What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(89)

“Damn it!” Max slapped the table with his palm. “I didn’t want to suspect them. I like them. They’re efficient. With Arthur and his people here I can take time to—” He caught himself like he didn’t mean to say so much.

“Take time to what?” What was Max doing he didn’t want her to know?

“Make love to my bride.”

She checked out the sturdiness of the first long table, then lifted herself up on it. “That’s not what you were going to say.”

“Damn it,” he said more softly. Then, “I thought with all the guests arriving, someone would try to slip into the winery with them and we’d have another attempt that would reveal—”

“Max!” She gathered her thoughts. “Are you saying you’ve been using our wedding to trap an assassin?”

“Unsuccessfully!”

“And me as an unsuspecting target?”

“I’ve been watching over you!”

She stared at him in astonishment. “I’m flabbergasted. That’s so...so...”

“Diabolical and heartless?” He winced.

“Brilliant! I wish I’d thought of it.” He made her breathless with his daring. “I also wish you’d told me what you were doing so I could watch, too.”

He gathered her into his arms and laughed loudly enough that outside, four of the Di Luca relatives who were touring the grounds frowned and hurried away.

She leaned her forehead against his chest. “This is nice, being here with you, a little like being in the mountains, when the sun is coming up, the light kisses the air, and the trees talk among themselves.”

“Talking trees?” Max rested his cheek against her head. “Have you been reading Lord of the Rings again?”

“When I need to relax, it’s my go-to book.”

“It always was, even before you were shot.” Max let her go and wandered to the first steel vat. He took two glasses, opened the spigot to vent a small stream of fermenting wine into the bucket, then poured a little into the glasses and handed her one. “What do you taste?”

She sniffed the burgundy-colored liquid, took a small sip, sloshed it in her mouth and spit it into the spittoon. Diplomatically, she said, “It’s not wine yet.”

“That’s the challenge, mixing it with the idea of what it will taste like in a year, two years...” He tasted and spit and sighed. “It’s mine. It’s going to be lousy, like all the rest.”

She grinned at him. “You don’t have to be good at everything, you know.”

“But I’m Italian!”

“No. You’re American.” She pointed at the two giant oak casks closest to the door, and the two wooden buckets set under the spigots. “Those are quaint. What’s with the wooden buckets?”

“They add atmosphere. When we bring tourists in on tour, they like the pretend ambience.”

“I agree. I like pretend ambiance, too.”

Out of the blue, he said, “I spoke with Nils Brooks.”

Kellen sat up straight on the table. She hadn’t seen that coming, not with the way Max felt about Nils. “About Rae and the head?”

“No, about you and the assassins.”

“Oh. Good idea. He does have connections with the FBI and other agencies.” So Max had overcome his distrust for Nils to delve for information to protect her. “What did you say?”

“I told him about the attempts on your life.”

“And he said he wasn’t surprised that someone wanted to kill me.”

“No, he didn’t say that at all. He seemed...displeased.” Max looked like he did when he tasted his lousy wine. “He feels a connection with you.”

“Max, he and I didn’t have sex.”

“I know. He would be less peeved if you had.” Max came over and sat on the table next to her. “I asked him if he knew without a doubt that Mara Philippi was still in prison. He said yes, in isolation in a maximum security prison, and when I pressed him, he made arrangements to show me the live feed in her cell.”

“She’s there?”

“She’s there. I saw her. She looked up at the camera and grinned, as if she saw me.”

Kellen looked at him, horror still twined in the memory of Mara and her masquerade, her cruelties and her greed. “Do you think she knew that you were there?”

“She shouldn’t. How could she? But she is a seriously disturbed woman and much too pleased with herself for someone who has been stripped of her power and is living behind bars.”

“It could be her, trying to kill me using her sycophants.” No use in thinking that because they had defeated Mara once, they could defeat her again. She was powerful, manipulative, with an IQ off the charts. More important, she had no conscience and a psychopath’s disregard to any feelings but her own. If she wanted something and someone stood in her way, torture and murder were logical ways to remove that person. In the war zones, Kellen had met coldhearted killers, but none frightened her more than Mara Philippi. “She thinks she would be justified to kill me in the bloodiest and most painful way possible.”

Max agreed. “I thought that, too, so I asked Brooks if there was any way she was directing her old smuggling operation and/or a vengeful attack on you from within the prison.”