Iron Dove Page 10

  She touched the dove on her right ear, thinking of Joe, thinking what a babe magnet he was, thinking that he should be in the condo by now and, with luck, have found the safe. She checked the time. Six twenty-eight.

  Passing through the bar on the way to the patio, she noted the absence of Greco’s driver/bodyguard. Had Greco invited him to join them for dinner? Did Greco intend to foist her off on the bodyguard, a dinner foursome? Controlling Greco would be much more difficult if that were the case.

  The music playing throughout the restaurant was something suitably romantic and Italian with mandolins. Seeing Greco alone at his table, she inhaled a deep satisfied breath of relief. The girl was also missing.

  “Where is your friend?” she asked, sticking to Italian.

  “She suddenly discovered she needed to go home.” He smiled and, while remaining seated, pulled out the chair for her.

  “Well now, I am sorry about that.”

  He cocked his head, and his lips curled into an even more satisfied grin. “Yes, so am I.”

  She undid the fresh napkin and laid it across her lap.

  He switched to English. “Would I be right if I guessed you are an American.”

  “Is my Italian all that bad?” she replied, in English.

  “Of course not. Your Italian is delightful. And you are American? Or perhaps Canadian?”

  “No. Your first guess is right. American.”

  “Do you mind if we speak English? I like to practice.”

  She leaned forward, placing her hand on the table as if sharing a secret and said in English, “But I like to practice my Italian.”

  “Perhaps I should speak English,” he said, “and you can reply in Italian.” He covered her hand with his.

  She laughed, and as the waiter stepped to the table, she withdrew her hand to her lap.

  “Do you like fish? Specifically sea bass?” He had switched to English. “It is one of the Dolphin’s specialties.”

  “You’re the local expert. I bow to your choice.”

  “Two of the Black Sea bass with spinach ricotta ravioli,” he said. “But I think we’d like drinks and to talk first.” He looked at her.

  “Yes. Drinks and talk. I’d like a Cinzano on ice, please.”

  He ordered another single malt Scotch, a brand she didn’t recognize.

  The waiter hustled off. Greco leaned toward her and put his hand, palm up, on the table. Things were certainly moving along swiftly. The guy was clearly of the don’t-let-any-grass-grow-under-your-feet persuasion. She put her hand into his. “What does this signify in Italy?”

  He laughed as he closed his fingers around her hand. “I don’t know. I just felt like doing it to see what you’d do. Maybe it means I find you a very beautiful woman.”

  “Well, there is certainly no doubt you are an extraordinarily handsome man. And I say that as a professional.”

  “A professional?” His raised eyebrows indicated a bit of shock.

  “A photographer, remember.”

  He let go of her hand as the waiter returned with their drinks. “Ah yes. Architecture. So tell me, what do you think of our Cathedral of Sant’Andrea?”

  “Shall I be honest?”

  “By all means. Let’s have a very honest evening.”

  She must not seem too eager to be with him, or to be too easy. “We are having dinner, not an evening.”

  “I’m hoping to change that.”

  The conversation stuck on architecture, although he twice mentioned some item of her outfit that he thought brought out a particularly fine physical feature. The truth was that Fabiano Greco was proving to be a first-rate conversationalist with an extraordinarily wry sense of humor. Wealthy women paid a lot of money to gigolos to be entertained so skillfully by glorious men whose claims that they were beautiful came off with utter conviction.

  Near the end of the dinner, she checked her cell phone for the time, telling him she needed to see if she had messages from her partner. It was only seven thirty-five and she must keep him away from the condo until, at the very minimum, eight. Circumstances clearly required that she indulge in a slow, leisurely dessert. She would enjoy every minute of it.

  “Partner?” he said, a slight frown creasing the beautiful brow.

  “My cameraman and all-around assistant. He also writes copy with me for my books.”

  “You do books as well?”

  “That I do. I can give you my Web site.”

  His cell phone apparently vibrated because he stiffened and reached for his pants pocket. He withdrew his phone and checked the display. “Please excuse me,” he said. “I have to take this call.”

  “Not a problem.”

  He rose and disappeared toward the restaurant’s entry lobby. She appreciated his courtesy in not subjecting her, or anyone else, to his private chatter. On the other hand, since his private chatter might very well be something requiring secrecy, his thoughtfulness might be more a case of being discreet than being polite.

  He returned with a sincerely disappointed look on his face. “This call is somewhat urgent. I need to send information to someone. I don’t have it here with me. I need to return home.”

  She felt a little thud in her chest as her heart did a double beat. Super…potential disaster on the horizon. Not surprising, really. Everything so far had seemed disconcertingly easy. Joe needed at the very minimum another twenty-five minutes. “Could we not finish dessert, at least?”

  “I truly apologize. Look, come with me. I find your company a pleasure. I’m certain to find us something sweet for the palette at the condo.”

  “Absolutely. Good idea,” she said as she rose, her mind already wondering how to stall or distract him to the maximum. And wondering also how she was going to get out of Fabio’s condo gracefully after she had distracted him there. Going to his condo had not been in their plans.

  The waiter appeared as if conjured. “Put it on my marker,” Fabiano said as he took her elbow and guided her toward the entrance. When they stepped outside into a balmy Mediterranean June evening, his driver had already brought up the car, a midnight-blue Jaguar sedan. The man must have returned from dropping off Fabiano’s lady friend while she and Fabiano were eating.

  Fabiano wasn’t giving her any opportunity to call Cesare to warn Joe. In the car, she tried to think of some plausible excuse to make a call but he began earnestly describing various architectural wonders they passed. To a mind inclined to be suspicious, interrupting his conversation to make a call for any reason she could think of would trigger major alarms.

  In what she estimated was less than seven minutes, the driver dropped them off. At the ornately carved oak door, as he put his key in the lock, she said in a voice she was praying would reach Joe’s ears if he were still there, “Fabiano, this place is extraordinary! What a view you must have. I am so glad you brought me.”

  “Fabiano!”

  That was all Joe had to hear from Nova to jet him into overdrive. The laptop, which still had not come up with the safe’s combination, had to be hidden immediately.

  He snatched it off the antique glass-topped table and slid it on the floor under a sofa, then tossed some kind of fancy dark cloth over it. Fortunately, the computer would continue its work wirelessly.

  He launched himself behind the nearest couch, a poor hiding place at best since it had claw-footed legs and if anyone looked at the right angle, he’d be seen. But he’d already checked out other possible quick hiding spots, and the sofa was the best bet.

  He held his breath.

  Nova entered, doubtless with Greco.

  A floor lamp in the room turned on. “Maria,” Greco called out.

  Of course there was no reply. Hair at the back of Joe’s neck prickled up. No one bends down to look under furniture.

  “Please,” Nova said, loud enough so that were he in any of the rooms, he would be able to hear it. “Show me to the balcony before you rush off to do whatever it is you have to do.”

  “This
way, then,” Greco said.

  Footsteps crossed toward Joe, passed by and then stopped at the French doors leading onto the balcony. But the door didn’t open. Nor did Nova or Greco say anything. The silence was strange. What the heck were they doing?

  Then Greco said, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you in that red bathing suit.”

  Damn it! Greco had kissed Nova.

  “Do it again,” she said.

  DO IT AGAIN! Joe felt the heat of blood rush into his face as he clenched his fists.

  The silence dragged on even longer this time.

  “So, show me the view,” she said in what he knew was one of her silkier tones.

  The doors opened, and Nova and Greco stepped onto the balcony.

  “Fabulous!”

  Greco said, “I’ll be right back. This shouldn’t take long.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” he said.

  No arguing there. Greco would not allow her to go with him, whatever he was up to.

  Greco came back into the living room and went down the hall toward his office or a bedroom. Nova stepped back into the living room. Joe put his head up, then right back down when she saw him.

  She strode away from the couch toward the door. He could hear her pacing, probably looking at the furniture, the paintings, whatever.

  Greco returned in under three minutes. “See what I said. That didn’t take long. Now I shall look in the kitchen for something sweet. And I have just about any liquor you might want.”

  “While that sounds inviting, you know what I’d really like?”

  “And that is…”

  Another long silence. Shit! Greco had to be kissing her again.

  “That, too,” she said.

  “You are a delight, Nova.”

  Their footsteps approached the sofa again. Joe wished he could shrink; the incredible shrinking man, that’s what he wanted to be.

  Bodies plunked down onto the sofa. Their legs entwined. Nova sure wasn’t fighting him off.

  In fact, she actually moaned.

  He heard the sounds of clothes rubbing together, and then another unmistakably female sigh. Was Greco starting to take off something she was wearing? Shit! Shit!

  “You said an evening together, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Nova stood. She had to be looking down at Greco. Then he stood as she backed up a step, as if she’d maybe pulled him up from the sofa.

  “Then let’s make it a whole evening. You’re a local and this would be a perfect opportunity for me to sample the nightlife. You know the club along the Amalfi drive. The Volcano. I understand from my host that they have dancing.”

  “Of course. I go there often. Hottest place on the coast.”

  “Would you take me there? Please. Let’s go have some fun. First.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t—”

  “Please.”

  Joe knew that please. Knew the beguiling smile that went with it. If he had to bet his life at this moment, he’d bet that Greco would fold. Hell, every cell in his body was urging Greco to fold. Greco had to be out of the condo. And Nova out of his arms.

  Another long, agonizing silence. She was way overdoing this!

  “Okay,” Greco said. “Dancing first.”

  “Thank you, thank you.”

  They crossed the room, the door opened, they left.

  Joe continued to lie on the floor for another minute, imagining those kisses, turning the images at different angles in his mind.

  He finally pushed to his feet. Nova was out dancing with Fabiano Greco, arms dealer and sworn member of La Cosa Nostra.

  Dancing.

  Chapter 19

  With Fabiano holding her elbow as if he owned her, Nova stepped out from the Volcano’s booming interior into the stillness of the balmy Italian summer night. Still overheated from dancing, she lifted her hair off the back of her neck and let the soft zephyr off the water kiss away some of the excess fire burning in her blood. Fortunately, the skimpy silk top let her body heat rush away.

  Fabiano’s driver, seeing them exit, rose from a seat he’d taken close to the door and hustled off to fetch the Jaguar.

  Fabiano slid his arm around her waist, bent and kissed the back of her neck. Up close, he smelled subtly of a cologne that reminded her of her father’s Old Spice—fresh and nutty. She knew he was no good, a thief, a crook, a seller of weapons and possibly willing to sell the formula for a deadly virus to the highest bidder—but she didn’t mind the kiss. Such was the strength of sexual chemistry. Were he not a sleaze, she would gladly begin an affair with Fabiano Greco, no doubt to be crushed when he wearied of her.

  Fortunately, she would be spared that anguish since her knowledge of his business kept rudely intruding every time she felt another rush of pleasure from his voice or touch or the sight of his sensual face. And she had learned as they moved together on the dance floor, hips pressed close, that he kept his body as lean and flexible as the wild cat for which his car was named. That too had worked to seduce her.

  The Jaguar pulled up. The Volcano’s parking attendant opened the door and she slid into the backseat, followed by Fabiano.

  He said, “To the condo.”

  She thought, Well, hell. Now is when things get unpleasant. “I’ve enjoyed one of the best nights I’ve had in a very long time, Fabiano. Truly, I am a happy woman. But I’d appreciate it if you’d take me, instead, to my apartment.” To the driver she spoke a bit louder. “My apartment is at 36 Via Cremona in Positano.”

  Fabiano said, “I assume you don’t really mean that. Surely your rented apartment cannot be as…comfortable as my condo. And did you not say that your partner is sleeping there?”

  She put her hand on his leg. Perhaps the gesture might soften his anger. “I do mean it.”

  “Then I truly don’t understand.”

  “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “Exactly what does that mean?”

  They had pulled onto the Amalfi Drive. The driver said in Italian, “Where do you want me to go, Mr. Greco?”

  “Back to Amalfi,” Greco snapped. To her, he said, “I expect you to return to the condo with me. We’ll have an after-dinner drink and listen to some softer music than what the Volcano offers.”

  “I know what you expect. And, unfortunately, I can’t oblige.”

  “Like hell you can’t.”

  He was so angry that for a moment she wondered if his otherwise charming exterior might cover a man inclined to be violent.

  “Don’t pretend to be naive,” he said, softening his tone slightly but still firm. “We’ve spent an enjoyable evening together. I want you to come home with me.”

  She waited him out.

  “I rarely spend a night in bed alone, and I don’t intend to spend this night alone.”

  “I’d rather not have to explain. Can’t we just agree that we’ve had a wonderful evening and let it go at that?”

  “No. I can read women’s signals as well as any man can, and I know you are as attracted to me as I am to you. And neither of us is a child.”

  They were now on the outskirts of town and would quickly need to make a turn if Fabiano were to let her off at the apartment.

  “Okay, then, here’s the truth.” She thought—hoped—that she had read him correctly. “I am powerfully attracted to you. And if we go to your place, even for drinks, you will of course be expecting that we’ll go to bed. But I don’t go to bed with any man who won’t wear a condom. And, well, my instincts and things you’ve said tonight tell me you won’t.”

  He leaned away from her, scanning her face, stunned. Then he nodded slowly. “You know, I don’t. But for you, Nova, I will if that’s what you want.”

  It was her turn to be stunned. Hell. What to say now?

  The driver said, “Shall I turn, Mr. Greco?”

  “Stop the car,” Greco ordered. They pulled to the curb.

  She and Greco sat in silence, searching e
ach other’s faces. A slow ache began to squeeze her heart. She wanted to go with him. She wanted to spend the night in the arms of a clever, handsome, funny man who would even wear a bloody condom to have her. Didn’t she deserve to have a few hours of tenderness followed by passion now and then? Something about the way he danced told her that Fabiano would be an attentive, skilled lover.

  He touched her cheek. “Come home with me.”

  “I’m sorry to make you angry. I’m sorry if you feel I misled you. Genuinely sorry.” And she was. “But I want to go to my apartment,” she repeated. This was business. All business. To forget herself could be both foolish and dangerous for the mission.

  Fabiano turned away from her. He shook his head, as if surprised. But this was not a man to beg. To the driver he said, “Thirty-six Via Cremona.”

  They sat in silence the rest of the drive. When they stopped, Fabiano made no move to touch or speak to her. The driver came around to her side and opened the door. Not knowing what she could possibly say to excuse having suckered Fabiano, she got out.

  She started to walk away, when she heard rustling behind her. She turned as he stepped out of the car. He walked up to her, took both of her arms, looked at her with eyes narrowed and puzzled. He kissed her again, and she melted against him, returning the kiss with one that came from some lonely place deep in her soul.

  He let her go. He smiled and said softly, “Will I see you again tomorrow for dinner?”

  She shook her head.

  “I think something good came my way this evening,” he said softly. “And for whatever reason—nothing I can figure out—it is going to escape me.” He started to leave, then turned back to her. “And for what it’s worth, you just missed the best sex of your life.”

  He stepped into the Jag and closed the door. The car took off.

  Maybe she had. She’d never know now, would she?

  As she walked to the door, her thoughts turned slowly to Joe, the safe, the op. Tomorrow she’d know if Fabiano could actually be so crooked, so greedy for his fine life, as to deal in information about biological weapons of mass destruction. She didn’t believe for a moment, however, that he’d sell the actual virus.