“Where’s my dad?”
“He was being held at the same place you were taken.”
“I don’t remember any of it…after the farmhouse.” She looked out the window and then back at me. “There are things you’re not telling me.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Your father suffered injuries. I don’t know to what extent yet, which is why I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“But he’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“What about Brand?”
My eyes met Lucia’s, and she nodded.
“My understanding is that he’s been taken into custody.”
“You found him.”
“The same people who found you, found him.”
She took her hand from mine and laced her fingers with those of her other hand and looked out the window.
“Tara, I—”
She shook her head. “I can’t take any more right now.”
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I have a headache. Is there any water?” she asked without looking at me.
Lucia held up a bottle that I took and gave to Tara.
She didn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive to Valentini. When we arrived, her four friends raced out the door of the farmhouse. Knowing they had her if she was weak, I got out the opposite door and went inside where Razor and Mercer were waiting.
Razor put his hand on my shoulder, and Mercer patted my back. “Job well done, Halo.”
I couldn’t disagree more, but there’d be plenty of time for us to talk about that later. I had no doubt there’d be a hotwash once we were back in the States, if not before.
“Have you heard anything about Emsworth’s condition?”
“He was transported to a hospital outside Florence. They banged him up pretty good, but the worst of it was a few broken bones,” said Razor.
“And the brother?”
“Doc is working that now.”
“What does that mean?”
Razor looked at Mercer. “If they keep him in Italy, he’ll be a dead man inside of a week.”
“The ’Ndrangheta’s arms reach well into the US,” I said.
“They do, but we’ve got better control over where he ends up.”
I didn’t know whether K19 did or not, but that didn’t necessarily matter to me. Tara mattered, and I’d fucked things up with her so bad, I doubted there’d be any coming back from it.
When I heard them coming inside, I went upstairs to the bedroom she and I had shared—where we’d made love. Whether she wanted anything to do with me or not, that’s the way I’d remember our time together. We’d made love. No matter how I tried to tell myself I was an idiot for thinking I loved her, I did.