In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(90)

“Don’t answer.” Renato waved his hand. “It’s just . . . forgive me. I miss her. Even seeing a letter she wrote. It would mean so much to me.”

“Do you read Ukrainian?” Sveti asked.

He blinked at her, as if the question made no sense. “Ah, no.”

Sveti swallowed, to calm her throat. “I understand your desire to see it,” she said. “But I don’t have it with me here in Italy. I’m sorry.”

Sam shifted closer, leaning on the railing. He was staring out at the moonlight on the sea, but she felt the focused quality of his attention. He knew that she had Mama’s letter. That she was lying.

“Ah, there he is,” Renato said sourly to Sam. “Mr. Petrie. The faithful pit bull.”

Sam lifted his espresso cup in salute. “Woof, woof.”

“You never left her side the entire evening,” Renato commented.

“Guilty as charged,” Sam said.

“I suppose the size of your gift to the foundation gives you a feeling of entitlement to the young lady’s attentions?”

Sveti caught her breath at the guy’s blatant, needless rudeness. She braced herself for an unpleasant scene, but Sam kept his cool.

“Not at all.” The gaze he gave the conte was very direct. “The bullet graze I got on my back when those guys tried to kill her gives me that feeling. I bought that feeling of entitlement with blood, not money.”

“Ah, beh,” Renato muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just so.”

“May I ask you something, Renato?” Sveti hastened to change the subject. “And excuse me if this causes you any pain.”

“Of course,” he said. “Ask away.”

“The night that Mama died,” Sveti said. “What was she doing?”

Renato’s mouth tightened, and his gaze slid away. “There was a reception, at the Villa Rosalba. We were celebrating the launch of Milandra, our new cancer care drug line. She went out into the grounds, and never came back.” He passed his hand over his eyes. “There is a footbridge that leads over a gully between one ridge and the next. She was found on the beach below it the next morning.”

Sveti gulped. “What . . . what was she wearing?”

Renato frowned thoughtfully. “It was red,” he said finally. “A long evening gown. Low cut, crystal beading. She looked stunning in it.”

A cold thrill shook her. Sam’s arm slid around her waist.

Hazlett turned from a conversation with someone else to them. “So when shall we expect you tomorrow? Breakfast, lunch? After the ice-cream jaunt that simply can’t wait? Dinner’s fine, too, right, Renato?”

“Of course,” Renato said. “Anytime is fine.”

“We’ll call you tomorrow with the timing,” Sam said calmly.

Hazlett bent over her hand and pressed a long and lingering kiss against it, looking soulfully up into her eyes. “You have destroyed me.”

Sveti tugged vainly on her hand. “Michael. Please. Don’t.”

He let go. “Excuse me. I was overcome. Til tomorrow, then.”

“Or not,” Sam ground out.

She struggled not to stumble over her feet as he towed her away.





CHAPTER 18

The minute they were on the road, Sam let out the throttle, window open. He needed air, after hours of suppressing the urge to crush that groping motherf*cker into the slime that he was.

Sveti’s eyes were closed, avoiding the issue. He didn’t blame her. She’d just delivered a piece of emotionally wrenching performance art, followed by hours of hardcore public relations. He’d be catatonic if he’d been called upon to do what she had just done. And brilliantly, too.

But Hazlett felt entitled to place his hand on Sveti’s shoulder and leave it, as if Sam weren’t watching. Under any other circumstances, Sam would have simply removed the guy’s hand. As in, permanently separated it from his body at the shoulder. But f*cking up this gig for Sveti would not help his cause.

So he’d swallowed it. He’d felt it burn, like a hot coal, all the way down, and it kept on burning deep inside him. Hazlett saw him staring, and left his hand right where it was, eyes glittering. Arrogant prick.

“Sam?” Sveti said, her voice small. “I’m, ah, sorry about the—”

“Don’t,” he said.

She glanced at him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t touch it,” he said. “Not tonight. I’m on a hair trigger, and you’re tired, after doing your thing all evening. We’ll save it.”

She was silent for a while. “Okay,” she whispered. “If you’d rather.”

“Believe me, it’ll keep. I’m not going to forget one second of it.”

She stifled a giggle. “I never thought you would. But I want to know what you thought of everything. Except for, ah . . .”

“Except for your future boss fondling you right in front of me?”

She sucked in air, eyes closing. “Oh, Sam—”

“Sorry, sorry. That just slipped out. I’ll start with the good news.”

She glanced over, surprised. “There’s good news?”

“Yeah,” he said. “The good news is you. You’re f*cking amazing, Sveti. You could sell ashes to the demons of hell and have them put their e-mail addresses down on the mailing list for more.”