Deadly Memories Page 12

  “You remember something.”

  “I remember this town.”

  Hope bloomed inside him. “It wasn’t on your itinerary.”

  “I was driving around after leaving Arezzo. The Etruscans fascinate me.” She shrugged in elaborate Italian fashion, and her white smile nearly blinded him. “Jack, I’m remembering!”

  He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he said, “We’ve lost Vadim’s thug for now. After lunch we can investigate the museum. Maybe you’ll remember more there.”

  The longer they stayed in one place, the easier for Slick to find them. But it was worth the risk.

  A tiny frown dimmed her beaming countenance. “It’s so frustrating. I grasp pieces of memory, images of places and people, but nothing hangs together. I don’t remember anything about the villa or the car hitting me or even that day.”

  He squeezed her hand as he helped her from the car. “You’ll get there.” According to the doctors, she might never remember the impact of the car hitting her, but the rest should return. In time.

  Time was a problem. Every day he didn’t find Vadim meant his enemy had opportunity to flee farther away or dig deeper into cover.

  They found the Etruscan Museum on the Via Porsenna and paid the modest entry fee of four euros each.

  Sophie could barely contain the anticipation that bubbled inside her like champagne. She picked up a folded map of the many Etruscan tombs outside town and tucked it in her pocket.

  Her memories were buried in her brain like in those ancient stone vaults dug into the Tuscan hills. Now that returning to Chiusi had unearthed this memory, maybe others would find their way from the labyrinth of her mind. She squirmed inwardly at the memories of Vadim she’d already glimpsed.

  Once she remembered the rest, Jack’s protection would end. And so would the attraction. What was between them arose from the necessary closeness, the isolation.

  He was a man she’d never have met otherwise. His reluctant caring and fierce dedication touched her heart. She would never forget him even if another blow to the head wiped clean all other memories.

  But they had nothing in common. When the danger ended, they would walk away from each other.

  Tell yourself that’s what you want, Sophia Constanza.

  At a terra-cotta exhibit spotlighted by the sun streaming in the adjacent window, Jack pulled her aside into the shadows. “Across the street. See him?”

  Sophie spotted the man slouching in a shop doorway. He looked up and down the street. The same slicked-back dark hair and black shirt. The man the two of them called Slick.

  Her pulse jittered, and she edged closer to Jack. “How did he find us?”

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t think he has. Our route took us south, and Chiusi’s not off the beaten path. A logical place to look for us. See, he’s checking out every passerby and vehicle.”

  “What do we do?”

  He took her right arm and steered her deeper into the museum exhibits. “We stroll around like the tourists we are and look for a rear exit.”

  They headed toward the museum’s centerpiece. She recognized the frieze with the meticulously painted male figures in wrestling holds. It took centuries of time to wear away and fade the frieze’s brilliant blues and reds, but one second’s glimpse of the hit man dulled Sophie’s excitement. She barely gave the naked wrestlers a glance.

  Moments later, in an obscure corner, they found an exit. A guide with the museum’s distinctive badge stood in the open doorway, beneath a No Smoking sign. She puffed on a cigarette. Her fluttering hand coaxed the smoke outdoors.

  Jack curved his arm around Sophie’s shoulders. He whispered, “Tell her you’re not feeling well and need air.”

  As they approached the guide, Sophie sagged against him. She needed only a moment to convince her to let them go outside through the back exit.

  The woman shot Jack a furious look as she shut the door behind them.

  “What did you say to her?” Jack asked. They hurried from the courtyard onto the back street. Summer heat rose in shimmering waves from the baked paving stones to steam him in his heavy jeans and polo.

  Sophie couldn’t help the nervous giggle that erupted. “I said I was pregnant. I don’t know the Italian for morning sickness, so I just said I was nauseous.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And she blamed me.”

  “Naturally.” Relieved to have something to smile about, Sophie winked at him.

  Then a thought halted her feet. “Do you think the…hit man or whatever he is knows our car?”

  “It’s a good bet. We’ll rent a new one.” He stopped in front of a fruttivendolo and nudged her between the displays and out of sight. “I don’t want to drag you all over town looking for a rental agency, but I’d rather leave the car on the residential street where we left it.”

  Sophie withdrew the Etruscan tombs map from her pocket. “On the back is an ad. The car agency’s in the Piazza Dante.”

  Both amber brows winged upward, and Jack grinned. Not a twitch of lip or a small smile but an out-and-out grin. He framed her cheeks with his big hands and kissed her. Hard.

  The world tilted and evaporated into the ether. Sophie wanted more, but he broke the kiss as quickly as he’d begun it.

  “Sophie, ah, Sophie.” He shook his head as if stumped for more words than her name.

  She swallowed as the world reappeared. He looked at her as no one ever had before, deeply, as though trying to see into her soul. “What? That piazza’s only a few streets over. I remember from the guidebook. We can walk there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m not as fragile as I look.”

  “No. I can attest to that. But you had a concussion only a week ago.”

  She slipped her hand in his arm and urged him in the general direction of the Piazza Dante. “A concussion affects the head. My legs are fine.”

  Grinning again, he said, “More than fine.”

  Sophie’s heart did a backflip. Jack flirting with her? She was so in trouble.

  Two hours later they drove out of Chiusi. Jack had hoped for a vehicle with more room and, damn it, just more.

  No such luck.

  All the agency’d had was another Fiat identical—still no horsepower or air—to the previous one except in color. This subcompact was black. Nondescript, but the color absorbed the more southerly Italian sun. Damn thing was a tin sauna.

  After renting the car, they’d bought emergency supplies at an alimentari, a delicatessen-type shop. Then they’d transferred their belongings and abandoned the government-issue Fiat. It would probably be towed, but not right away.

  He would have to notify the task force. Eventually.

  Armed with a Chiusi street map, Sophie directed Jack on a circuitous backstreet route out of town and northwest on a narrow secondary road. He hoped their mafioso counted on them continuing south on Highway 71.

  The route curved back and forth as if the road builders had simply followed the hills’ contours or the tracks of meandering Tuscan cattle. In an Alfa Romeo or a Maserati, Jack would’ve enjoyed the hell out of the drive. Driving faster would send air in to cool them.

  But in the Fiat, he groaned every time he shifted.

  A few miles into the countryside he noted a blue Fiat a few car lengths behind them. He couldn’t see the driver, but the man’s bulk made his gut tighten. There was little other traffic. Jack had seen one man on a bicycle. That was it.

  “He’s behind us, isn’t he?” Sophie said, her voice tight.

  “Looks like Slick. I’ll head for the Autostrade. Four traffic lanes should give me room to maneuver.” And plenty of witnesses to make him think twice if he intended to shoot.

  “How did he find us?”

  The Mafia hit man had more tricks than expected. Did he have an accomplice who’d followed them? Jack had spotted nobody. The possibility scraped his nerves raw. “We’ll figure it out later.”

  With the breeze dancing
little tendrils loose around her face, Sophie turned halfway to peer out the rear window. “He’s just following, not trying anything. What does it mean?”

  Before Jack could answer that he had no clue, he saw the answer. Dead ahead.

  Where the road turned, a red motorcycle, a Ducati, lay across the right-hand lane, and a man bent over it, one arm cradling the other as if he were injured in the spill.

  “Oh, that man is hurt,” Sophie began. “But if we stop—”

  “If we stop, they have us.” Adrenaline pumping, Jack shook his head. “A fake accident’s an old ambush deception, to make the victim stop. Our Mafia boy has accomplices. But how the hell did they get in front of us?”

  “What’ll you do?”

  “I’m going around.” He downshifted in preparation for speeding around the stopper. “Get down as low as you can in case they start shooting.”

  Sophie slid to the car floor, as she’d done on the Venice powerboat. Jack caught that her movements were more agile than before and no pain tightened her mouth.

  “Hold on,” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror. The blue car was closing the gap. Jack accelerated at the same time he swerved into the oncoming lane to pass the spilled bike. He ignored the sweat streaming down his temples.

  The motorcyclist waved frantically at him. When he didn’t stop, the man drew a pistol from somewhere and fired at them.

  Jack stomped on the accelerator. The little Fiat groaned but gradually sped up.

  Behind them, the muzzle of a pistol jutted from the blue car’s driver window.

  Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Bullets slammed into the fenders.

  Just don’t let them hit the tires. As he’d done in the boat, Jack zigged and zagged, hoping to throw off their aim.

  He was just approaching the turn when he saw the second shooter kicking his motorcycle to life.

  “Now they’re both after us. Stay down, Sophie.”

  “Are you okay? You’re not shot?”

  “Fine. You?”

  “Peachy.” But her voice hitched on the last syllable.

  Jack urged the whining Fiat into fourth gear. Hanging in the left lane, he gunned it toward the turn. The odds were against meeting oncoming traffic.

  From the left a green Ford Fiesta pulled out of the roadside brush.

  Oh, hell. Jack zipped over to the right lane and into the turn. The Fiat fishtailed, tires squealing. He yanked it into the turn and kept going.

  Encouraged, he crossed mental fingers that the Fiesta’s arrival would confuse the thugs. He glanced in the mirror.

  No such luck. The Fiesta’s driver joined the others in pursuit. Jack pounded on the wheel and swore.

  “What happened?”

  “Another car. There’s three of them.” He felt like a character in the movie about Butch and Sundance. Who are those guys?

  He made it around the turn, but his pursuers were gaining speed. He was not.

  Thunk! Thunk! Bullets hit the trunk.

  He swerved around another turn.

  Sophie rolled with a thump against the car door.

  Inside him rage boiled—and fear that he couldn’t protect her. He tamped down both, centering his mind and drawing from the experience he needed.

  “Sorry, but the curving road is the only thing keeping them from catching us.”

  “I’m okay.” She was holding her injured arm tightly against her. “Do whatever you have to do.”

  The road took them up hills and down the other side, still with the three vehicles in pursuit. The Fiat careened around one curve after another like a drunken donkey.

  Another stopper entered from a side road just before another sharp curve.

  Fear for Sophie grabbed at his throat. If he braked now, they’d kill her. “Aw, damn it to hell!”

  “What now?” She pushed up on her knees to peer out the passenger window. “A farmer?”

  The new stopper ahead was no Mafia accomplice but no less effective. The wooden wagon pulled by a team of horses blocked his lane and half of the left. Behind it lumbered a second team pulling a wagon.

  Jack checked the lay of the land. Vineyard. Opposite, another dirt road. Boulders flanked both roads. “Hold on, Sophie. I might be able to make hay out of this.”

  He veered left, keeping the tires barely on the pavement. The rear fender kissed the boulders with an ear-splitting screech. The Fiat passed directly in front of the plodding horses.

  The big animals shied and stomped. Three more steps and they halted and tossed their heads. The wagon driver dropped the reins. He waved both meaty fists at the rude motorist.

  Jack eased the Fiat back onto pavement and zipped on around the curve. “I think that did it.”

  “What did you do?” Sophie crept back into her seat.

  “The two wagons were loaded with men and tools from the day’s labors in the vineyard on the other side. Now the wagons are blocking the entire roadway. Those Mafia bottom-feeders can’t bypass the boulders. They’ll have to wait for the horses to calm down and finish crossing before they can chase us.” He rolled his shoulders in an effort to relax the tension.

  “You’re a genius!” She searched the road behind them as she tucked curls behind one ear. “I see no sign of them.”

  “We’re not in the clear yet.” A glimpse of her glowing face had him gripping the wheel tighter so he wouldn’t reach for her. Damn, he didn’t need this. “Look at your map. What detours can we take to throw them off?”

  “The map from the Etruscan Museum shows more detail than the road map. I see several dirt tracks that lead to tomb sites. We could—”

  His heart bumped when he checked the rearview mirror. “Hold it. The creeps are back. I see the motorcycle.”

  “No. Oh, no!” Sophie’s trembling fingers crumpled the map.

  Chapter 10

  Sophie’s chest tightened with fear. This chase was worse than racing through the Venice canals.

  Jack covered her hand with his. “We’ll get out of this. I promise. If what I have in mind works, we’ll have a place to hole up for a few hours.”

  Downshifting, he pushed the little car to its limit, but he managed to pull ahead. A series of S-curves in the narrow road blocked them from view of their pursuers.

  “Now where do I turn for one of these tomb sites?” Jack said, steering through another curve.

  Just what she longed for, a place to hide, a safe place. The feel of his warm strength on her skin reassured her.

  She drew a deep breath and shoved away her panic. “Take the next right. Then there’s a dirt road on the left just after a small shrine.” Fear had swabbed her mouth dry, and she managed only a whispery voice.

  “Thank God the bike’s small and not a monster that could power rings around us. They’re not close enough to shoot. We have a good chance of fooling them.”

  No sign yet of their pursuers, but Sophie knew they must be gaining. Her heart crowded into her already tight throat. Faster, faster, she urged the intrepid Fiat.

  Jack hung a sharp right onto the side road.

  “There, up there’s the shrine. See the flowers?”

  Beside a natural spring someone had built a stone pillar topped with a crucifix and a picture of the Virgin Mary. Roses and wildflowers bedecked the pillar’s base.

  Thirty feet farther along, barely visible, a narrow dirt track disappeared into a thicket.

  “Got it.” Jack braked and yanked the wheel left.

  Dappled emerald shade embraced them as the Fiat bumped and bounced onto the rutted dirt. Jack saw a cleared place to one side. He pulled over and cut the engine.

  Over them arched a cool canopy of native pines and beech trees, and behind them spread thick shrubs. The familiar scents of heather and juniper drifted on the light breeze. Deep shadows shielded the black car.

  “We’re hidden. I’ll give it a few minutes before we go on to the tombs.” He dug his 9mm from beneath his seat and checked it over. “Stay here.”

  Sophie held her
breath as she watched Jack. Swinging open the door, he levered his long body from the car. He pushed the door almost shut. Thigh muscles shifting under worn denim, he crouched over and edged along a sprawling juniper to where he could see the paved road. A spear of sunlight glinted off his pistol, and he lowered it.

  Sophie held her breath and listened. The hum of motors increased to a roar as the three Mafia vehicles drew near. Slowly the noise diminished to a hum.

  The cars and the motorcycle passed them by!

  She slumped in relief, her pulse thumping in her ears like a drum solo.

  A moment later Jack returned to the car. She watched as he examined the rear, where the bullets had hit. Then he clambered back into the driver’s seat. “Car seems all right. No sign of gas leaks. But our suitcases have new ventilation.”

  “Oh, you did it! You fooled them. They’re gone.” She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him, but no. There was that scowl. “They are gone, aren’t they?”

  “For now. They could turn back when they don’t see us.”

  “Or they could think we took the other road.”

  “Miss Optimist. If they come back, we could be trapped here.” His gaze softened and his big hand cupped her cheek.

  Her insides turned to warm risotto. She smiled, savoring the contact and a whiff of male musk and sweat. “Or we could be safely hidden.”

  “If we leave, they could split up and find us again.”

  Sophie opened her mouth to object, then closed it. Their shade-camouflaged car was cozy, intimate. Jack was beside her, so close that his heat, his scent and his chiseled jaw made her dizzy with longing. “You think we should stay, too.”

  As he traced a finger across her lower lip, small flames flickered to life within her. “We’re out of sight,” he said. “Untraceable. And I need to make a call. Got to know how those guys found us.”

  His words broke Sophie’s sensual trance. She considered. “How did they get ahead enough to set up an ambush? We didn’t choose this route until—” Sudden realization had her sucking in a breath so fast she coughed.