The Raven (17 page)

A
lthough Raven would have liked the opportunity to examine the faux
Primavera
and the alleged Michelangelo in a leisurely fashion, she was not about to put her passion for art above her safety.

Neither was she going to spend the night in his lordship’s room.

She was clever enough to realize she needed to wait until the appropriate time to make her escape. The intruder’s staff was disturbingly loyal.

After her short confrontation with Lucia and Ambrogio downstairs, Raven decided her best strategy was temporary compliance. Her knapsack had been returned without her cell phone and without the relic. She elected not to press the issue, intending as she was to slip out of the house after everyone was asleep.

She was relieved to learn that Bruno was still alive. She was told he was in an induced coma at the hospital while the doctors waited for the swelling in his brain to go down. It was too early to tell if he would survive.

At this news, Raven cried. She shed her tears in the shower, where no one could hear.

Lucia had stationed herself in the bedroom while Raven used the bathroom, as if she were standing guard.

Raven scrubbed her hair and body with a finely milled Florentine soap that smelled of lemon. She’d found the soap in a decorative box on top of the vanity and recognized the scent as being that of the intruder. Since it was the only soap on offer, she couldn’t be bothered to care that it was his.

After drying her hair and changing into the silk nightgown and plush bathrobe, she dutifully drank mint leaves steeped in hot water and choked down dry toast and a couple of aspirin.

She feigned exhaustion and declared to Lucia she was going to bed. Thankfully, the housekeeper departed, bidding her good night.

Raven was sure to lock the bedroom door from the inside.

At four o’clock in the morning, she padded over to the closet. Divesting herself of the nightgown, she pulled on a green wrap dress that was exactly her size. She bent to reach for a pair of black ballet flats and stopped cold.

Sitting on the closet floor, next to several pairs of shoes and boots that looked to be of her size, were her own sneakers. She picked one up, inspecting it. They were the black Adidas sneakers she wore almost every day and had been unable to find since Gina’s party.

Why would the intruder steal my sneakers
?

Raven lifted the other shoe, turning it over in her hand. A couple of rust-colored spots decorated the toe.

A sick feeling came over her as she wondered whose blood was on her shoes.

She shoved the sneakers in her knapsack and slid on the ballet flats. She’d worry about the blood spatter later.

She pulled her knapsack onto her uninjured shoulder and crept down the dark hallway to the stairs.

Her plan was to escape the estate as quickly and quietly as possible. She’d walk down the hill to the Arno, even if it took hours. Then she’d go to one of the hotels, borrow a phone, and call the police.

There wasn’t a telephone in her room. In fact, she hadn’t seen one in the house.

No doubt Ispettor Batelli would be glad she’d located William York and that she’d seen his vast and secret art collection.

No, she hadn’t seen the illustrations, but, given his other treasures, it was possible he had them. It was also possible other works in his collection were stolen. Surely this was enough information to place the police’s suspicion where it belonged—on the shoulders of Lord William York.

She descended the stairs slowly, trying not to make a sound. The foyer, like the hallway above, was bathed in darkness, although lights at the front of the villa shone in through the glass of the front door.

As she reached the first floor, she noticed that the doors that led to the more extensive part of William’s collection were open.

Curiosity tempted her. If she could see the stolen Botticelli illustrations with her own eyes, it would make her testimony much more valuable.

She padded lightly to the entrance.

The room was pitch-black.

She placed a hand on the door frame and leaned inside, willing her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness.

“Psyche awakes.” A low voice spoke to her from inside the room.

She startled, jumping back.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to try to make your escape.” The intruder continued speaking Italian.

Raven turned, intending to run.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She paused. For the moment, at least, her arm and leg were only aching. But she knew she couldn’t evade him on foot.

The realization discouraged her.

“I’m already furious with you,” the voice announced. “Don’t anger me further. Come inside. Now.”

“Why should you be furious? I’m the one who’s been kidnapped.” Raven clutched her knapsack more tightly.

“You’re the one who’s been rescued. You’d have been charged with attempted murder and be rotting in a jail cell by now if I hadn’t dragged you from the scene of the crime. I should add that the police station is only a short ride away, if you’d prefer their company.”

Raven huffed. She didn’t want to deal with the police. It seemed an audience with the intruder was her only option at the moment.

She lifted her chin and walked through the doorway.

The room gave the impression of being large, but she couldn’t see for sure. Like the foyer, it was bathed in darkness.

The intruder had the advantage of being able to see in the dark.

She took another hesitant step forward and stopped. “So you’re William York?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What manner is that?”

“It’s a name I use, in certain circles. But York is where I’m from, not my surname.”

“Then what’s your name?”

“Do you really wish to waste time on such inconsequential questions?” He sounded impatient.

“The questions aren’t inconsequential to me.” She lifted her knapsack higher on her shoulder. “I want to go home, please. Will you call a taxi?”

He laughed and it was not a happy sound.

“Do you think I went to all this trouble only to send you home in a taxi? Hardly.”

Raven felt her heartbeat quicken. “The policemen investigating the Uffizi robbery are already looking for you. If you let me go, kidnapping won’t be added to the charges.”

“Kidnapping is the least of my worries. And the least of yours.”

Raven tensed. “You brought me here. You must have been planning to reveal yourself. Why won’t you show me your face?”

“Oh, Psyche.

“You’re quoting Apuleius?” She sounded incredulous.

“It seemed appropriate. Psyche wasn’t satisfied with what she had and she wouldn’t do what she was told.”

Raven straightened her spine. “I’m not a dog to be told to sit or stay.”

“Obviously,” he said dryly.

“Besides, Psyche loved Cupid. She wanted to know the person she loved.”

The intruder seemed to move closer. “She was a human who fell in love with a god.”

“Are you saying you’re a god?”

“Are you saying you’re in love with me?” His tone was mocking. “I suppose you love that boy who’s lying in the hospital.”

Raven flinched.

“I know better than to fall in love with a man who’s attracted only to beautiful women.”

“If he’s attracted to beautiful women, ergo he must be attracted to you.”

She scowled. “That isn’t funny.”

“You’ll discover in short order I am never humorous. Did he say you weren’t beautiful?”

She squirmed. “Not in so many words. I’ve known him awhile and he only paid attention to me when my appearance changed.”

“If he’s foolish enough to think beauty is in the skin and not the heart, then I hope he dies quickly and rids the world of his stupidity.”

“How dare you! He’s my friend!” Raven took a blind step forward.

“Clearly you should rethink your choices in friends.”

The sound of a match striking caught Raven’s attention.

She turned to see a single candlestick illuminated. It was standing on a table in the center of the room, next to a large, burgundy chair.

Behind the table stood a man.

Raven stared.

When she regained her composure, she blinked a few times, her eyes struggling to become accustomed to the dim light.

The man was younger than she’d expected. She was nearing thirty and he looked to be a few years her junior. He had blond hair and gray eyes. His face was attractive, even beautiful, with full lips and a straight nose.

It was difficult to tell more about his appearance, since he was clad all in black and the room was still dark, but in size he appeared to be of medium height and build.

Raven already knew his clothes hid muscles that were deceptively stronger than their size led one to believe.

Her eyes fixed on his face.

A strange dryness filled her mouth and she struggled to swallow.

He was the mysterious man she’d sketched earlier that week. She surmised he’d stolen her sketch for that very reason.

She fanned a hand to her throat as she tried once again to swallow. The intruder’s face was familiar not only because she’d drawn him. He bore more than a passing resemblance to the figures of Mercury and Zephyr in the painting upstairs.

She puzzled how that could be.

“Sit down.” He spoke English with a British accent, pointing to the now vacant chair.

Something about his voice speaking English nudged her memories.

She sat in the proffered chair, clutching her knapsack in her lap.

William gestured to a bottle of wine and a single glass that stood on the table. “Would you care for something to drink?”

She shook her head, lifting her eyes to examine his appearance.

He was wearing a black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and black jeans. He’d removed his motorcycle boots and was now wearing black shoes. For some reason, he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing muscled forearms and pale skin that was lightly dusted with fine, blond hair.

In short, he was probably the most attractive man she’d ever seen.

“Shall we begin our discussion, or would you rather examine my collection?”

He gestured to the room proudly.

It was difficult to make out all the works by the light of a single candle, but Raven took her time scanning the space. There were Renaissance paintings on the walls and marble sculptures positioned at different points in the room.

On the far wall, directly in front of her, was an elaborate display of illustrations, under glass.

Raven pushed her knapsack aside and marched over.

Her suspicions were correct. He had the missing Botticelli illustrations, unashamedly arranged.

“You stole them,” she whispered.

“I most certainly did not.” He sniffed.

She turned to face him. “Semantics. You hired someone to do it.”

He gestured to the display. “They were stolen from me years ago. I simply took them back.”

“Dottor Vitali said they belonged to a Swiss family for generations before the Emersons bought them.”

William’s eyes narrowed. “The story is a long one and I’m not interested in telling it. Sit down.”

Raven stubbornly remained where she was.

“How did your people get past the security systems?”

He made a sweeping gesture, as if to brush aside her question. “Stop wasting my time with trifles. Tell me why you aren’t wearing the relic I gave you.”

“I told you I don’t believe in that shit.”

“That ‘shit,’ as you so ignorantly put it, would have saved your precious boy from being injured. He’s in the hospital now because of you. In addition, the police found your knapsack next to his body, making you a person of interest.”

“You put a lot of faith in inanimate objects.” Raven glanced over at her bag. “If I’m a person of interest, how did you get it back?”

“Bribery and threats. I should note that I’m tired of expending energy and manpower on your account.”

William’s tone was credible and Raven believed him, momentarily stunned into silence.

He regarded her with narrowed eyes.

“I warned you about going out after dark. You caught Maximilian’s attention tonight and it was only through the miracle of Sanctuary that you escaped.”

“What do you mean by Sanctuary? I didn’t go inside the church.”

“Where do you think the efficacy of Sanctuary comes from? From the holiness of ground. You stood on holy ground and they couldn’t follow you.”

“How do you know there was more than one?”

He scowled. “I make it my business to know what’s going on in the city, especially concerning you.”

Raven exhaled loudly. “I never asked for your help. I don’t even know you.”

William approached her. “We met before. You simply don’t remember.”

“I would have remembered,” she mumbled, her cheeks beginning to warm.

William noticed her reaction and tilted his head to the side, as if he found it curious.

“Do you find me handsome?”

“I’m physically disabled, not visually impaired,” she snapped.

Anger moved across William’s face.

“No one ever speaks to me as you just did. No one who retains his head.”

Raven’s cheeks flamed again and she avoided his eyes. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was in trouble and you helped me. Thank you.”

She pushed her long black hair behind her ears. “I’m sensitive about my disability.”

William’s gaze dropped to her right leg. “Are you in pain?”

“Just a dull ache.” She flexed her foot and rotated her ankle, as if hoping the movement would soothe the discomfort.

It didn’t.

“Wait a minute.” She paused, examining him closely. “How did you know which of my legs was injured?”