Chapter 9
Orvieto, Italy
How had this become her life? To be crouching at the edge of the high grass that separated the valley from the manicured property of Vigneto Corallo like a common criminal…
They had taken shelter behind the last of the massive oleander bushes that flowered beautifully pink and magenta in late spring and summer.
Their blooms were long gone, but the elongated, leathery leaves were thick and provided perfect cover.
From this position, she could see the three terraced levels.
On the lowest, the pools—both the natural one with fish and frogs as well as the Olympic-size pool with gazebo and outdoor kitchen.
The middle terrace housed the entertaining terrace—where hours earlier, she had endured Flavio’s attention and the intense feeling that things were not right—the winery and storage, as well as the nearest guest house, which was home to their staff, cook, and the Morettis—at least, until more recent days.
There were three other guest properties with multiple apartments, but those were farther away.
The uppermost terrace boasted the main house, orangery, greenhouse, and winery shop for the locals.
Achilles lowered his shoulder toward her, bringing his face closer as he pointed in the direction of the greenhouse. “Movement,” he said, his voice barely audible.
Trying to see what he meant, she quickly caught sight of a shape gliding along the side in deep shadow. “The front door is visible from there,” she whispered.
He nodded. “So, how do we get in?”
Cove considered their options for a moment. “The garage,” she suggested quietly, retreating a pace. All this surreptitious behavior was not easy, but neither would she let these brigands win. “It has a side door.”
Dark features were deepened in the darkness, but his uncertainty bled through. “Show me.”
Grateful for the oleander hedge that hid them, Cove hustled toward the end.
She crouched there, feeling him do the same at her back.
Together, they watched for a long time—at least ten minutes.
Despite the lingering silence, she did not have an urge to break the moratorium on talking.
She found it…somehow comforting to be here with him, to have a plan.
To know she was not alone, even with Papà in trouble.
But were they safe here? What if someone saw them? “I don’t see anything,” she said, feeling vulnerable and exposed, despite the concealment.
Achilles didn’t answer, but moonlight revealed his knotted brow and frown. The intensity and raw power roiling off him seemed to hint that he’d seen something.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“It’s too easy…” He swiveled and lowered a knee to the ground, which brought him closer, his mouth practically against her ear. “They’ve had hours to scout the house and take up positions. No way they don’t know that door is there.”
Good thoughts. Ones she hadn’t even considered.
Her gaze drifted back to the sloping line of the drive that descended the kilometer-long road from the front gate, arced down and around to the six-car garage bay, where some of Papà’s most prized possessions sat.
Next to the bay, a farm-style door that Mamma had loved.
And nobody in sight. It did seem suspicious.
Yet…they had been here a long while and nothing.
But this was his forte, not hers. So, she would trust his instincts.
Once another ten minutes had passed, she did not like wasting time. They could have been inside by now. She eyed him. “What if it is not?”
His gaze shifted to hers. Santo cielo, that brooding expression made her stomach do the very flips he had demonstrated in the tunnel. That raw intensity, the depth of thought, and his cunning mind left her breathless. Of course, the dark eyes, brows, and shorn hair did not hurt… “Not what?”
“Guarded. What if they only left one or two people…?”
He pursed his lips and shook his head as those probing eyes searched the house again. “That…that’d be stupid.”
Was he saying her idea was stupid?
He touched her arm, luring her closer as he whispered, “Tell me the route to the office from the garage door.”
She eyed the house, mentally mapping it so she got this right.
“Once in the door, go straight through the garage, past Papà’s six cars, then through the door that will lead to the rear hall.
Up the stairs to the main level. Turn left, then first right.
Down the hall, second left. It’s the second door on the left. ”
Achilles rubbed his lower lip as he stared at the house. “Left, first right, second left, second left again.”
It was so incredible that he could do that. Like an American version of James Bond. That he was so focused and could recall the route. If their roles were reversed, she would still be stuck on the dark eyes and belly flips.
“Cove?”
She blinked, realizing he had said something, and gulped at being caught appreciating him. “What?”
Achilles smirked as he shifted the weapon to the front. “Will the doors be locked?”
She shook her head. “Keypads.”
“There’s no power.”
“They operate independently.”
With a nod, he looked to the house. “You lead, but let me clear every corner first. If we get separated, meet back here.”
Another good thought she hadn’t considered. “Right.”
“When you’re ready, run for all you’re worth. I’ll be right behind you.”
Heart in her throat, Cove caught a limb of the enormous bush that towered over them and readied herself.
“Three…two… Go!”
She shoved up and sprinted across the open yard.
Every step felt like a kilometer. Each thud of her shoes on the gravel drive like the clap of a weapon firing, making her anticipate a bullet searing through her.
But as she hit the small stoop to the door, she couldn’t believe she’d made it without injury.
Achilles barreled up and bumped into her.
Punching in the code on the keypad, she pushed even as she heard the tone that signaled a wrong code. She grunted and entered it again. The obnoxious ergh-ergh of a wrong code seemed to scream through the night.
His hand landed on her shoulder. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”
She frowned even as she tried again. “What—”
“Slow down. Nice and slow.”
Buh-leep!
The latch disengaged and she thrust open the door. Hurried inside.
“Go, the other one,” Achilles said as he took the door and closed it. Flipped the lock.
Cove darted past Papà’s cars and raced up the two steps to the interior door.
“Holy what?” he rasped. “This is a Ferrari 250GT California!”
“Boys and their toys,” she murmured as she punched in the code on the second keypad.
“No no no, this cannot be a Miura.”
“It better be”—she hit the last number—“or Papà will be very upset at how much he paid for it.” She turned to chastise him about not stopping, when he all but careened into her. Swung around her into the rear hall, weapon up and aiming up the stairs.
In the space of a couple minutes, they ducked into the office without crossing any gunmen. Even as Achilles locked the door, she faltered, just then seeing the chaos that had overtaken the normally pristine room.
“Santo cielo,” she whispered, looking around at the complete disarray. The broken lamps. Shredded leather sofa. Shelves disgorged of their books.
“Someone already hit the safe,” Achilles said.
Her gaze landed on the painting behind the desk that hung askew.
The steel, fireproof door ajar. “That one, yes.” She strode to the side, shifted the armchair away from the wall, and knelt in the corner.
Popped the floorboard and smiled down at the keypad.
She entered the combination and the entire panel depressed and receded.
“This house has a lot of secrets,” she said as she rose and moved to the credenza. She opened it and tugged out Papà’s favorite satchel, then tossed it to Achilles. “Fill it up. I’m going to get the money from my safe.”
“No—”
“Two minutes.” She sprinted for the foyer and took the stairs two at a time.
“Gelato!” he hissed through the darkened house.
But Cove had already reached the upper landing and bolted to the right.
She flung herself through her room to the closet.
Dove at her winter clothes and parted the hangers.
Depressed the panel and entered her code into the keypad.
From her personal safe, she grabbed the stack of bills and her passport, then retrieved a backpack purse.
Stuffed the items in there. Grabbed a couple shirts and jeans.
About to leave, she stopped short. Glanced back and knew better than to leave the clothes parted.
She returned things to their former state, then raced out of the closet, across her room…
On her nightstand, something lit up. Her heart climbed into her throat.
My phone! Indecision rooted her to the floor—Achilles had said no devices.
They could be tracked. But who was calling her?
That wasn’t as important as realizing some of the images and evidence she had gathered was still on that. She couldn’t leave it behind.