“I don’t need a car.”
“Look, I’m driving down into Cabrisi. You must be staying there—it’s the only town in the area, and you’re on foot. Let me give you a ride. Trust me, I’m perfectly harmless.” He held up both hands in a surrendering gesture.
“I don’t think . . .”
“Look, I saw you here, and I don’t like to leave a single woman alone up in these hills with no protection. Not when it’s getting dark.” He gave her his patented engaging grin. “For all I know you’re some kind of super-spy, with epic martial arts skills and lethal weapons all over you. But in case you’re not, I just thought I should hang around and offer you a ride.”
She was judging him, he thought, looking at him as if trying to decide whether he was as harmless as he appeared. When she said nothing, he simply shrugged. “It’s no skin off my ass,” he continued. “I’m trying to be the good guy here. I know, I’m a stranger—you have no reason to trust me, but I’m not about to hurt you. Just give you a ride into town before the storm hits.”
She jerked her gaze to the sky, and he knew she hadn’t even noticed the storm clouds swirling down on the Tuscan hills. “I wondered why it had grown so dark this early,” she said inconsequentially. And then she met his gaze, and her doubt and distrust had vanished. “I was going to ask Signor Corsini for a ride when he finished his prayers but I think he’s fallen asleep.”
He froze, all sentimental weakness vanishing. If she was connected to their recent hit then he’d have no choice. “Signor Corsini?” he echoed. The less he said, the more she’d have to come up with. It was an old trick, but an effective one.
“The old man who’s praying. He’s staying at the same hotel I am. I see him at dinner. He’s very sweet.”
She was staying at the Villa Ragarra, the same hotel they were using. That made things both easier and harder. Easier if she really was a liability and he had to dispose of her. Easier for him to find out what she knew if they were staying beneath the same roof, harder to keep Claudia from going after her. Claudia liked to kill.
“At that age he’s probably got a lot to answer for,” he said easily. “I wouldn’t count on him being ready before the storm hits, and maybe he needs to atone while he drives down the hill. He’s probably got any number of Hail Marys to make.”
She gave him a look then, her head tilted questioningly, and he laughed. “Recovering Catholic,” he said lightly. “I was a close acquaintance with repentance when I was a kid.”
She nodded, believing it. It was nothing more than the truth. “Good point,” she said finally, then glanced at the threatening sky. She took a deep breath. “I’d appreciate a ride.”
So far so good, he thought. She hadn’t made a fuss over her friend Corsini—she hadn’t noticed anything odd. She was also willing, albeit grudgingly, to accept a ride from him down into town. If she knew the old man was dead, he would be an obvious suspect and she would never get in his car.
She still might bolt, but he knew people, women in particular, and he could tell when her uneasiness began to fade. Either that, or she was a first-rate actress, and he doubted that. He pointed to the Fiat Claudia had left for him. “I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got to offer, but it works.” He walked over and opened the passenger door, waiting for her, every sense alert. If she suspected something now would be her time to run for it.
She barely hesitated, stripping off her knapsack before slipping into the front seat, looking up at him questioningly. He closed the door, very gently, and moved around to the other side. She was already fiddling with the seat belt.
“You can put your knapsack in the back,” he suggested, starting the car. It looked like the classic European rental, solid, reliable, and boring. This one had a lot more under the hood than anyone would ever suspect, and he could give Claudia’s Lexus a run for the money, but the girl was unlikely to notice.
“I’ll hold it, thank you,” she said politely.
He nodded, putting the car into gear, and then they were off down the twisting roads that led to Cabrisi at relatively sedate speeds. She was staring out at the countryside as they sped past, doing her best to ignore him, which gave him the luxury of watching her. She had a good profile—sweet lips, a firm chin, a high forehead, and gorgeous eyes. She really was darling, and he idly considered what he’d like to do with her, exactly where he’d kiss her, which way he’d move. He’d like to drive the shy wariness from those wonderful eyes; he wanted her screami
ng beneath him as she came. He’d taken one look at her in the front hall of the old church and wanted her, and the more innocent she was appearing, the more he was allowing himself to fantasize.
He was getting hard, and that wasn’t a good idea, so he tore his mind away from her dusty, gorgeous legs and concentrated on the road. The Fiat could handle these twisty turns even better than the Lexus, and on impulse he let the car loose, just a bit, taking the next curve at a speed that would have caused a normal person to blanch.
The woman beside him didn’t. She watched the countryside whiz past, and her eyes were shining, her breath coming faster. But her hands had let go of the knapsack and grabbed the cloth seat, her knuckles white, and there was no disputing that she was both terrified and exhilarated by his driving.
He immediately slowed the car. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I drive a little too fast for most people’s comfort. It comes from living in Rome for years.” He’d never spent more than a week in Rome at one time, but it made for a good explanation for his excellent Italian, which he was sure she’d noticed. She was the kind of woman who noticed things.
She turned to look at him, giving him a wry smile. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a chickenshit. Though I have to admit it was fun.”
“When you weren’t terrified for your life?” he suggested.
“There’s that,” she agreed. “By the way, my name’s Evangeline Morrissey.”
“James Bishop,” he replied, reaching out to shake her hand. Now what in the hell had prompted him to give her his real name? He really must be off his game.
It didn’t matter. He was going to disappear as soon as he was certain she wasn’t a problem. Claudia wasn’t one for accepting his gut feelings anymore, but if he could just keep the girl safe until Claudia left then he wouldn’t have to worry. The ancient Romans might have been into sacrificing stray lambs—he wasn’t.
“Evangeline,” he murmured. “That’s very pretty. What do people call you? Vangie?”
She shuddered. “God, no. They call me ‘professor.’?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to call you ‘professor’?”