Chapter 12
Outside Orvieto, Italy
Armed with a bag of scones, wrapped sausage, and bacon, Dillon pushed himself toward her, not quite believing what he’d heard her say.
When he reached her, he paused. Looked into her beautiful eyes.
“I would never abandon you.” He couldn’t resist teasing her with a wink. “Even if you didn’t find me gorgeous.”
“I-I…you were gone.”
Arching an eyebrow, he hoisted the bag. “Breakfast.” He had to admit she was freakin’ cute when riled, her mouth partially open, a pink stain in her cheeks.
“Let’s eat and get a game plan in place.
” He didn’t want to exacerbate the issue by teasing her about that, even if it did irk him that she thought he’d just walk out and leave her…
He had more character than that. And he was fed up with people discounting him.
Back in the Cruiser, he monitored her trek to the front passenger side, acknowledging the fact that despite what they’d been through—being shot at, on the run, and sleeping in a Land Cruiser, clothes smudged and bloodied—she looked great.
Once she climbed in and shut the door, he used napkins to set out a scone for each, along with bacon and sausage, then handed her a bottled water.
“Where did you get all this?” Her gaze narrowed. “Did you steal it?” she asked in her accented English.
The words hit with the force of a two-ton nuclear device. “Are you kidding me?”
“Then where did you get it?”
Yeah, not so beautiful now. “After all I’ve done, protected you from—can’t you believe in me for longer than two seconds?”
She did not back down. “You would ask the same thing if our roles were reversed.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Ticked, he drew in a breath to calm down.
“While you were sawing logs, I hiked out and found a farm. Offered to do some chores in exchange for food. The old lady—Signora Barbieri—appreciated it,” he bit out, gauging her expression and glad when she seemed to regret her accusation.
“Her husband died last month and her son bailed, so she was glad for a strong back to help with chores.”
Eyeing the food, Cove swallowed. Looked chagrined. “But your wounds…”
“Ache a little, but I’m good.” Even though it was nice to see some contrition from her, Dillon wouldn’t rub it in her face. He’d heard that rant, the sheer panic and fear in her voice—legit terror.
“Perdonami,” she said quietly. “I…I…”
He really wished he spoke Italian, but that sounded like an apology. “I get it. You thought I’d left you and it frightened you.”
“No!” Her eyes widened, then she dipped her head, picking at the scone. “Yes.”
Dillon paused and let his frustration settle.
Stared out the front windshield, knowing they had to find common ground.
Understand they were in this thing together.
He’d had time to think while searching out food.
He put a hand on hers, which brought those gold orbs up.
“This is a team effort, Gelato. And that means we have to make a decision right now to trust each other. If we don’t, neither of us will get what we want—proof about our dads.
” He recalled too late that she didn’t like the nickname, but thankfully, she didn’t object. “We’ll figure it out.”
A wisp of a smile ghosted her expression.
“But I have to ask you a question.”
Wariness barged into that near-smile.
“I want you to answer honestly…”
She stilled, looking pale.
“Am I more gorgeous than Flavio?”
Cove laughed and tossed a piece of scone at him. “Maybe,” she conceded and added a rueful smile, “but entirely more full of yourself.”
“Fair.” He liked hearing her laugh, seeing a smile brighten her eyes, and held her gaze for a long second. “Guess I’ll have to work on that.”
As if trying to hide her smile, she pinched off a piece of scone and put it in her mouth, then eyed him again. “I’m sorry I accused you of stealing…”
Dillon wanted to blow it off, but that had been a sharp blow against his honor.
“I get why you might think that, but it’s not who I am.
” He took a bite of his scone, thinking.
“In the two years I’ve been on the lam, searching for my dad, I’ve only stolen once.
And it”—he shook his head—“seared my conscience.”
“It is incredible that you’ve managed this long like that. How have you…?”
“Rules,” he said, then guzzled water to wash down the too-dry scone. Give him a donut or biscuit any day of the year, but these in-betweens were tough to choke down.
“What rules?”
He inhaled the rest of his water and capped it back off. “There are several. One is… Reciprocity: Do something nice for someone, and most people will want to return the favor.”
She chewed slowly, then lifted her food. “Like the chores and scones.” After another bite, she nodded at him. “What is another?”
“Likeability: People want to work with people they like, so being nice, being friendly, goes a long way in convincing people to let you in.”
“This feels…jaded. Does that not mean you’re working people?”
He sniffed and stared out the cracked and hole-riddled windshield. “Everyone works someone. When you called people to set up that gala in Paris, were you nice to them? Or did you just order them around, demanding what you wanted?”
“That is…not fair. I was being professional.”
He cracked a smile. “You were working a well-known fact that being nice gets you farther than being demanding. It’s not wrong or mercenary.”
She wrinkled her nose and chewed more of the scone. “I suppose… But it still feels wrong.”
“Because you have a good heart.”
At that, she eyed him speculatively. “Is this you being likeable…to get me to do something?”
Man, he hated that Cove felt she couldn’t trust him.
She touched his bicep. “I…that was a bad joke.”
“I know we just met, so you don’t know, but—character, honor, integrity?
They’re my foundation stones.” He tossed the scone back into the bag, no appetite for it.
“Yes, I’ve broken some laws like entering countries illegally, but…
it’s the only way I’m finding my dad. I’ll pay for this eventually, but… I’m not…corrupt.”
“I know that,” she said softly. “I really do. You have shown a lot of integrity and honor since our paths collided in my papà’s office. I trust you, Achilles.”
Yeah, so much for that trust you’re touting. Should he tell her his real name?
Going soft wouldn’t get his dad back.
After drinking some water, she put the lid back on and set it aside. “So…what is next?”
“Dillon.” He tightened his jaw and slowly met her gaze. “My name’s Dillon.”
There was nothing like a Northern Virginia sunrise and the moment the hazy blue of dusk surrendered to the gold and pink of dawn. And that, that was exactly what it felt like when Cove smiled at him just then.
“Nice to meet you, Dillon.”
He was stupid but he would pay her to say his name again. It felt right. Good. And it’d been ages since he’d heard his name spoken.
She held his gaze for a long second, then sighed. “Thank you. I understand the gift you handed me—not just your name, but your trust.” A smile caressed her fair features and stained her cheeks. “I do not take it lightly.”
Crazy, the way his gut heated at her soft words. “Neither do I.” Because it was colossally dumb. Wreckless. He cleared his throat. “As for what’s next…first thing is that Signora Barbieri said to bring her the truck and she’d let us take her sedan.”
Cove faltered. “Why would we—”
“Bullet holes.”
“Wait—so you told her…everything?”
“I’m American. In a remote Italian countryside.
She’d already heard about the attack on the villa and the gunmen who shot up the Galtieri estate.
It’s a small area, smaller than I realized,” Dillon explained, chagrined.
“I didn’t say anything, but she did. I think we should take her up on it—driving around in a vehicle full of bullet holes is only going to draw attention. ”
She didn’t seem sure.
“Up to you, since this is your dad’s,” he said, not wanting her to feel like he was ordering her, “but it makes sense. Also, if she saw you, I think it would ease her mind that I wasn’t lying.”
“You told her about me?”
At her incredulousness, he huffed a laugh and shook his head. “I told you—the signora knew it all. That your dad was taken, that you were missing. Wanted to know what I’d done with you, threatened me with the pitchfork before letting me use it to feed the pigs.”
“Oh.” She scrunched up her face. “I accused you again.”
Yeah…she had.
“You’re right, Dillon. It’s a good plan.”
“It’s the start of a plan,” he amended. “The signora said there were lots of black vehicles heading toward the villa, so once we trade vehicles, I think we need to get out of the immediate area. Maybe even the country.”
“I have my passport.”
“For obvious reasons, I don’t have one on me, so we have to take less direct, unofficial routes to wherever we’re going next.”
Her eyes brightened. “Mykonos!”
Dillon frowned. “Do what?”
“It’s in the Greek Isles.”
“I know where it is, but what does that have to do with us?”
“My uncle lives there.”
Not really sure he wanted to be mixing it up with more of her family, Dillon figured they could sort that as they made their way out of the country.
“Hang tight.” He got out and opened the stable door, then returned.
They drove up the road a good ten minutes before he turned onto a dirt road and pulled to a stop at a small stucco-and-stone home.
By the time he cut the engine, he spotted the signora coming around the side of the house.
“Should I offer her money?” Cove asked. “Oh. Where is the backpack?”
“Under my seat. But she suggested the trade, so no money. We need to be smart with what little we have.” He cocked his head toward the woman. “Don’t tell her too much. Just enough that she won’t worry. Or call the police.”
When they climbed out, he received a warm, almost exuberant greeting. “Hello.”
Signora Barbieri lifted both arms with a broad smile. “You come back!”
He indicated toward Cove. “This is Signorina Galtieri, as promised.”
“Salve, signora,” Cove said as she smiled and drew closer. “Sono Cove Galtieri.”
“Bene, bene. Sono Guilia Barbieri. Ho incontrato tuo padre una volta. Molti anni fa. Un bell’uomo.”
Dillon hesitated, watching as the two women chatted quickly and completely in Italian. Please…please don’t tell her we’re going to Greece.
“Hai trovato un bell’americano, vero?”
Had the signora said American? That must be about him…
Cove gave him a speculative glance, a coy smile parked on her pink lips. “Sì, abbastanza.”
“è uno dei bravi. Tienilo stretto.”
“Questo è il mio piano.”
Okay, she said something about a piano. Which made no sense. But then the signora handed Cove some keys and pointed behind the house. They walked around there and found a one-car garage.
“She says her late husband bought the car. It is old.” She indicated to the double door on the garage, and they both grabbed a handle and drew back.
“If it can last us long enough to get out of the—” Dillon stopped short as he stared at the vehicle lurking in the shadows of the small garage.
He chortled a laugh, circling the car. “This is an Alfa Romeo Stelvio!” He covered his mouth.
But then he felt the enormity of what the older woman offered. Knew this was wrong. “This can’t…”
“What is wrong?”
“This can’t be right. Nobody would hand strangers the key to this.”
“She said it does not get used. That—” Her cheeks went pink.
“What?”
Clearing her throat, she drew in a breath. “She said young lovers should enjoy it.”
Dillon coughed a laugh. “You corrected her, right?”
“I was so stunned I could not figure out what to say.”
“You remember to tell your dad that so he does not kill me.” He considered the car again and could not stop the grin. “Maybe we should go before she changes her mind.”
They climbed in and Cove passed him the keys to the luxury sedan.
Dillon shook his head, still disbelieving this was happening. “My dad will be so jealous…”
As they pulled around the front, Signora Barbieri waved them to stop. Arms full, she sauntered over and passed them a basket of bread, fruit, and cheese.
“Grazie, signora. Sei troppo gentile,” Cove said, then said something else in Italian.
The woman reached into the car, and Dillon caught her hand, which she squeezed tight, then eyed Cove with a devious gleam. “Sposa questa ragazza o te ne pentirai.”
“Oh.” Cove’s eyes widened and she started. “Grazie, signora.” Her smile was weak, awkward.
Not sure what he’d missed, Dillon nodded. “Yes, thank you. Grazie.”
The woman backed away and waved as they left her property.
“What did she say? You looked alarmed.”
“I…I, uh, nothing. It was just an Italian pleasantry.”
A standard pleasantry panicked or alarmed her? Yeah, he wasn’t buying that.
Cove set the basket on the back seat as they hit the main road. “So, I was thinking that we should drive down to Pescara—it’s about a three-hour drive. My papà has a couple of boats docked there, and we can use one to get to Mykonos.”
Was she changing the subject? “Do you know how to get to Pescara?”
“I do.” She gave him instructions and they headed that way. A while later, she tugged her backpack onto her lap. “And…do not get angry, okay?”
Dillon gave her a sidelong look. “Don’t like the sound of that. Can’t put any bets on my anger until I know why you’re saying that.”
“When I was the house, I…I had to get something that I think is part of proving my papà’s innocence.” With that, she drew out a tall, black something…device? Looked like a sleeve. “It’s a Faraday bag—with my phone.”