Lost in Italy (35 page)

He hesitated before answering truthfully.  “Based on Rachel’s description, probably.  Plus, it’s the only place I know of that Lapaglia operates from on this lake, and he specified we’d meet by boat.”

“Any chance we can get inside?”

His brows lifted.  “You want to pull a Remington and Mrs. King?”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.  It’d be a suicide mission for all of us.”

“You didn’t think so this morning.”

“I wasn’t wanted for killing a cop this morning.  Have you stopped to think about what happens to you if I get arrested?  What happens to Ben?”

Her silence confirmed she hadn’t.

“Our best bet is to trade the video and pay the ransom.”

She rubbed a hand over her face, propped her elbow on the door and chin in her hand, and sighed.  “Are you going to contact that guy with the military police?”

Lorenzo’s cousin Luca, the
Carabinieri
officer. 
“Simone gave me his number, and God knows we can use all the help we can get, but I worry about how far Lapaglia’s arm reaches, especially after finding out he’s got an informant at the consulate.  If he gets wind we contacted the authorities…”

No amount of money would save her brother.

He also didn’t tell her one or two of Lapaglia’s comments made Trent wonder if the ransom would do the trick , even if they followed instructions to the letter.  The man’s arrogance confirmed he believed himself above the law, no matter the evidence they had against him.  During their phone conversation, he hadn’t even reacted when Trent brought up Lorenzo’s murder.  With so many men of authority in his back pocket, a few more added to the body count wouldn’t faze him.

As he slowed for the turn that would take them along the lake up to Bellagio, Trent glanced over at Halli.  “But he’s your brother, so it’s your call.  Do you want to contact Luca?”

She looked surprised that he’d given her the decision and it took her a moment to answer.  “I think we should figure out how the exchange is going to take place without these guys just killing us after they have the video and the money.”

He held off on initiating the argument that he’d be alone during the exchange, but he was all for making sure he and Ben were still alive on the other side.  “Great idea.  Seeing as I don’t think well on an empty stomach, let’s say we stop for dinner and see what we come up with.”

“Let’s say we skip the chance of you being recognized and arrested and I’ll make something on the boat,” she countered.

Trent grimaced even though she had a damn good point.  Still, he couldn’t help thinking with his stomach instead of his head.  “Cops or Spaghetti O’s…man, that’s a tough call.”

“I can cook if I have ingredients.”

“Yeah?”

She lifted a noncommittal shoulder.  “It’ll give me something to do.”

In the name of safety, he gave her the benefit of the doubt and kept an eye out for the first market he could find.  Two detours later to avoid
Carabinieri
checkpoints, he spotted a market not far from Bellagio and pulled over.

Proving true the statement that she was the complete opposite of women he was used to, Halli took twice as long picking out food compared to clothes.  After she returned with the sack of groceries, he drove the last few kilometers to George’s place where the boat was docked.

“What are you going to do about Giovanni’s car?”

Trent recalled the shattered left hand mirror—he hadn’t had much luck with mirrors the past two days— and blown out back window and shrugged.  “Buy him a new one.”

Surprise lifted her eyebrows.  “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”  He parked out of sight of the road behind a small shed then looked over at her raised eyebrows.  “What?  You want to clean up all that blood?”

“I can.”

Trent shook his head on his way around to her side of the car, Lorenzo’s gun tucked neatly into the back waistband of his jeans and covered by his untucked shirt.

Halli closed her door, ever-present camera in hand.  “After we get Ben—”

“You’re going home, remember?  Don’t worry about the car, Halli, I’ll take care of it.”  After a moment of enjoyable distraction while she retrieved the bags from the back seat, he took the overloaded grocery bag from her arms.

“Must be nice to have that kind of money.”

He gave a short laugh as she preceded him along the path to the dock, carrying her small handful of other bags.

“It has its advantages.” 
Some days more than others.

She stopped suddenly.  Busy doing a quick check of their surrounding area, Trent almost ran her over when she turned to face him.

“That sounded bad—like I’m envious or something.”

“You mean you’re not?”

He meant it as a joke, but she immediately replied, “God, no.”

He lifted his brows, mimicking her earlier expression.  She whirled and quickly started walking again.  “What I meant was, I wouldn’t want your problems.”

“Huh,” he mused.  His problems included her.  Trent swept his gaze down the length of her back, taking in the fitted navy T-shirt and low-rise jeans she’d borrowed from Simone.  “And your life is so perfect.”

Over her shoulder, he received a roll of her eyes, softened by a small smile.  “Obviously not.  But do you think Lapaglia would’ve asked for the money if you weren’t who you are?”

“Probably not.”  He stepped past her onto the dock and leapt down into the boat.

“That’s all I’m saying,” she explained as he grasped her hand to help her aboard.  “And more for myself than anything.  It’s a reminder that, sure, the money’s probably nice, but it’s not everything.  Most times it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

Her unexpected bitter statement at the end spoke of hard-earned experience.  The vessel swayed gently beneath their feet, and while he would’ve liked a chance to study her expression, she pulled free as if she didn’t want to touch him.  Then she set the camera atop the groceries in his arms, took the bag, and went straight below deck.

Trent retrieved the SD card from where he’d stashed it in a waterproof compartment under the the captain’s cushion and joined her.  There may be some way to dig deeper into her last words while he figured out how to make a backup copy of the video for insurance.  He wouldn’t risk Halli or Ben by using it if the exchange went well, but if something went wrong…well, better to be prepared.

After she put the antibiotics bottle from Simone in the refrigerator, the small galley table became her workstation to unload the camera, Roma tomatoes, a long loaf of French bread, pasta, parsley, basil, garlic, fresh mozzarella, parmesan, and one onion.  He palmed the camera as he slid along the booth-style bench and propped his feet up on the seat cushion.

The answer was obvious, but he asked anyway.  “Whatcha makin’?”

“Spaghetti.  I know, cliché, but I could easily recognize all the ingredients without having to speak Italian.”

“And how about dessert?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he could’ve kicked himself for not keeping the question to himself.  In the close confines of the boat, with her recently showered fresh scent lingering in the air like it had in the car, his mind immediately flashed back to the scorching kiss at the Villa Melzi that morning.  The one at Simone’s had been nice, too, but it’d ended badly—how could it not with a gun involved?—and, that one certainly didn’t make him crave a long, slow, hot dessert like the one in the garden did.  His mouth actually watered as he fiddled with the camera in his hands.

“Sponge cake with fresh fruit and cream.”

He made a noncommittal noise, still vying for control over his over-imaginative mind.

“You want something else?”

She was bent over, digging pots and pans and a cutting board from his small cupboards.  He eyed her tempting curves and said, “Nothing you’d go for.”

A sauté pan banged onto one of the two stove burners.  She put a hand on her hip and turned to give him a challenging look.  “You don’t think I can handle your dessert?”

Now was the time to lay on the playboy charm and let her know they were talking about two entirely different things.  See where it led.  It’s what his character would do to help pass the time until tomorrow.  Ease the stress.  Get their minds off things.

He snorted softly. 
Yeah, right.

“You might be surprised,” she said.

Oh, there’d be surprise all right.  He flipped open the viewfinder of the camera and powered it on.  “I don’t think we’ve got the right ingredients.”  Oil and water didn’t mix anyway, right?  No matter how hot the fire burned.

“Just tell me what you want.  I’m very good at improvising.”

Irritation had crept into her tone.

He paused with his finger above the play button.  “Forget I asked.  I don’t need dessert.”

“For a million dollars cash, dessert is the least I can do.”

Fine
.  Trent slowly and deliberately slid his gaze up the length of her body until their eyes locked, leaving no question as to his definition of dessert.  Color flooded her cheeks and she quickly turned toward the stove.

To grab a knife.

He smiled, wondering if he should take the move as a pointed warning.  After her suspicion at Simone’s and cool attitude since, he’d be stupid not to, even though she applied the razor sharp steel to the onion and garlic, not him.

When both ingredients were sizzling in a pan with a liberal splash of olive oil, she turned her slicing skills to the tomatoes and he started digging.

“So when was money ever more trouble than it was worth to you?”

The blade cut through a tomato and hit the cutting board beneath with a thud.  “When isn’t it?”

“Uh, uh.  One million’s got to buy me more than that.”

The look she gave him clearly said it didn’t.  He dropped his hands and the camera to rest in his lap and played dirty.  “You read, in intimate detail, how I feel about certain things.”  In particular, his father.  No one had known how much the man got to him except Sean.

The journal reminder stilled her hands.  They restarted in sharp, choppy jerks.  “I didn’t have what you’d call the typical all-American childhood.”

“No apple pie, a big ol’ dog, and family game nights playing Monopoly?”

This time she gave a soft snort.  “I wish.”

“I hear Monopoly isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

He received a small smile, but it didn’t last, and he still didn’t know what made her think money wasn’t worth the trouble.  If she’d grown up without it, he’d assume the hard work involved in reaching financial security would be more than worth it.  It had been for him after he struck out on his own.

Or…was it more that he could shove his success in his father’s face through the tabloids?

Her chopping had intensified, the rapid sounds punctuating the silence.  She quartered the Romas and removed small clumps of seeds before dicing and tossing the tomatoes in the pan with the onion and garlic.

Normally, he’d take the hint at her obvious discomfort and change the subject.  Except he hadn’t acted what he’d call normal around her since they’d met, and his curiosity was truly roused after her comments the day before.

“What do your parents do that have to do with back story?  You said they aren’t actors.”

“Not like you, that’s for sure.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he prompted, “Were they in sales?  Starving artists?  What?”

“Artists.  Hah.  They’d love that.”

Trent was losing patience.  “What exactly do they do?”

She finished with the tomatoes and swept her gaze across the table as if she wished there were more.  With nothing else to chop, she braced her hands on the table and looked him straight in the eye.

“Unless the federal government took time off for good behavior, they’re probably making license plates somewhere in Ohio.”

Surprise held him completely still.

“When I was with them, their sole focus was money,” she continued.  “Didn’t matter how much we had at the time, or what they had to do to get it, they always wanted more. 
That’s
when money was more trouble than it was worth.”

Resentment, anger and hint of vulnerability shimmered in her dusk-blue eyes.  “Anything else you’d like to know?”

Chapter 19

Trent ignored the thud of his heartbeat and held her gaze.  “Not at the moment.”

Not actors, but they used back story; currently locked up in federal prison.  For robbery?  Fraud?  Were they con-
artists
?

She turned away to begin running water into a pot.  Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath.  “Just let me know if anything else trips your trigger.  I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth.”

He sat forward, setting the camera on the table.  “In that case…”