The Raven (The Florentine #1)(53)

The driver was strong, but even so, it was nearly impossible to drive with one hand and hold a squirming woman with the other. He came to a halt near the Duomo.

“If you’re caught by the police, they’ll arrest you,” he hissed behind his helmet. “Is that what you want?”

“I didn’t do anything! A man attacked us.”

“They won’t believe you. And the boy’s blood is on your clothes.” The motorcyclist pointed to her dress.

“I have to help him.” She struggled. “I have to get my knapsack.”

He gripped her arms, his gloved fingers biting into her flesh.

“Jane, get on the bike.”

At the sound of her former name, she stilled. She couldn’t see his face from behind his helmet. Since his voice was muffled, she couldn’t swear that he was the intruder.

But a policeman wouldn’t want her to evade his fellow officers and, certainly, no one she knew ever called her Jane.

Before she could respond, the driver pressed a helmet over her head and tugged her to sit behind him. He pulled at her arms, but she resisted, favoring her right shoulder.

“Are you injured?” He turned in his seat to examine her.

“The man who attacked us wrenched my arm.” Raven massaged her shoulder, eyes screwed shut in pain.

“I’ll fix it after you’re safe.”

“Are you the intruder from my apartment?”

“Of course,” he snapped. “Who else would help you?”

“Let me go. I have to help my friend.”

“You can’t help him from a jail cell.”

Instantly, Raven thought of Amanda Knox.

She knew she would come to regret her decision, but, with a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around the intruder’s waist.

“Hold on,” he commanded.

The bike shot forward, almost toppling as it approached the Duomo and made a hard left to go around it.

The sound of a siren pierced the air as another police car, which was parked on a street nearby, began to pursue them.

Raven shut her eyes as the motorcycle wove in and around traffic, shooting through red lights and barely avoiding pedestrians.

Still the police car followed, now joined by a second one.

With a burst of speed, the motorcycle crossed one of the large vehicular bridges that spanned the Arno before darting up the winding road that led to the Piazzale Michelangelo. Trees and houses flew past them as they raced around the curves.

Raven felt sick, but the driver would not slow.

They raced past the piazzale and around a tight curve, losing the police cars for a moment. The motorcyclist shot into a hidden driveway and climbed another hill, putting them out of sight.

The sounds of sirens grew close and then far away, as the police cars sped past the driveway and continued along the main road.

Raven tried very hard not to throw up, swallowing down urge after urge to heave.

The driver slowed the motorcycle to a moderately quick speed, making several turns before stopping in front of a tall metal gate. He pushed a few buttons and the gate opened.

He entered the gate, which closed behind them, and drove along a paved driveway that led past trees and what appeared to be an orchard.

They came to a stop in front of a freestanding triple-bay garage.

Raven was clutching the driver so tightly, she couldn’t let go. He had to pry her fingers from his jacket.

“Inside. Now.” He jerked his head toward the large and palatial villa visible via the floodlights that illuminated the garden and driveway. “Ambrogio will attend to you.”

The driver helped Raven from the motorcycle and removed her helmet.

“Her right arm and shoulder are injured. See to it.” He addressed a man who hovered nearby.

The motorcyclist turned his back on her and rolled his machine into the garage.

“Signorina, please.” The man, who Raven inferred was Ambrogio, gestured toward a stone path that led through the garden and to the back door.

Raven took one tentative step and threw up the entire contents of her dinner on Ambrogio’s impeccably shined shoes and suit-clad legs.

Chapter Twenty-one

Ambrogio said not a word as Raven’s vomit splashed on his legs and feet. He merely placed an arm around her waist, supporting her.

She heaved until she could do so no more.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, wiping her mouth shakily with the back of her hand.

“Signorina, come inside.” His tone was calm, too calm, as if the sight of blood on her skin and the vomit was not only unsurprising, but expected.

Raven gazed at him curiously.

He was about her height, with gray hair and dark eyes. He looked as if he were in his sixties and was carefully dressed in a well-cut dark suit. Raven found something troubling about his demeanor, but she could not articulate what.

She tore her eyes from his impassive expression and looked toward the garage. “My friend Bruno is hurt. He may be dead. I have to go to him.”

“Everything will be attended to.” Ambrogio deftly turned her to face the villa.

“I don’t have my cell phone. Or my wallet. My knapsack is in the alley, where Bruno is.”

“This way, please.”

Raven turned toward the garage, hoping to catch sight of the intruder. “But—”

“It would be best if you came into the house.” Ambrogio interrupted her with a tone that held a warning.