Riptide (29 page)

Dafne was lucky that Bria had a slight hangover headache and wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation.

“Buongiorno, sorella.”
Dafne started at the sound of Bria’s voice. She probably didn’t much like being called sister, or being spoken to in Italian either.

The other woman paused with the secateurs in one gloved hand and a long-stemmed yellow rose in the other. “You’re up early.” The Stuart crystal vase already held at least three dozen yellow roses, and more were in boxes on the other side of the table.

Bria had seen them delivered an hour before when she’d come in from her run. Along with enough other flowers to outfit an entire state dinner, or possibly two weddings.

No wonder Marrezo didn’t have any money, she thought, annoyed by the extravagance when people were looking for work to feed their families.

Dafne turned back to her arrangement.

Bria shoved stems and leaves off the edge of the table and leaned her hip against it. “Dafne, do you know why Cappi Halkias was working on Nick Cutter’s ship?”

Dafne didn’t even bother to look up from the rose she was ripping outside petals from. “Who?”

“Your bodyguard?”

Her sister-in-law waved the rose like a wand. “Goodness, Gabriella, how on earth would I know where or why a disgruntled ex-employee works?”

“He doesn’t work for you?”

Dafne jammed the rose in the overfull vase. The stem snapped, making the rose hang limply off the side of the arrangement. She plucked out the offending blossom and flung it to the box at her feet. “I fired him for theft and inappropriate behavior years ago.”

Bria frowned. “But he was here for the coronation.”

“And he was fired soon thereafter.” Her sister-in-law picked up another rose, inspecting it. “What’s this about, Gabriella? I have the flowers to finish.”

“He tried to kill me a few days ago.”

The queen didn’t even look up. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Why would he do something so crass?”

Bria wanted to pluck the rose from her heavily ringed hand and smack her with it. “He recognized me—”

“Well there you have it,” Dafne cut in smoothly, fluffing the foliage around the roses, trying to make the arrangement look more symmetrical. Which wasn’t going to happen. “He recognized you and decided to kidnap you and hold you for ransom, knowing how fond the king is of you. Draven would pay any amount of money for the safe return of his baby sister, in the unfortunate event that you should be kidnapped.” She spoke like a detective solving a grand case.

Bria bit back a sigh. “The man wasn’t kidnapping me, we were on board a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. He
strangled
me.”

Dafne wasn’t paying much attention to the matter. She’d obviously decided that the only fix for the issue was more roses. She picked up the shears and angle-cut another stem. “Well clearly, if he’d wanted you dead, you’d
be
dead,” she told Bria unsympathetically. “I’m sure he just wanted to terrorize you.”

“He didn’t,” Bria said flatly, picking up a discarded rose with crinkled petals. “He just pissed me off.”

“Gabriella! Please, the servants.” Dafne glanced over her shoulder at her personal bodyguards who slept with their eyes open in four corners of the room.

Bria bit back another sound, knowing it’d be as sharp as the shears her sister-in-law was using to devastating effect. “That’s illogical, Dafne.” Her temples pounded and she strove for calm. “I’d met the man once, and didn’t even remember who he was or where I’d seen him until I realized why he was familiar last night. What reason could he possibly have to want me dead?”

Dafne pointed the shears at Bria. “You’re asking me the motivation of a servant I haven’t seen in years?” She ruthlessly cut the head off a flower that had fallen out of favor. “You always were an impetuous girl, Gabriella.”

Always?
Dafne had known her for one freaking week, two years ago, and for less than twenty-four hours
this
visit.

“If you want answers,” she continued sounding bored. “I’d suggest you ask them of Halkias himself. Only he knows his intent.”

“I’d love to. Unfortunately he’s dead.”

Dafne acted as if she’d said nothing more than that he’d left no forwarding address as she carefully put the shears down on the marble table, her rings clinking against the smooth, polished surface. She glanced up at Bria, her mouth a polite smile, but her eyes disinterested and cold.

“Then that puts a full stop at the end of the sentence, doesn’t it? Now, I must be off. The king has been delayed in Rome, and has asked that I fax him sensitive papers.”

Bria pushed off the edge of the table. “Draven won’t be back at noon?”

“Didn’t I just say that? He’s in an important state business meeting. He can’t be expected to come like a puppy when you snap your fingers, Gabriella. You must wait.” She flicked her hand at Bria, as if she was some kind of annoying bug, and swept out of the room. Just like that, scattered roses and Bria were forgotten.

Bria stared at the mangled rose head in her palm and tried to remember if there was anything she liked about her brother’s wife.

She couldn’t think of one damn thing.

*   *   *

Since it was early, and they had four hours to kill, Bria and Nick went to Antonio’s house. They woke him at what he groused was the crack of dawn. Nevertheless, Tonio was a wonderful host, and insisted on making them sandwiches and lending them transportation for the island tour Bria had planned. He packed a picnic lunch in an old backpack, grumbling good-naturedly the whole time.

Tonio’s amusement only increased at Nick’s face as he wheeled out his bike for them to use. A top-of-the-line, lime green Vespa.

Bria grinned as Nick struggled between manners and mockery.

“How about we borrow the family car,” he asked hopefully.

He looked more relaxed than Bria had ever seen him, and heart-stoppingly handsome in faded jeans and a teal-colored T-shirt that made his eyes appear even more of a striking Mediterranean blue.

Bria grinned as he eyed the Vespa with dislike. “I think it’s pretty. Is it the color or the fact that it’s a scooter?”

Nick gave her a pained look and threw his leg over, then patted the seat behind him. “Get on.”

Tonio waved them off.

Fabulously satiated after a night of lovemaking, Bria had risen very early and gone for a long run through the streets while he slept. Her headache was gone and she felt energetic, and ridiculously, crazy-happy. Even the talk with Dafne hadn’t dampened her spirits. With just a few hours left before his departure, she wanted to show him a little of Marrezo. And since going around the island, small as it was, wasn’t in the cards, there was one place she wanted him to see. Because as much as she’d strived the night before to imprint herself on Nick, she wanted to keep special memories of him imprinted on herself too.

Her favorite place from childhood was Grotta Zaffiro—the Sapphire Grotto, a maze of limestone caves carved into Monte Tolaro. It was where she’d huddled, scared and alone, hidden deep inside while Marvin had found the small boat he used to take her to safety twenty years ago. She hadn’t been back since.

It was a magnificent day. Bria had decided from the moment she’d woken up that she was only going to think in the moment. She wanted to overlay that old memory, the scar of that place in that night, with the memory of Nick Cutter.

They rode through the picturesque little fishing village of Pescarna, with its houses stacked up and down the hillside, faded salmon, terra-cotta and muted mustard building-blocks one against the other. Black wrought-iron balconies dripped blood-red geraniums, and canaries in pretty cages hung from hooks in the shade.

Old men smoked on rickety benches under centuries-old olive trees, backed by majestic pines that had withstood wind and weather for hundreds of years. Women clustered near the early morning market stalls to gossip, hands painting the story as they gossiped.

As they passed, vendors were setting up their wares in stalls that displayed the brilliant colors of the Mediterranean—sunshine yellow lemons, translucent green grapes, and glossy black olives. Some of the stalls were piled high with fruits and vegetables, others groaned under the weight of the catch of the day.

“Local women used to set up their crafts between the produce booths to tempt tourists,” Bria said in his ear, her arms around his trim waist, her cheek against his sun-warmed back. “It’s sad not to see them here anymore. Maybe one day.”

“You could put all that training of yours to good use here,” Nick told her. “Bring the tourist trade back to Marrezo.”

It was a nice thought. It was what she’d been trained for, what her entire life had been focused on. But even as everything in her responded to the encouragement in Nick’s voice, Bria knew it would never happen now.

If nothing else, Dafne would never tolerate her sister-in-law having any part in what happened to Marrezo.
She
wanted to be the one who brought the small country back to its former glory. She’d never let anyone else steal the thunder she believed should be hers.

Bria told herself she didn’t care who did it, as long as it got done. Saying nothing, she leaned against Nick’s strong back and inhaled the fragrance of the wind as he drove along the winding vaguely familiar streets, following her directions.

They passed Vaccaro’s, a pastry shop she remembered from childhood. It still had the exact same burgundy-and-gray awning and gold lettering on the small window. The same hot, yeasty, just-out-of-the-oven bread smell.

“Want to grab something?” Nick slowed down and pointed.

There’d be time before she left to visit some of the places she remembered from her childhood. “I’d rather wait and eat at the Grotto.”

It was cool in the canyons between the buildings, and the air smelled pleasantly of oregano, garlic, and the ever-present tomatoes. Bria smiled happily against Nick’s broad shoulders.

A strong smell of fish drowned out the smells of produce and cooking as they approached the small harbor where a few fishing boats were at anchor, their catches already distributed. Seagulls swooped and dived over the nets, their loud calls piercing the air. The sun warmed Bria’s head and shoulders. “Draven and I used to play on that little beach over there,” she said as they passed it.

“It was our lawyer,” Nick said abruptly.

Lawyer?
She looked at the beach. The penny dropped. “Your call last night?”

“We requested DNA. The results came back.” She felt the movement of his chest as he inhaled. “This guy is the real deal.”

Frankly, Bria thought gaining a sibling would be an awesome and a fabulous thing. But Nick, being Nick, was hard to read. “How do you feel about it?”

“I think it’s interesting that this guy seems to know a lot about us, and we know bugger-all about him.”

“You know he’s your brother.” Bria said gently, tightening her arms about his waist. She lifted her hand off his belt to point, unnecessarily, to the arrowed wood road sign for the branch off to Monte Tolaro.

“Do you want to meet him?” she asked as Nick veered right.

“He’s coming to meet us all at Cutter Cay in three weeks.”

“That’ll be good, right? On your home turf?”

“Logan will have to fly home from his dive. He won’t be happy.”

They passed a small olive grove of twisted trunks and limbs, dusty-looking leaves hiding their fruit. Bria didn’t care about the unknown Logan; she looked at the back of Nick’s head. “How do
you
feel?”

He shrugged under her chin. “The
Scorpion
will return to home port by then. I’ll be there anyway.”

Bria wondered where she’d be.

Chapter 17

The narrow, barely two-lane, road, curved in death-defying switchbacks up the side of Monte Tolaro. It had been blasted out of the sheer granite cliffs once overlaid by molten lava. On the right, a solid gray-black wall of rock soared thousands of feet above them, on the left was a sheer, dizzying drop to the ocean lapping at jagged rocks at the base of the extinct volcano.

Sunlight dazzled off the oily calm, making the water look like a sheet of silver. Nick pushed away a niggling sense of urgency about what was happening on board his ship while he was away playing tourist.

He wanted, needed, this time with Bria, short as it was. Returning to Pavina, handing her off to her brother’s security people, meant saying good-bye.

That could wait.

In the meantime, he had a beautiful woman clinging to him, and a few hours of uninterrupted time, with zero responsibilities. He wasn’t going to think of dead bodies, uncooperative T-FLAC operatives, sunken treasure, or prodigal brothers.

The Vespa didn’t go fast and wasn’t a thrill ride as a Harley would’ve been, but it gave him a slower, longer ride with her pressed against him. He’d miss her, he realized with a pang. Miss her quirky sense of humor and zest for life. Miss the smell of her skin, and the sounds she made when they made love.

She’d be a tough act to follow, Nick mused, and hard on the heels of the thought was the knowledge that he’d be celibate for a very, very long time. Well hell.

They reached the caves twenty minutes later and he could see right away why the dark mysteries would appeal to a child.

Bria hopped off the back of the Vespa as soon as Nick stopped just outside the cave entrance. He got off and turned around to look out over the granite cliff. Beyond the weed-infested gravel parking lot was a scenic overview of the sparkling Tyrrhenian Sea. It would be a good dive day, with a little surface chop, and clear visibility.

“Come on.” Bria raised her voice, excited and happy. Dying to share her special place, just as he’d done when he’d taken her diving. Nick rubbed the middle of his chest where a heaviness had settled. It’d been there since this morning, when he’d woken with Bria spread over his body, a lithe, wriggling electric blanket.

“I want to show you something amazing,” she called impatiently, and Nick turned and walked back.