Ultimate Weapon (29 page)

Watch yourself, her ass. Watch out for what?
Tam observed the guy walk out with unfriendly eyes.

“You trust him?” she murmured to Val.

He slanted her a wry glance. “Yes. He’s saved my life more than once. And I have returned the favor. We have been friends for years.”

“But you didn’t tell him what hotel we were in.”

“It is no reflection upon him.” Val shrugged. “Caution is a habit. And I like to keep things as simple as possible. It makes the process of elimination easier. It is a protection for him, too. PSS is his life.”

“But not yours?” she inquired.

He gazed straight back at her, unsmiling. “Not mine.”

It was a perfect day for a drive up the twists and turns of the Amalfi coast. Tam felt a funny tug inside herself, an odd longing to take a step out of time, a vacation from reality. Just to give her a chance to take a deep breath and enjoy this man, this place. There was a glowing sparkle to the air, even in winter. The place seemed soaked with light: the craggy, pale rocks, the scrubby silver-green foliage that clung to them, the verdant stairsteps of terraced gardens, the ancient white villages hanging precipitously over the sea.

But time raced relentlessly forward. In too short a time, they had reached the home of Ana Santarini. It was an exquisitely restored Renaissance-era
masseria
perched on the crest of a hill overlooking the sea. A wrought iron gate hummed aside to let them in, and they drove down a road bounded by ancient stonework. On one side, there was a sheer drop to the brilliant blue sea; on the other, an orchard of olive trees centuries old, each one like a gnarled goblin statue.

That bitch Ana had done well for herself, Tam reflected. Although one needed a look at the mafioso husband to be sure it was worth it.

A big, grim-faced man stopped them at the end of the driveway, looked them over, and showed them where to park. They were led into the house and left in a large, lovely salon with vaulted ceilings painted with original frescos, and decorated with priceless antiques. An enormous veranda looked out over the sea.

A woman stood by the window, dramatically posed, ass jutting out. She turned at their entrance and flashed a calculating glance at Tam before wrapping a dazzling smile of welcome across her face. Not Ana. This was a striking thirty-something. Fake redhead. Lots of makeup, fake tits, and big, rolling green eyes. Must be Donatella.

Tam hated her on sight. She sensed that the feeling was mutual.

The creature flung herself at Val. “Valerio!
Amore.
At last,” she purred. “You look wonderful,
tesoro
.” Her eyes flicked to Tam and then back to Val. “And you smell…as good as ever. Mmm,
delizioso
.”

Tam watched Donatella do the Italian two-kiss choreography, then cup Val’s face in her hands, gaze adoringly into his eyes, fling her head back, and give him three more. Smack, smack, smack.

Tam’s hackles rose. My, how very, very friendly Val and Donatella were. Old pals. Touching. It would have irritated the living shit out of her, had she not been distracted by the second woman, who appeared in the doorway at that moment. Tam’s stomach lurched, abruptly.

Oh, yes. It was Ana, all right. Looking better than Tam might have hoped. Black hair swept into an elegant roll, her buxom figure shown off by a simple black sheath dress. Her ass was a bit on the large side, but the shelf of her surgically enhanced bosom balanced it out. She’d had some work done on her forehead and neck that made her look weirdly smooth and taut under her makeup, like a television personality.

Ana ignored Tam completely as she watched Donatella crawling all over Val. It was clear from her face that she was accustomed to being the center of attention. As such, Donatella was not her favorite person.

Huh. Tam could relate. Donatella’s spike-clawed nails dragged possessively over Val’s chest, palpating. Tam’s own nails dug into her palms.

Well, well. Val hadn’t said anything about having fucked this Donatella woman. Not that Tam had any right or reason to be annoyed if he had, but still. Her lip curled involuntarily. That petulant, pinheaded, plastic slut? How had he gotten through it without fainting from boredom?

Men were such indiscriminate pigs. She did the introduction routine, shaking both women’s cool, manicured, diamond-laden hands, and kept her smiling mask riveted in place. Ignoring the
die, bitch
vibes that were ricocheting wildly all over the room.

“…permit me to introduce you to Ms. Steele, the artist behind the designs,” Val was saying, smiling and making no effort to extricate himself from Donatella’s tentacles.

Donatella and Ana swiveled their perfectly coiffed heads in unison and cast identical cool glances over Tam.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Ana said. “Donatella has been telling me about your jewelry. Very intriguing. You’re not at all what I expected.”

Tam smiled sweetly, eyes big, and refrained from asking what Ana had expected. She was entirely uninterested in what went on in Ana’s empty head.

Then Ana surprised her by frowning and taking a closer look.

“Have we met?” she asked.

Val’s smile froze. His eyes flicked to hers, alarmed.

Tam shook her head. “I’m sure I would remember,” she said.

Ana preened. “I imagine you would,” she said, dismissing the matter with a wave of her crimson claws.

But Donatella had now been languishing for too many seconds off of center stage. “Valerio, you are an angel for arranging this for me,” she broke in. “And a private showing, too. I’ve been dying to lay my hands on some of these pieces.”

“Actually, it’s not the wearer who is supposed to die,” Tam pointed out helpfully. “If all goes well, that is. There is an element of risk that has to be considered.”

Donatella’s blank look turned into a fuck-you smile. “Of course.”

“Is there a table where I can lay them out for you?” Tam asked.

Things proceeded smoothly from that point. For all Ana’s glaring shortcomings as a human being, and all Donatella’s stomach-turning grabs at Val, the women were dream customers. Deep pockets, limitless self-indulgence, an absolute sense of entitlement plus a pinch of competition all added up to big, big sales. The not so subtle one-upmanship probably prodded the two women to buy three times as many pieces as each one would have on her own. It was a possible sales technique that she’d never considered.

Not that she’d ever use it. Women like these annoyed her too much. Forced to spend time with them, she would feel like killing them. Problematic, killing your customers. Word got around. Bad for business.

That was one of the reasons she esteemed the McCloud Crowd women. Not one of them were cat bitches, pretty though they all were.

Tam wondered if the sales would go through. It depended on the timing. She could make two hundred thousand bucks, and in these complicated days, she could use the cash. But hey, she had a date with destiny to kill this woman’s father. It wouldn’t do to get greedy.

“Usually, I just leave instructions on how to arm the pieces on a password-protected Internet bulletin board,” Tam explained. “But for special customers like you, I’ll make an exception. I still need to obtain the explosives and the poisons. I’ll come back another day and show you personally how to arm them.”

“How soon?” Ana’s eyes glittered with eagerness, and suddenly, Tam wondered about the woman’s relationship with her husband.

“Tomorrow?” Val suggested. “At four o’clock?”

Ana frowned. “Four o’clock is not good for me,” she said. “I have an appointment at five. Can you come earlier?”

“Three?” Tam offered.

“Very well. I will expect you tomorrow at three.” Ana gave her a sugary smile. “I assume you prefer cash?”

“If possible. And you might consider dismissing the domestic staff for the day,” Tam said. “So we can have privacy to speak freely.”

“I’ll see to it,” Ana assured her.

They exchanged bright, glittering fuck-you smiles once again.

Donatella broke in. “And when can we meet to arm mine?” she demanded petulantly. “I need my jewelry armed soon.” Her voice dropped, and her eyes flicked toward Val. “I will need them, to keep a certain tall, dark, and handsome lover in his proper place. In Paris.”

Paris? What the fuck was that about?

Tam made an appointment with the woman for the following week, but such was her feeling of unreality, she did not even note the time or date they agreed upon. The information just came out of her mouth and then floated out of her head. Who knew if the appointment would take place? She could die a horrible death by that day.

But who knew from one minute to the next when death would pounce? It was always a rude surprise. Who could have imagined that hot August morning that her family had gotten up. A morning like any other. Breakfast like any other. Laughing and teasing and squabbling.

But that had been it. The last day. The last morning. The last breakfast. Who knew?

The high-pitched, empty-headed chatter of the two women faded in her mind. The sound of hens clucking. Faraway dogs barking. The distance between herself and the rest of the world widened into a vast buffer of awful silence. She was utterly alone, sealed inside it.

Tomorrow she was going to find out once and for all if revenge could make any difference. Ghosts clustered around her: Mamma, her father, and Irina standing next to her, clutching Tam’s knee with her chubby, dimpled ghost hand. Her liquid dark eyes so uncannily like Rachel’s eyes. She’d been barely two when—

No
. Not now. No fits. Not in front of Ana and Donatella.

Tam shut her eyes and saw the dirt scattering into their wide-open eyes. Her ears were starting to roar, her heart to pound.

She tried to tune into the hens clucking, dogs barking, just to grab onto something else. Focus on anything else. Anything at all.

“…so we can eat late,” Donatella was cooing into Val’s ear, in a tone Tam was not meant to overhear. “The cook at La Cantinola will be happy to cook for us, even after eleven o’clock. I’m a special client. And there’s a lovely room above La Cantinola, with a sea view…”

Listen to that. Brazen slut. Trying to coax Val into meeting her for dinner and a quickie.

Val, to his credit, was wiggling like an eel, vacillating between lavish compliments and careful excuses. But the bitch’s hands were all over him. And he was not pushing them off.

The anger helped. It made that sick, sinking feeling back off.

Good. Anger worked, so she embraced it. Bastard. Dog.
Porcone.

He would pay for that, later. In blood.

The atmosphere in the car for the drive back to San Vito was subzero. Tam did not even look at him, she just stared straight ahead, radiating a bone-chilling cold with more vicious intensity than he’d ever felt from a woman. Or at least, that he’d ever bothered to notice.

“Would you tell me my crime?” he demanded finally, when they were approaching the San Vito exit.

“No crime,” she said, her voice cool, toneless. “I just can’t imagine how you actually managed to go through with it, that’s all.”

“With what?” he demanded. Although he knew.

She shot him a glance that indicated that she knew that he knew and did not appreciate his dissembling.

He sighed and offered it up. “It was some years ago. I was undercover. Investigating a smuggling ring. Her husband was involved. She was angry at him. I needed info. It was unavoidable.”

“Oh, really? I suppose you fought, tooth and claw,” she said.

“No. I did my job,” he said stiffly. “Just as you have always done.”

“Oh, so now we’re throwing whore darts, are we?”

He shook his head. “It was not particularly memorable,” he said flatly. “Nor was it altogether unpleasant. I have no burning desire to repeat the experience. It did facilitate my job.”

“Works with me, too, eh? Smooth, Val. Fucking your targets into boneless submission. What a trick.”

“Bullshit,” he spat out. “After this morning, you know that is not true.”

“How do I know that? With a man as slick and smooth and pretty as you, how could I possibly know that for sure? Gigolo Janos. So you have a date to meet her in Paris, hmm? If you want to go meet her for dinner and cunnilingus tonight at La Cantinola, please feel free.”

He pulled into the hotel parking, muttering obscenities, and grabbed her jewelry case. “Come,” he snarled. “I will walk you to the hotel, and then I must go to Salerno.” He had planned to keep her close to him, but not in this mood. They would end up killing each other.

She jerked the jewelry case out of his hand. “You remember my shopping list?”

“Of course.”

“Then there’s no need to escort me through a crowded parking lot.” She slammed out of the car. “I can escort myself.”

He loped after her and jerked her shoulder around. “Do not be an idiot.”

“Why not? Seems like it hasn’t put you off before.”

He seized her shoulders. “You are playing games, Tamar. Stop it.”

“Don’t maul me, you oaf—”

“It is stupid and out of character for you to be so angry about my past professional dealings with a woman like that. You are using this as an excuse, no? You would rather be angry at me and jealous about Donatella than feel whatever it is you are really feeling. No? About your past, your family? Ana or Stengl?”

The fight went out of her, and the color drained out of her face. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”

“Then do not cry out for a fucking diagnosis. You are acting like a child. If you need distraction from the way you are feeling, I will come to the room with you now and give you one that you will never forget.”

She stumbled away, grabbing the stonework railing that led up to the hotel entrance. “No,” she said unsteadily. “We have work to do.”

“Then go do it,” he said harshly. “I will distract you when I get back. At great length. Count upon it.”

She scurried up the stairs, disappearing into the lobby of the hotel. Val stared after her, his face hot. He was half tempted to follow her up and make good on his promise, here and now. She would protest and fight and scratch and bite, like always…but then…ah,
Dio.