for defying him.

She took a deep breath to calm down. When she boarded her jet, she would claim to be ill and ask to be put on a later flight. Once she found a hotel room in Rome, she would figure out another plan to reach Mr. Montefalco.

“Very well. I’m ready whenever you are.”

The jail door swung open. Another guard stood outside in front of a white police car and held the rear door open for her. Unlike her captor, he didn’t help her with her luggage. No doubt he considered her a lowlife reporter who didn’t deserve common courtesy.

She pushed her case across the seat and climbed in.

When their car emerged from the alley, throngs of tourists filled the walkways. The guard wound his way through the charming streets for the short ride to the depot.

She hated the thought of another hot train ride, but there was no help for it.

“Come, signora.”

The guard had parked the car in a VIP zone. He escorted her through the crowded station and out to the quay.

After a brief talk with one of the conductors, he boarded the train with her and put her in a second class compartment already filled except for one seat in the middle. She had to put her suitcase on the shelf above without his assistance.

“I’ll be in the corridor until we reach Rome, signora.” The warning that she shouldn’t try anything to escape was implicit.

Her cheeks hot with anger, she sat down, trying to avoid the interested stares of the other passengers.

No sooner had the guard stepped out of the compartment and disappeared than the train began to inch forward.

Ally was so exhausted after spending a wretched night in that jail cell, she rested her head against the back of the seat. Dispirited by everything that had happened, she closed her eyes for a few minutes, needing sleep. The first thing she would do when she could finally be alone in a hotel room was to crash.

Soon she lost track of time and was almost out for the count when she felt a hand on her arm.

“Signora?” sounded a deep male voice with a vaguely familiar timbre.

She came awake with a cry of alarm.

When she saw her striking captor still dressed in black, standing there bigger than life carrying her suitcase, the breath rushed from her lungs. She blinked up at him, wondering if he was real, or if she was dreaming.

“W-what’s going on?”

His hooded eyes played over her features, awakening her senses in spite of her fatigue, or maybe because of it.

“I relieved the other guard. We’re getting off at the next stop. Come with me.”

Though she felt so groggy she didn’t know how she’d be able to walk, she realized this man was her only chance to get Jim’s laptop back, and maybe find an entrée to Mr. Montefalco.

Clutching her purse, she got up and followed him out of the compartment and down the corridor. The train had already begun to slow down.

When it came to a stop, several people were waiting to climb on board. But he stepped off the stairs first, and held out his hand to help her. Feeling distinctly light-headed from sleep deprivation, she found his strong grasp oddly reassuring.

To her surprise he kept hold of it as he led her out of the small station to a truck parked along the road. It wasn’t anything like the black sedan from the palazzo she’d ridden in last night.

Heavens—was it only last night? Ally felt all mixed up and confused. She had to be confused to be happy this enigmatic stranger had rescued her from that awful train.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked once he’d turned on the engine.

“To a place where you can eat and sleep in that order.”

That sounded so wonderful, she wanted to cry.

“Why would you do that for me when you had me jailed for false credentials, trespassing and impersonating someone else?” her voice trembled.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. She could tell because his knuckles went white.

“I’ve found out you’re who you said you were.”

She jerked her head away from him so he wouldn’t see her eyes smarting.

“You mean you now believe I’m Mrs. Parker…”

“Yes.”

“I see. So now that you know my name, what does Mr. Montefalco call you?”

There was a curious silence, then, “Gino.”

She stirred restlessly in the seat.

“Which may or may not be your real name, but at least it’s something to call you.”

“Besides bastard you mean?” he interjected in a wry tone.

Caught off guard, Ally laughed softly. She couldn’t help it.

“Actually that’s what I felt like calling the guard when he wouldn’t help me with my suitcase on the train. Even at your worst, you were more of a gentleman.”

She heard him draw in what sounded like a tortured breath. “I owe you an apology.”

She flicked him a covert glance. “If I ever get to meet your employer, I’ll be able to vouch for your fierce loyalty to him. It’s no wonder he keeps you on his payroll. Every man who’s a target should have such a trusted bodyguard.”

By now they’d left the little village of Remo and were driving through fields of sunflowers with a hot Italian sun shining down.

“How do you know so much about him?”

She studied her hands. “I know very little apart from the obvious facts.”

“Which are?” he prodded.

“He’s rich, titled and has lost his wife. If he loved her desperately, then my heart goes out to him.”

“What about your heart?” he whispered.

“If you’re asking if it was shattered by my husband’s death, then yes.” If you’re wondering if his probable infidelity has wounded me, then yes. But because she’d waited too long to try to fix what was wrong between them, Jim’s unexpected death had brought on guilt she couldn’t seem to throw off.

Gino drove along the maze of country roads with what appeared to be long accustomed practice and expertise.

Once upon a time she would have loved traveling through the countryside, but right now she was numb to the world around her.

The next time he stopped, her bleary eyes took in a yellowed, three-story farmhouse that looked quite ancient.

“Where are we?”

“My home,” he announced before helping her from the car.

He carried her suitcase and told her to follow him. She didn’t question him as they entered the foyer and climbed some stairs to the next floor.

He opened a door on his left. “You’ll be comfortable in here, Mrs. Parker. The en suite bathroom is through that door. I’ll ask my housekeeper Bianca to bring you a tray. Sleep well. We’ll talk later.”

“Yes, we will. I’d like my husband’s laptop back.”

“All in good time.”

As she was coming to find out, it was his favorite saying.

He placed her suitcase on the aged hardwood floor, then left and shut the door behind him.

Straight ahead of her was a four-poster double bed with a comfy looking white quilt. She was so tired, she removed her outer clothes and climbed under the covers. Ally didn’t remember her head touching the pillow.