Marked Masters (27 page)

"What is the big deal?" He smiled at me,
pretending humor, but then I saw his jaw tighten. No answers would
be forthcoming tonight.

The waiter appeared to refill our coffee
cups, and Jack settled the bill. By the time we were back out on
the street, an after-dinner walk sounded like the best idea in the
world. We would grab separate cabs later.

The streets were still active with
pedestrians, and the traffic hadn't eased up too much. October was
a beautiful time of the year in Florence, and while I quite enjoyed
the air, the ambience, and its historic loveliness, my mind
remained busily at work.

I'm doing you a big favor.
What the
heck did he mean?

Something about the rooftop activity I'd
seen earlier from the bell tower continued gnawing at me, and I
told Jack about the palazzo and how I wanted to get a closer look
at it from street level.

"What were they doing? Why the curiosity?"
Jack asked quietly.

"Just a feeling I have, really. I couldn't
see anything. But a lot of the roof was covered with awnings. Why
have a rooftop area if you're going to block out all the sun? What
if they were trying to block out voyeurs instead?"

"Good point. But if so, why pick a location
so close to the bell tower and dome?" Even as he fired questions,
we began heading that way. "If someone is hiding something, a place
on the edge of town or in the Tuscan hillside would offer privacy
without the need of awnings."

"Maybe the location is key for some reason,
like it's temporary, or maybe just convenient." I shrugged for what
felt like the millionth time that day. "Or maybe I'm grasping at
straws, and the place belongs to someone who loves fresh air but
who sunburns easily."

Jack offered me a genuine smile. "Or maybe
they're having renovations done, and the workmen don't want to be
in the hot sun? I'm happy to play along. We're not in any hurry,
and the place you're describing isn't far. I see no reason not to
check it out. Your intuition is one of the things I like best about
you."

There were others? Sometimes the guy really
surprised me.

But that was nothing compared to the
surprise we both had when we turned the last corner before the
palazzo, and not only saw the house—we saw Rollie heading our way.
The well-lit street made it easy to identify him as he spoke
angrily and gesticulated with abandon to a swarthy man with an ugly
scar down the left side of his face. Scarface frowned as he
listened and kept pace, but never answered back, and in that
instant I realized Rollie was probably chewing him out for
something. Luckily, instead of facing forward, Rollie stared at the
other man and missed seeing us. Beyond the surprise at chancing
upon him in that location, I was frozen by the sheer disbelief at
how he acted. The charming young man was gone, and this was a
Rollie unlike anything I could have ever imagined.

Jack reacted quicker than I. His arms
wrapped hard around me as he pivoted to slam us into the hard stone
of the closest building. His forearms took the worst brunt of the
collision, but as my head tried to catch up with the movements of
my body, Jack's lips covered mine and coherent thought became
impossible.

Everything that happened earlier in the
evening faded away as Jack's lips moved over mine, hard yet soft
with a proficiency denoting a lifetime of experience with the
opposite sex. Somehow my fingers buried themselves in his hair, the
texture as silky as I'd imagined and the length just long enough to
hold tight as the world disappeared and only the two of us
remained. I could hear nothing except Jack's heartbeat thundering
against mine, smell nothing but his woodsy, unique scent, and feel
nothing but the hardness of his body in the fine material of his
tux when he pressed against every part of me. Secure in the
strength of his arms as they tightened around my own smaller body,
offering refuge.

I'm not sure how long we stood fused
together before he finally raised his head. Reluctantly, I opened
my eyes, not ready to focus. We stood that way for several long
moments until I realized two things: he was as affected as I was by
what had just happened, and two men walking by conversing in rapid
French reminded me where we were and why. Jack moved his arms up to
frame my face and shield my profile. From Rollie.

Jack had made the only move he could, hiding
me to prevent detection. Making us appear as lovers. While I
appreciated his quick reflexes, I had to be smart. I couldn't let
anything happen between us.

I'm doing you a big favor.

I deliberately lowered my gaze, removed my
hands from his hair, and pushed on his chest since I couldn't step
away. "I appreciate your good reflexes, Jack." I hoped a compliment
with a little bravado would put us back on partnering terms. The
crazy feelings were just an extension of all the weirdness and
adrenalin from the gala, the lovely dinner, and the sudden
heightened risk of exposure mercifully averted. That was it. "I was
shocked when I saw Rollie. Your ploy was perfect. Thank you."

He obligingly moved back, stood a bit
straighter for a second, and blinked a couple of times. Then that
slow smile spread across his face, and the Southern Charmer accent
was back. The one he employed the first time we'd met. "Why, my
pleasure, miss," he said in his familiar Clark Gable
Gone with
the Wind
impersonation. "Anything to help a damsel in
distress."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "My hero.
Would you also like to help this damsel break into the little ole
palazzo right down the street, kind sir?"

"If you have the means, I have the
muscle."

I pulled a hand out of my clutch, holding my
favorite set of picks and the mini-flashlight.

I waved the clutch at him. "Those of us
representing the Beacham Foundation are always ready for whatever
challenges come our way."

We walked a bit farther and ended up across
the street from the palazzo, protected from direct view by a huge
urn and a potted tree, and stared at the outside of the building.
No one appeared to be inside, but we weren't taking any chances. It
was too much of a coincidence to think Rollie and his companion
weren't coming from there just before we saw them.

While we watched and waited, Jack filled me
in on something else he'd observed.

"The guy who was with Rollie is connected to
Tony B."

"Are you sure?"

He turned my way and cocked a dark eyebrow.
"Remember what I told you earlier today?"

"Right." I sighed. "You know everyone.
You've memorized everyone."

He chuckled. "You sound a little envious,
Laurel."

"I sound a little tired of everything
continually changing at a moment's notice. What do you think his
being with Rollie means? I'd assumed Scarface was in trouble about
something."

"Possibly." Jack trained his gaze back onto
the palazzo. "Scarface, as you call him, is a Sicilian who actually
got his facial disfigurement when a political kidnapping went
awry."

"So what is his expertise?"

"Whatever anyone will pay him to do." Jack
looked my way again. "But he's never been connected with
Moran."

This left more questions and no answers.
"What's your best guess? That Moran hired Tony B and now he's sent
Rollie to get things working the way he wants? Or that Rollie is
branching out on his own, hired these thugs without adequate due
diligence, and is angry that things aren't done his way?"

"Both are possibilities, as is a third
option. The possibility we talked about weeks ago in France. That
they're a part of the new underground group we've heard warning
chatter about, but we can't get intel on yet. The one we believe is
actually spearheading the huge art heist."

I hugged my clutch, thinking. "No." I shook
my head. "It doesn't make sense. Moran wants Rollie to take over
operations. It's Rollie who says he doesn't want the job."

Jack whirled and clasped my shoulders. "When
did he tell you this?"

"A couple of weeks ago, when we first met.
Before he and I left for the festival in Le Puy-en-Velay." I
frowned, thinking back to exactly what Rollie had said that day.
"It was when he was still trying to make me believe the family
business was only an architectural firm. He said his grandfather
was disappointed in him for not taking on the duties of the family
firm."

He let go of me and turned back to stare at
the palazzo as he spoke. "Yeah, I see what you mean. But it still
could have been a ruse. He was lying, after all, about the type of
business. The whole thing could have been a way to impress you. If
he actually wants to be in charge and Moran won't give him the
reins, he could have thrown in with Tony B on the promise of a seat
of command, and only later realized he should have better picked
his partners in crime."

We both seemed to have run out of ideas.
There were city noises and strains of conversation periodically
riding the wind but nothing that set off alarm bells for either of
us. Everyone passing by seemed to be heading in a particular
direction. No one took notice of the palazzo. The building was
going a little to seed after five hundred–plus years, but the bones
were good, and someone had cared for it through the centuries.

After a good twenty minutes, we'd exhausted
our patience and moved to investigate the option of getting inside
the palazzo via a side door along a darkened section of the block.
The lock was a bit tricky, but perseverance and determination
triumphed. Jack left my side, motioning me to stay put, and took a
quick walk through. While I resented his highhandedness, this was
not the time for argument. I removed my heels and stockings as a
matter of caution and hoped my feet had healed enough from the
previous day's urban hang gliding. I knew wearing shoes was smarter
for protection, but while neither of us really thought anyone was
inside, high heels are never suggested for discreet breaking and
entering. Jack made another quick sweep of the area and came back
to my side. "We were right. No one is here. Go ahead and wear your
shoes."

"No. Thanks for the concern, but this is
much safer in the long run." I hung my heels on my necklace to keep
my hands free and followed Jack into the darkness. Something about
the blackness around us made me whisper, "Flashlight, or turn on
the lights?"

"Let's take a quick jog upstairs first using
the flashlight. I've got a funny feeling about this. Something
feels fishy."

So he was sensing it too. Another setup? I
hadn't wanted to voice my thoughts, because I was beginning to feel
like Polly Paranoid—envisioning scary scenarios with no facts to
support the suppositions.

I flashed the light over the walls of the
ground floor, and the frescos made me stop and catch my breath.
These were no forgeries, but fifteenth- and sixteenth-century works
created for the family who built and used this once grand abode as
their home. They had likely delighted every family who lived here
since. My hand itched to take pictures, to document how the wealthy
lived and what they saw every day five centuries ago. The hallways
were narrow, and the walls that weren't frescoed were most often
covered in marble.

The past opulence had to have been
breathtaking, and the ambience was still enough to make me stop in
my tracks until Jack hurried me along. As we neared the main
entrance and the staircase, I tipped my light upward to the high
two-story ceilings. The ornate chandelier once held candles but had
been electrified sometime after the turn of the last century.

We mounted the stairs. Within minutes, we
traversed the first and second floors and took a closed staircase
up to the covered roof. No one jumped out and said "Boo!" though I
probably would have wet myself if it happened.

Jack returned to my side, and I said, "I
vote for the lights. There's too much to see and look at with a
flash. But let's hurry."

"Agreed." He reached out to the switch we
found, and the rooftop illumination blinded us for a moment.

Instead of the usual paraphernalia, like
chairs, tables, loungers, and potted plants, the space was packed
with unopened crates and boxes, all wrapped in heavy plastic. "We
don't have time to check these out. There are too many," I
said.

"Agreed. But we can open a couple."

"Do we want anyone to know we've been
here?"

"At this point, I don't think it matters.
We've got to get something going. Besides, they won't know it was
us, will they?"

I couldn't argue with his logic, but I
wanted to badly. Something about this whole thing stank.

"Do you have the wicked sharp thing you used
to cut me down in Orlando?"

The clutch was open in a second, and I
slapped my favorite weapon in his hand like a surgical nurse. He
approached the nearest crate and cut through the plastic like it
was cotton candy. He quickly pried the lid, took a look, and
slammed it shut.

"Wait a minute. We're in this together," I
protested.

"Trust me. You don't want to see."

I ignored him and lifted the lid. What
little bits remained somehow identified the contents as human. I
stared into the crate, fixated. "Why isn't there a smell?"

"They're using some kind of chemical to
break down the body and prevent odor. This didn't happen very long
ago."

I pulled my gaze away from the grisly
remains and looked around the roof. "Do you think all of these
contain dead bodies?"

Jack replaced the lid, closing the deceased
back in the coffin crate. I stepped away and took a deep breath.
Seeing a human being dumped in a crate and left to rot on a rooftop
filled me with a sense of unspeakable horror. He checked more
crates while I spent the time picking my jaw off the ground and
looking around fearfully for any sign of new trouble. As he moved
closer again, he said, "If this is as big as Nico speculates,
people become expendable pretty fast." He opened several more and
shook his head. "Let's get out of here and recon through the rest
of the place."