Murphy's Law (31 page)

And that was when she saw him.

Nick, leaning against the street corner, arms crossed, watching her. She had no idea how long he’d been there.

Her heart gave a massive thump in her chest, bigger than when she’d been offered the new job and that was when she realized she was in big trouble.

Someone picked up her hand, kissed her cheek. She felt the scratch of beard, and a flake of food fell onto her shoulder. Richard.

“Bye dear,” he said gently. “I’m glad you accepted.”

What? She rose to her feet, looked up at him blankly, nodded. She couldn’t think. There was some incredible magnetic principle at work and she couldn’t function as long as this tractor beam was pulling her to Nick.

Siena’s streets were cobble-stoned and she’d grown used to watching her step, but she didn’t look down and she didn’t look around, she just watched Nick’s face as she walked toward him. She wouldn’t stumble and fall. She couldn’t. Not while he was there, watching her. He’d catch her if she fell.

She walked up to him, so close her breasts touched his chest. His face was sober, serious. A long, scarred finger reached up to stroke her cheek and left warmth at his touch.

Without a word, they set off together, his arm around her waist, and her arm around his.

Such a magical evening, no words were necessary. The entire city was out on the streets, people still at the tables in their contrada, candles flickering low, the kids clearing tables. At times, from far off, a contrada would raise its voice in song, and then die down. Nick took them down narrow alleys, far from the celebrations, so quiet their footsteps echoed. It felt odd to hear her footsteps because she felt like she was walking on air.

Nick walked through a gate in the city walls and they walked out onto a large open space, the city behind them, the Tuscan countryside falling in terraces below them. They got into his car, but before switching the engine on Nick turned to her, face grim, a frown between his black eyebrows.

“I’m staying with you tonight,” he said, as if it were a threat. As if glorious sex with Nick weren’t the best possible ending to the best day of her life.

And she could only echo what she’d said before. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

Chapter Sixteen

Don’t lose heart…They might want to cut it out.

The morning of the
Palio
found Dante at his desk at 7:00 a.m. without his
cappuccino
and
cornetto
.
He’d had no choice but to come into the office in that sorry state at, what for him, was the crack of dawn.

Where on earth could he stop for breakfast?

There wasn’t a bar in town where he wouldn’t have been detained for at least an hour, chewing over probabilities and jockey peculiarities or—in his own
contrada
—exulting in the certain upcoming win. He didn’t want to waste any time today. He wanted to be out and free by eleven to watch the last trial heat at 12:30 p.m.

Otherwise there was nothing in this world which would have him sitting at his desk at 7:00 a.m.—on an empty stomach!—instead of lying in his bed, preferably with a partner. A pretty one.

He had walked into the
Questura
with the bravado of the utterly virtuous only to see Loiacono already there in the big, airy, communal office all the inspectors shared, hunched over some papers.

Dante stuck his head through the door. “Ciao
,
Loiacono.”

The southerner looked up and blinked owlishly as if torn from his thoughts. Then he shot to his feet before Dante could say, “Don’t rise.”

“I’ll be in my office,” Dante told him.
But not before making myself some coffee
, he thought, and headed for the interrogation room.

“
Commissario
, there’s something I think you should read.” Loiacono picked up the papers from his desk and swiveled like a robot to follow Dante’s progress.

Probably the thousandth ministerial circular this year,
Dante thought with a sigh. They seemed to have the power of Holy Writ for Loiacono.

“Uh-huh,” he said without enthusiasm. “Just as soon as—”

“The Southbury Police Department emailed some information on the Americans up at the
Certosa
,” Loiacono interrupted. “Sir, I was just now looking through it.”

Dante had been reaching up for the coffee kept next to the 1998 edition of the
Civil Code
that no one ever read. “Southbury?” He dropped back to his heels, the coffee forgotten. “I didn’t know you could read English, Loiacono.”

Loiacono stood stiffly. “Seven years at the Naples British Institute. Night classes, sir.”

Even his voice sounded stiff. Dante squelched a sigh. Now he’d gone and ruffled those sensitive southern feathers. He was going to have to repair the damage. On an empty stomach, to boot.

“Well, I must’ve missed that in your file, Loiacono. But I’ll mention your superior knowledge of English in my report to the Questore, and that it’s been of invaluable service to the case. The Questore will be delighted that we have, ah—” Was he laying it on too thick? “—that we have such forward-looking officers in our service.” Dante wound down.

Loiacono hadn’t changed expression.

“So—what did Southbury PD say? Anything interesting?”

“Very.” Loiacono looked grim. He always looked grim, but there was a special quality to it this morning. “Very interesting. It looks like Madeleine Kobbel neglected to tell us she was married to Professor Roland Kane.”

Nick leaned against the door, arms crossed, waiting for Faith to come out of the bathroom. Though he hadn’t slept much, he felt refreshed, ready to face the big day. He and Faith hadn’t fallen asleep until 3:00 a.m., but it looked like sex with Faith made him feel as good as a full night’s sleep. Worked for him.

He’d watched the dawn from the big windows facing one of the smaller inner courtyards, as the sky turned from pale gray to robin’s egg blue. It would be bright cobalt by the midday trial heat, and would be light blue tinged with red-gold by late afternoon.

Restless, he jingled the keys to his grandparents’ house, the keys to his grandfather’s Dedra and the heavy euro coins in his pocket. A door to one of the rooms facing the courtyard downstairs slammed shut and he could hear voices drifting up.

An old man in overalls shambled out with a hose and started watering the plants—roses and some other flowering bushes Nick couldn’t even begin to identify. The sharp smells of heat and dirt and water drifted up—the smells of Italy in summer.

It was the day of the July Palio. He’d been in Siena on this day or the day of the August Palio all his life and each and every time he’d been happy. Consumed with eagerness if the Snail was running, simply excited at the pageantry when it wasn’t, but always, always happy. Not being happy was so foreign to him it was almost like being in a foreign country.

It was humbling right now to realize how happy he’d been all his life, how blessed he’d been in his family and profession, how easy things had always been for him, what a smooth progression his life had been up until now.

Faith hadn’t been so lucky and yet she’d faced her difficulties with a degree of courage and grit and humility that shamed him. He’d been off-balance for days now, withdrawn and…sulking. That was the only word for it. The first real hardship of life and he’d stumbled, almost fallen, and had to be picked up by his family.

No more.
He still had no idea what he was going to do with the rest of his life, and he might drift for a while, but no more sulking, no more feeling sorry for himself.

He would take it one day at a time, one task at a time. And task number one, right now, was seeing that Faith got back to the States safely.

The shower switched on and, delightfully, he heard her singing, some pretty Irish ballad.

Her voice was soft and tentative but lovely, which didn’t surprise him. He was beginning to realize she did a lot of things well. She might hide her light under a bushel, but it was a strong light. And a stupid bushel.

A quarter of an hour later, she walked out smiling. There was something different about her this morning. She was wearing a red sundress he’d never seen before and her hair was up, but that wasn’t it. She had high color beyond the light tan the Sienese sun had given her and she vibrated with excitement.

She walked over to him, lifting up to kiss him and took his arm. “Come on. If you were my guard dog all last night, the least I can do is offer you a nice breakfast. And the Certosa breakfasts are about the best around.”

Nick curled his hand over hers and smiled back. “That’s because you haven’t had breakfast at
Nannini’s
yet. I swear they make the best coffee and pastries in the world. Too bad you won’t have a chance to try them out. We’ll see if we can fit it in today. You’re leaving tomorrow morning, aren’t you?”

“Mm,” she said ambiguously and started descending the stairs, slowly, so he could keep up.

They crossed the flowering quadrangle and walked through the small archway leading to the main courtyard. They both stopped as if on cue to admire the scene—bright green grass, towering dark green and brown oak, brick walkway. The big ancient oak tree in the center was so huge its canopy covered the sky while they walked under it toward the refectory.

Even if he didn’t know where the refectory was, he could have found it by smell and sound. The fragrance of freshly brewed espresso and warm
cornetti
was a counterpoint to the sounds of dishes and male voices raised in laughter.

Faith raised her head to the sky and breathed in deeply. Her throat arched, soft and smooth, and his hand itched to touch it. He’d held her all night, touched her everywhere. She didn’t want any caresses in public, she’d made that clear, though Nick didn’t give a shit about what some nerds thought. Still, they were her nerds so he restrained himself. But the instant they were alone he was going to kiss that long, white neck. And bite her, lightly, right where her neck met her shoulder.

She’d started coming last night when he did that. Oh, yeah.

His dick stirred at the thought and he had to think of something sad—the Hunters playing next year without him—to get it to go back down.

He’d have happily gone right back upstairs with her, fall back into bed and spend the rest of the morning inside her, touching her, but a couple of geeks had already seen her and smiled hopefully.

He recognized that smile, the smile of groupies. He sighed and tightened his hold on Faith.
Sorry guys, she’s mine.

Up ahead, heavy terracotta planters on the arched walkway a floor above spilled bright red flowers down several feet like a vibrant, colored curtain. The delicate, lacy blossoms swayed gently in the morning breeze. Nick slowed his pace to enjoy the contrast of the red flowers against the red highlights the bright, early morning sun picked out in Faith’s hair.

Instead of entering the ground floor walkway through one of the four entrances cut into the low wall, Faith stopped and patted the broad gray stone surface of the wall. “Sit down. I have an idea. It’s so beautiful outside, why don’t we have our coffee here? I’ll ask one of the waiters if they’d be willing to serve us out here on a tray. They might. They’ve all been so nice.”

She smiled up at him, slim and vibrant in the morning light, and he thought the waiters would probably run into Siena to get her coffee, if she asked.

“Sounds great.”

It did, too, because out here it might be easier to carve out a little private time with her without having to share her with the geeks still in the breakfast room, inhaling
cornetti
or whatever it was they ate.

Already in the courtyard there was probably enough brainpower to run a third-world country. There were at least five math nerds lounging in the cloisters, eyeing Faith. His glare kept them away.

There would probably be another thirty of them inside, and there’d be no hope of sitting at a table alone with Faith for more than a minute. Yeah, it was better to stay out here.

He brushed the gray slab of stone which still retained the cool of the night, and sat down heavily. His knee really hurt.

Faith came out from the refectory empty-handed and he stood. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be possible to have their coffee outside, so…but then he smiled and shook his head in wonder.

Two waiters were following Faith, one carrying a little round table and the other carrying two cane-bottomed chairs. While one waiter set up the table on the grass, whisking a cotton tablecloth over it, the other disappeared for a moment, returning with a filled tray.

“
Ecco signorina,”
the first waiter said, with a broad sweep of his arm. He pulled back a chair and waited. Faith smiled as she sat and glanced up at him. “
Grazie.
To both of you.”

They bowed and went back inside.

“Don’t just stand there, Nick,” she said serenely as she poured two cups of coffee for them. There were four
cornetti,
slices of bread, pats of butter, a small jar of honey and a pot of steaming milk. “Come have breakfast.”

The waiter had put the chairs facing each other, but he wanted to sit next to her. He pulled the chair over and sat down. “You put something in the water here? Either that or you’ve cast a spell on them. Tuscans aren’t usually so obliging.”

Faith laughed. “Maybe they’re being so nice because they know that soon they’ll see the back of us. The conference is over, except for a few ceremonial speeches. By eleven they’ll be sweeping out the conference rooms. Then we’re going down to see your precious Palio.” She nudged a
cornetto
onto his plate. “From all the fuss, you’d think it was the second coming.”

“Oh, better.” Nick stuffed a big bite of pastry in his mouth and chewed happily. It wasn’t
Nannini’s
, but still worlds better than the rubbery donuts his corner coffee shop in Southbury served up. “I don’t imagine the second coming will be pretty to look at.”

“Nope. I’m sure the Palio will be better.” Faith sipped from her cup, closing her eyes and sighing.

Nick sidled closer with his chair. Now was the time to take a shot at it.