Lost in Italy (15 page)

Trent
sat forward, his attention focused beyond the swans.  The camera picked up the distant startled honks of the birds as Lorenzo’s body suddenly jerked once, twice, then—

“Hey—”
  Halli’s voice.

The camera swung in a wild arc, catching the tail end of a blue Fiat Punto as it drove away.

“No!” 
Trent
pounded a fist on the steering wheel and willed the camera to turn back across the lake.

Halli’s laugh reached the microphone, full of disbelief. 
“Real funny, guys.”

Trent
hit the rewind and watched Lorenzo get shot again.  And again.  His eyes burned.  The bastards had shot him in the back. 
Thirty-five years with Italian law enforcement and this is how you go out.  God, I’m sorry I asked for your help.

He rewound it one last time and played the scene frame by frame.  The final moment before the camera veered away revealed a single frame glimpse of a man standing in the shattered window, gun in hand.  The same man he’d seen at the police station.

Alrigo Lapaglia.

Trent
stared for a moment, committing the image of the man’s ruthless expression to memory.

“I got you now, you bastard, and I’m going to nail your ass,” he vowed triumphantly in the silent car.  “For Lorenzo
and
Sean, you fucking coward.”

He set the camera in the passenger seat and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.  What a day.  And it wasn’t about to get any easier.  After he dropped Halli at the consulate, he’d need to go see Simone, Lorenzo’s longtime girlfriend.  His friend had mentioned she was working the late shift at the hospital all this week, and though the thought of having to tell her what’d happened tore at his heart, it was the least he could do.  Over the past year they’d become almost as good of friends as he and Lorenzo.

Turning his mind to less disturbing thoughts, though no more pleasant, he jammed the car into gear and peeled away from the curb.  When he got back to the house, he’d make an extra copy or two of Halli’s video and put them in a safe place.  Maybe mail one to his agent in California.  If anything happened during the rest of the investigation, he wanted to make sure Lapaglia got what was coming to him beyond getting hit by a truck.

If they were real lucky, the guy was already dead.  But that still left the other lowlifes in his group of associates.  Between Halli’s video, and the wire he’d recorded off Lorenzo, the evidence he’d gathered would tighten the net on their black market import operations.  They would finally pay for the lives they’d ruined, human and animal alike.

Trent anticipated the feeling of vindication when he proved Sean’s death was not a suicide as the police had ruled.  Sean had been taking his medication.  He’d been excited about his new project.  Trent had talked to him
that morning
.

If Sean had intended to kill himself just a few hours later, Trent would’ve sensed the depression.  He would’ve heard something in his brother’s voice.  Right?

He rubbed a hand over his face as he drove.  For the last few months he’d agonized over that question.  It didn’t matter that he specifically remembered hanging up the phone and thinking how good Sean had been doing lately; nagging doubt hammered persistently at the back of his mind since the day of his brother’s death.

Now, he one hundred percent believed what he’d suspected all along.  Lapaglia’s culpability wasn’t wishful thinking on Trent’s part as a way to lay aside his guilt.  But once he proved the police had covered up the murder, would it be enough?  Enough for his father to finally recognize his oldest son was more than what he read in the tabloids?

And if it wasn’t enough for his father, would it be enough for himself?

Surprisingly, that was the tougher of the two questions.  He downshifted and slowed for the turn onto his street.  His father’s disapproval was ingrained, and to be honest, at times Trent had fostered it.  Having lived as a disappointment for so long now, if nothing changed, he imagined he would continue on as normal.  But the guilt of not being there for Sean ate him up inside.  If justice didn’t get rid of the guilt, he wasn’t quite sure what the hell could.

The added responsibility of Halli Sanders didn’t help.  Despite being used to pressure, getting her safely into the hands of someone trustworthy was a hell of a lot different than walking the red carpet and hoping the premiere of his current film didn’t tank.

Trent pulled into his drive and waited impatiently for the gate to open, then close again after he drove through.  He parked in the garage and headed inside with the camera, careful to be quiet in case Halli had been able to fall asleep.

The faint smell of food made his stomach rumble with anticipation.  His last meal had been breakfast with Lorenzo that morning while they went over their strategy.  Suddenly his stomach churned as a fresh wave of anguish washed over him, magnified by the mental image of his friend’s body jerking when the bullets tore into his flesh.

Trent laid the camera on the table and blew out a deep breath before pressing his hand over his constricted chest.  He needed to figure out a way to compartmentalize so he could focus.  Like when he acted a part.  His character would be the guy who didn’t care.  The guy who put emotion aside, solved the case, and took down the bad guys moments before the credits rolled.

He’d played that guy before, and he’d play him again.  Starting now.

Halfway to the fridge, his step faltered.  One of the drawers below the island counter stuck out a few inches.  He slid it open to see the contents all jumbled around.  It was the same drawer he’d put Halli’s things in, but he hadn’t done that.  The neighboring drawer looked identical; everything messed up as if someone had done a hasty search.

Dread snaked down his back.  The feeling escalated each step closer he took to the living room.  Alarm exploded at the sight of cabinet doors hanging ajar, open closets, and cockeyed couch cushions.  There was only one reason for anyone to search his place.

He froze in place, his mouth dry.

Where the hell is Halli?

He caught himself from calling out her name.  He’d come in quiet enough, if anyone was still in the house he might be able to take them by surprise.  With the living room obviously empty, he flattened himself against the wall to snatch a glance up the stairs.  Moving silently on the plush carpet, he made his way up toward the first bedroom.

The room Sean had used.

He hadn’t been inside since the day after his brother’s funeral, not even to check the quality of the remodeling he’d hired a local company to do.  Bracing himself for the living nightmare that plagued his dreams, he twisted the handle and swung open the door.

Relief nearly buckled his knees when he saw the room empty.  A part of him had half expected to see Halli’s lifeless body where Sean’s had been three months ago.

Finding her became imperative.  He’d left her alone and defenseless after she begged him not to.  If something happened to her while he was gone—
in his house
—how could he not be responsible?

The three other guest rooms were empty, including the one she’d used earlier, which left his at the end of the hall.  Heart hammering against his ribs, Trent threw open the door.

Halli lay on the bed, her small body curled around a pillow.  Was she dead?  Injured?  He crossed the room in record time, forgetting to even check if she was alone. 
God, please let her be okay
.

“Halli?”

Muttered, unintelligible words faded as she rolled onto her back.  Sleeping. 
Thank God!
  His gaze swept over her, searching for any signs of injury and finding none.  He sank onto the edge of the bed; his weight on the mattress shifted her body toward him.

Halli jerked awake, eyes wide with alarm.

As she scrambled backward against the headboard, pillow clutched in her arms, he held out a hand.  “It’s okay.  It’s me, Trent.”

The sound of crinkling, tearing paper caught his attention even as he noted the fear in her eyes subside.  A downward glance made him freeze.  In the next second, a white-hot spear of anger shot through him.

“What the hell—?”  He reached out and snatched his notebook out from under her thigh.  A page ripped out, stark white against his black bedspread.  “Are you kidding me?”

“Ah…um…”

Her wide eyes were now full of guilt.  She strangled the pillow against her stomach and realization brought a fresh wave of anger.  Trent looked at his desk.  Newspaper articles were strewn across the smooth walnut surface and the third drawer hung open.

“This was
you?
”  He stood and swept an arm toward the desk, then the door.  “And out there, too?”

“I thought you might be hiding something.”

He swung around at her defensive tone.  “So you tore my house apart?”

“It’s not that bad.”

She released the pillow and set it aside, only to shrink back when he leaned over the bed, the torn page crumpled in his fist.  “It looks like I was robbed.”

“Geez, relax, I’ll straighten everything up.”

She swung her feet around to climb off the bed on the opposite side.  When she started for the door, Trent took two steps and caught her arm, swinging her around to face him.  His fingers tightened with another mental flash of his brother’s lifeless body on the bed.

“Christ, Halli, I thought they’d found you!  I thought I was going to find you
dead
in here.”

She stared up at him, stiff as a board, and yet sympathy swam in those big blue eyes.  Damn it, that sounded like he actually cared.  He bit back a growl.  Well, so what if he did, it didn’t mean anything.  She was another human being, after all.  It made sense his character would care that much, at least.

“Where do you get off going through my things?” he demanded.

She shook off his hand and rubbed her arm before pointing her stuck-up little nose in the air.  “I asked you a question before you swiped my camera and left.  A damn important one, too.  Maybe next time you’ll answer instead of blowing me off.”

“I told you I wasn’t involved.  Besides which, who says I owe
you
any explanations?”

“You kidnapped me!”

He turned to face the desk, eyeing the balled page in his hand.  Her expression from a moment ago flashed in his mind. 
Sympathy
...?

His journal
. 
Sean.
  His gut tightened at the thought of her reading his private words and he deliberately made his next words condescending.  “We’re not really having this discussion again, are we?”

“Oh, goodness, no.  Wouldn’t want to bore the great Trent Tomlin.”

A forward jerk of his knee slammed the third drawer closed with a thud. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”

“Neither is yours.”

“I was serious.”

“So was I.”

Trent slapped the notebook on his desk and turned to lean back against the polished wood.  He ignored the article that floated to the ground and focused on Halli, his hands braced on either side of him, fingers gripping the edge of the desk.  “Look, I’m tired and I’m hungry, so can we cut the childish bullshit and be done with this for tonight?”

Red spots appeared on her cheeks as she crossed her arms over her chest.  “Aw, poor baby.”

“Saving your ass—
twice,
I might add—isn’t as easy as I make it look, so go make yourself useful and whip me up something to eat like I asked earlier.”

Her eyebrows shot up and her entire face flared crimson.  “Screw you,” she spat as she spun toward the door.

“Been happenin’ all day, sweetheart,” he drawled after her.

The door slammed so hard a couple of his brother’s framed photographs bounced against the wall.  Trent glared under his arm at the leather-bound notebook on the desk.  How much had she read?  All of it he’d bet. 
Damn her
.  She had no right reading his personal thoughts.  How’d she like it if he crawled inside her head and exposed her deepest regret?

His hand fisted tighter, his knuckles as white as the paper crushed between his fingers.  When the wave of emotion abated and he’d reconnected with his self-assigned character, he smoothed out the page against his thigh, then picked up the book and thumbed the pages until he found where it belonged.

She now had her answer as to his involvement.

And the added danger that went along with that knowledge.

Chapter 9

Childish bullshit?

Make yourself useful?

Halli fumed as she straightened up the mess she’d made in the living room.
What a jackass.

Slamming the cabinet door hard enough to rattle the beveled-edge glass on the top doors gave her no satisfaction.  She’d provided him with the video, hadn’t she?  The all-important recording he was so desperate to see.  That was useful.  How in the world could the arrogant jerk she’d just dealt with be the same man whose emotional, written words touched her heart and brought tears to her eyes?