Run To Rome

Ben’s comment about trusting his gut instincts had struck a chord, because she was alive today for exactl

y that reason. Why in the hell did the guy trust her? Other than cleaning blood off his face, she hadn’t been that nice to him.

Unbidden, the memory of his kisses swamped her with sensation. She grew warm thinking about his tall, hard body pressed to hers. Such a different feeling than when she was forced to touch Nino.

Ben’s voice sounded in her head again. “I can’t get out of here alone, I know that. I’m equally certain Nino is not who he seems and you’re going to get screwed.”

A chill snaked down her spine as she remembered the pain of Nino’s fingers squeezing her breast. She prayed she’d read Ben right and he’d keep his mouth shut.

Bottles rattled on the refrigerator door when she slammed it shut in frustration. Damn them both. Ben had planted the seed of doubt, and Nino had watered the hell out of it.

****

Alrigo pushed his half-empty breakfast plate aside and declined a cigarette from Nino. By the end of the day, he’d have just about everything he wanted.

Enough money to start over somewhere else.

Nino out of the picture.

Eva.

She wouldn’t be willing, but he relished the added excitement of her resistance.

He sipped his espresso and contemplated the fact that they’d been in his house for almost a year, yet over the past two days his repressed desire for Eva Anelli had mutated into a consuming need to possess. Part of the acceleration resulted from the loathing she mistakenly thought she’d managed to conceal. For that, he would thoroughly enjoy teaching her to show some respect.

And the rest of the transformation had been triggered by her subtle increase of aggressive belligerence. He’d first noticed it during his phone conversation with Tomlin to verify Ben remained alive. The moment he’d threatened to kill Sanders and reached for his gun, Eva had reacted to protect the man. As if she could’ve stopped him. She’d caught herself, but he’d since taken note of a slight difference in the way she treated him and Nino, and even in the way she stared down their American hostage. He didn’t like it.

In the past she’d used her brash, icy demeanor to put any man who dared challenge her in their place, but this was different. He’d observed from afar long enough to recognize her defense of something hidden, something he’d bet not even Nino knew about, because his gut told him this change was directly connected to Benjamin Sanders.

He kept his doubts to himself as Nino drew on his cigarette and squinted through the smoke. If Nino suspected anything between Eva and Ben, even if there wasn’t, Alrigo would lose his human collateral in a heartbeat. Hell, if he didn’t need the prick, if he wasn’t the key to the entire exchange, he’d get rid of Sanders himself before Eva had a chance to do anything to fuck things up.

He supposed he’d have to bring her along to keep an eye on her. His men hadn’t been able to handle a couple of American tourists, there’s no way they’d contain a dynamite like Eva. His fingers tightened briefly on the cup in hand. Originally, he’d only wanted the evidence on the video. Then they’d all made the mistake of screwing with him.

Tomlin snatched the video from his grasp. The sisters’ escapes made his entire operation look incompetent. Sanders made the fatal mistake of hitting his broken ribs and exposing weakness in front of his men.

Alrigo forced himself to relax, keeping his ever-growing impotent fury hidden as he set his cup in its saucer with a steady hand. He just needed to keep control and everything would work out as he’d planned. That nosy cop Roselli had paid for his stupidity, so would the rest.

The same as Frank Gallo had six years ago.

Chapter 22

Trent cracked an eye open, squinting against the light piercing the small starboard window above his bed. Bright sunlight, not the soft glow of dawn. The past couple days had definitely caught up with him. A smile tugged the corners of his mouth when he thought of the activities that’d added to his exhaustion last night.

With a contented groan despite the aches in his sore body, he turned his head to find he’d sprawled across much of the otherwise empty bed.

Alarm sent him reaching for the gun, only to come up empty. His stomach lurched at the sight of the bare shelf and he sat up with a jerk. The digital time on the microwave in the galley read just after ten. Other than a brief wince at the sting in his bullet-torn bicep, he focused on Halli.

Details registered as he shot off the bed. Her clothes no longer littered the floor. Through the half-open door of the head he glimpsed a towel hung over the shower rod. Coffee aroma lingered in the air, and the pot was half-full.

His urgency abated slightly.

Halli making coffee didn’t suggest trouble. And anyone who would’ve taken her and the gun would’ve probably shot him as he lay oblivious to the rest of the frickin’ world. God, he couldn’t believe he’d slept through her getting out of bed, showering, and making coffee.

Some protection he was.

His waking contentment had now vanished completely, replaced by fear seconds ago, and now guilt. He raked both hands through his hair and fisted them tight, welcoming the pain. There was a very real possibility that he’d fail her today like he’d failed Sean. The responsibility of keeping her safe had been an unexpected, unwanted burden, but now the thought of not living up to it scared the hell out of him.

Halli’s hushed voice from above sent a wave of relief crashing through him despite having rationalized there was no immediate reason to worry. He braced a hand on the wall at the opening to the deck and drank in the sight of her slim form by the boat railing. Dressed in a snug black T-shirt and tan shorts, she stood with her back to him, talking on his disposable cell phone.