Your Scheming Heart Page 5

  "Oh, I'm sorry." This came from a harried-looking woman in sweat pants and a T-shirt who came hurrying down the hall. In her arms was an infant. "Daphne knows she isn't supposed to open the door. Doesn't Daphne?" This last was addressed to the little girl with the golden curls.

  Daphne merely looked up at her mother with a pleased smile.

  "Can I help you?" The harried mother addressed Sabrina. Her glance then went past her to Vincenzo.

  "I'm afraid I'm the one who should be apologizing." Sabrina also glanced over at Vincenzo. His gaze had shifted from the toddler to the infant. Sabrina frowned at him, wondering at the strange, almost haunted look in his eye. "I think we have the wrong address," she said, turning back to the mother. "You see, we're looking for a Mr. Miller. Alan Miller. We were told he could be found here."

  For a moment the woman's face went blank, causing Sabrina to curse their bad luck, but then the mother's eyes lit with recognition. "Oh, Al Miller, of course. I must be getting senile. He did used to live here. In fact, he's the one who sold us the house."

  Bingo, Sabrina thought. She didn't bother trying to disguise her relief. "He did? Oh, that's great. You see, we're looking for Mr. Miller in order to fulfill a bequest." Sabrina indicated Vincenzo, still staring at the baby. "This gentleman's father left a gift to Mr. Miller in his will. It was in consideration for his help in liberating his town in Northern Italy during the Second World War. We're trying to locate the man."

  "Oh, wow. Well, I wish I could help you." The mother shifted the infant on her hip. "But I don't know exactly where Mr. Miller moved. California, I think he said. Yes, one of those retirement communities."

  "He didn't leave a forwarding address?"

  "Oh no, I'm afraid not."

  "Perhaps with the realtor?" Vincenzo, finally emerging from his trance, spoke up.

  "No, we bought the house directly from the Millers." The mother wore an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

  "Va bene," Vincenzo said. He smiled back, although Sabrina could see his sharp disappointment.

  "Thank you for your help," Sabrina said.

  Vincenzo gave one last, lingering glance toward the two children as they turned away. Then his shoulders slumped as they walked back to the car. There he sank into the passenger seat until his knees hit the dashboard. His eyes closed.

  Sabrina heard a stream of soft, despairing Italian as she climbed into her side of the car. She turned on the motor.

  "I should have warned you," Vincenzo intoned in English.

  Sabrina pulled away from the curb. She was thinking about what they'd learned. A retirement community in California. Okay, there were a lot of those, but there were also ways to narrow down the possible choices. "Warned me about what?" she asked Vincenzo.

  His voice went deep. "There are dark forces at work against this quest."

  Dark forces? She glanced over disbelievingly. "Did you really expect it to be this easy?"

  "You don't understand." One of Vincenzo's store-bought jacket sleeves rose to cover his eyes. "It took months—months!—to get this address."

  Scoffing, Sabrina waved a hand in the air. "That's what comes from using legitimate channels. But you're with me, now, Vinnie. We'll do this right from here on."

  The claim was mostly bluster, but it made him shut up. After a moment of silence, his arm came down from his eyes. His gaze lifted questioningly toward Sabrina. "You have an idea of where to go from here?"

  "Plenty of 'em."

  He paused. Then he said something swift and decisive in Italian. "I am very glad that I met you, Sabrina. Tell me, what do we do next?"

  She threw him another glance. He was very glad he met her? Worse than this ridiculous statement was the stupid pleasure she felt on hearing it. As if she cared!

  Suppressing the stupid emotion, she turned her gaze out the windshield, calculating, reassessing all the angles—including the one where she ultimately cheated Mr. Nicholazzi here. "We call Harry the Hacker," she decided.

  "What does Harry do?"

  Sabrina smiled grimly ahead. "Harry gets into places with his computer that would make your hair stand on end."

  "And he can find Alan Miller?"

  "If anyone can, it'll be Harry."

  Vincenzo gazed at Sabrina a long moment. "Bene," he then said, turning forward. "If that is your recommendation, we will do it."

  His perfect faith in her managed to wobble Sabrina's balance once again. His blind trust was certainly convenient, but she almost wished he'd exhibit a little well-advised caution. Give himself a fighting chance against her utter unscrupulousness.

  "Understand, this'll cost you." Her voice came out too harsh. "For a rush job Harry'll probably want a mint."

  "Oh, naturalmente." Still hunched down in the seat, Vincenzo shrugged. He was smiling now. "Money, that is the easy part." His gaze travelled back up to her face. "But there are some things that money can't buy."

  Ridiculous, Sabrina thought. Absurd. She kept her own gaze strictly forward. If there was one thing she knew, it was that money could buy anything.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "We'll have a money order delivered for your fee," Sabrina promised Harry the Hacker over the phone the next morning.

  "I take all major credit cards," Harry happily announced.

  Sabrina scoffed. "My Italian is no fool to give you his credit card number." With the phone cord stretched as far as it would go, she could just reach the sink in her motel bathroom. There she opened a tube of peach lipstick. "Knowing your reputation with computers, what kind of an idiot do you think he is?"

  "I don't know." Harry giggled. "But a man who's spent four years running after one ancient piece of junk strikes me as a guy who hasn't got all his marbles."

  "He's got enough to avoid getting ripped off by the likes of you," Sabrina retorted, drawing the lipstick over her lips. It was the truth. Vincenzo spent money like he had a lot of it—but also like he knew damn well how to hold onto it.

  Yes, he had all his marbles in the money department, but in some others...? Frowning, Sabrina replaced the lipstick cap. "How soon can you get any solid information on Alan Miller?" she asked Harry.

  "Expedited? Twenty-four hours."

  Sabrina considered the time span. They ought to be safe staying put for that long. Any longer, though, and Lise could catch up. Sabrina preferred working without the female gangster looking over her shoulder. "Fine. I'll call you tomorrow morning."

  She strode out of the bathroom and hung up the phone, then couldn't help glancing toward the closed door connecting her room to Vincenzo's. Another frown creased her brow. If only she could forget how Vincenzo had looked when she'd opened that door to speak with him earlier this morning. It was obvious he hadn't slept. There'd been dark shadows under his eyes and hollows beneath his cheekbones.

  Sabrina had been so shocked, she'd blurted right out, "You look like hell."

  "Do I?" Vincenzo had run a hand through his hair, smiling faintly. "I did not sleep well last night." He didn't elaborate, however, as though insomnia were an ordinary state of affairs.

  That nearly threw Sabrina, nearly made her feel...almost sympathetic toward him. But then she took a mental step back. She asked herself: why couldn't he sleep? Illness of some sort was a possibility, of course, but so was a guilty conscience. In fact, a guilty conscience made a hell of a lot of sense, and could explain this whole fantastic quest of his.

  She kept this theory in mind as Vincenzo, looking remarkably innocent, and quite beautiful despite his dark hollows, asked, "Sabrina, do we leave here today?"

  Shielding herself from all his good looks, Sabrina admitted, "Probably not. Harry has to get back to me, and once I tell him what I want he'll need time... I doubt we'll know where to go before tomorrow."

  "Va bene." He nodded. "Then I will take you somewhere." His eyes drifted down, catching on her bare feet. He cleared his throat. "Once you have finished dressing."

  Sabrina's toes had curled into the rough carpet of the mo
tel room. She hadn't thought of herself as particularly 'undressed' before that moment. Caught off guard, then, she hadn't been able to think up an excuse to get out of going wherever it was he wanted to take her.

  He had a habit of...surprising her that way. Getting her to do things she'd never wanted to do, and making her feel oddly nervous in the process.

  Scowling at the memory, she returned to the bathroom, where she was applying some mascara when a sharp knock sounded on her outer door.

  "Damn!" She wiped a smear of mascara from her cheek, then glanced at her watch as she stalked toward the door. "You're early," she complained, throwing open the door to the upper floor walkway.

  But it wasn't Vincenzo who stood outside the door.

  Darrel wore a stupid grin and a T-shirt too tight for his bulging muscles. "Far be it from me to keep you waiting, honey."

  Lise's attack dog. Bile instantly rose to Sabrina's throat. "What are you doing here?"

  "Thought you'd lost me, did you?" Pushing past her, Darrel strolled into the motel room. "That was a neat little juggling act you pulled in New York, but as you can see, it isn't that easy to shake Darrel."

  "So I see." Sabrina watched as Darrel fingered the sleeve of the cream jacket that she'd left over a chair. Then her gaze went to the door connecting her room to Vincenzo's.

  "Don't worry about the mark." Darrel picked up Sabrina's jacket. "He's down in the parking lot, smoking."

  Vincenzo definitely smoked too many cigarettes, Sabrina thought in disgust. "I'm not the one who should worry." She resisted the urge to snatch her jacket from Darrel's meaty fists. "You're risking the whole job, coming here."

  "Nah, I wouldn't piss off Lise like that." Darrel lowered into the chair, cradling Sabrina's linen jacket. "You might ought to know. She says I get you, any way I want you, if you don't deliver this painting."

  "Is that so?" Sabrina carefully disguised how close she came to losing her breakfast. To show Darrel fear would be idiotic.

  "Uh huh." Darrel leaned back in the chair and fondled her jacket's breast pocket. "Lise wants an update."

  "There's nothing to tell, so far."

  "You don't have the painting?"

  Sabrina crossed her arms over her chest. "Would I be hanging around the mark if I'd finished the job?"

  Darrel's gaze went from Sabrina's new jeans up to her lipstick.

  Despite herself, Sabrina felt color rush to her face. His implication was obvious.

  Darrel's mouth twitched. "Yeah, he's awful pretty, but don't get too attached, doll." His grin widened, revealing the silver cap on his left front tooth. "You don't wanna have a conflict of interest here, or something."

  Sabrina snorted. Ignoring the warmth that remained in her face, she stalked to the outer door. "Lise's going to get her painting."

  Darrel stood as Sabrina jerked open the door. His smile was lazy as he carelessly dropped her jacket. "O' course I want Lise to be happy, but if she isn't...?" He strolled toward the door and paused opposite Sabrina, grinning. "Oh yeah, and just try losing my tail again, Sabrina honey." He laughed as he turned and walked away. "Just try."

  ~~~

  Vincenzo took Sabrina to a lake. It was a spreading, wild lake with undulating shores hemmed with trees. She'd seen this kind of thing on postcards, but never in real life. It was so picture-perfect it took her breath away.

  After a short walk, they ended up on an old, unused wooden dock. Other than the crowd of naked trees and an occasional hawk soaring overhead, they were alone.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Sabrina planted herself against a weatherworn post and glared at the breeze moving the surface of the lake into small, restless wavelets. She felt a similar restlessness inside. Anxiety and vague anger. Behind her, Vincenzo sat leaning against another post. She knew from a quick glance that he had his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. Maybe he was catching up on the sleep he'd missed the night before.

  Sabrina ground her teeth together. Darrel had caught up to them. This meant she now had Lise and her attack dog breathing down her neck. If that weren't bad enough, Darrel had made the most insulting insinuations.

  Sabrina wasn't getting in tight with her mark. Come on. She was a professional. She'd only put on lipstick—and a dab of mascara—because there was no other way to compete with Vincenzo's physical beauty. That's all. She wasn't attracted to him.

  "You look cold." Vincenzo's voice, coming out of the natural silence, startled her.

  "I'm fine." Answering over her shoulder, Sabrina clenched her fists and moved them into her jacket pockets. Did he have to be so solicitous?

  Behind her came the sound of a sigh and Vincenzo lumbering to his feet. "You are cold," he corrected.

  "No, I'm not."

  She moved from her post to walk away from him, but somehow he got in front of her.

  He took hold of her wrists. "Come," he said. "I warm your hands."

  "No," Sabrina repeated, but he was already drawing the tight fists from her pockets.

  "It's all right," Vincenzo coaxed. "I'm not going to hurt you."

  She stiffened. Damn right he wasn't going to hurt her. She'd never let him close enough to try.

  "There." Vincenzo managed to open her fists. He began to rub the ends of her fingers, very gently. "Isn't that good?"

  No way. It was an invasion. It was terrible, it was just awful—although, actually...it kinda felt...good. Sabrina stared downward, shocked. Vincenzo's light touch made her fingers tingle with a delicate and intriguing warmth.

  She didn't like being touched. Oh, she could stand it in a purely sexual situation and if she'd gotten herself hot enough, but what was going on here was something else. They were just holding hands.

  She couldn't stand holding hands.

  But right now Vincenzo's touch was practically making her purr.

  Glaring downward, she wondered how this was working. Was he using a special hand lotion?

  "You do not like to be touched," Vincenzo observed.

  "No," Sabrina agreed. Although she was definitely liking it now.

  "Hmm." He began to make circles on the insides of her wrists with his thumbs. "Everyone needs to be touched."

  "You don't say." She would have pulled away then, just to prove him wrong, but this was so pleasant. If her hands had been butterfly wings, he wouldn't have creased them.

  "Oh yes," he said. "Touching is necessary. For life, yes?"

  "For life." What the hell did that mean? Meanwhile, the delicate warmth was spreading, shimmering up her arms. It had to be some chemical he was using. She thought of pulling away again, but instead her eyes drifted closed.

  He kept up the gentle rubbing. "Someone hurt you."

  She didn't answer. Yes, of course someone had hurt her. She could still see the black iron fence, her hands clutching it for dear life. Other hands had reached out from behind her, grabbing, pulling, wrenching her away. And the pain: the pain of her fingers, struggling to hold on and then a sharper pain in her shoulder, with the needle. She shook her head, wanting to dispel the memory.

  "Relax," Vincenzo commanded.

  She stopped, blinked her eyes open, and realized her fingers were gripping his. She was clinging to him.

  Whoa. Weird. Way weird. With a careful outward breath, she loosened her death grip.

  "It's all right," Vincenzo soothed. He was gazing down at her. "Was it a rich man who hurt you?"

  Sabrina stared at him.

  "Is that why you resent me?"

  She kept on staring at him, fear beginning to curl inside her. He was manipulating her: with his touch, with that calm, low voice. But what did he want? Wasn't he getting enough from her? She was going to find his damn painting, wasn't she? Deliberately, she drew her hands from his completely.

  Vincenzo's eyes were dark. "Tell me what he did to you."

  He looked so damn sincere. But she knew he wasn't. In fact, the story he wanted to hear ended with the moral that his kind were never sincere.

 
; "It wasn't a 'he,'" she blurted. "It wasn't what you think."

  "I think—?"

  "I wasn't raped. In fact, sex wasn't involved at all."

  He simply looked at her. Water lapped quietly on the pilings below. Other than that, the silence stretched. He waited.

  "It was four of them, all right?" Why was she explaining? She hoped it was to squash any idea he had of manipulating her. But maybe it was only that bottomless patience of his. "A whole family," Sabrina went on. "And yes, they were rich. Filthy rich. As a matter of fact, they were a lot like you."

  Something rippled across the composed surface of Vincenzo's face. "Like me? How?"

  Sabrina sneered. "They wanted my trust." And boy, had they gotten it. After which they'd pulled off the biggest con of all.

  Vincenzo looked deeply unhappy. "I will never betray you, Sabrina."

  Her gaze swept up to his face. The elegant lines there expressed earnest sincerity. She had a feeling he actually believed his own statement. He would never betray her.

  "Right," Sabrina scoffed. "Yeah. We'll just see about that, won't we?"

  He continued to look unhappy.

  It wasn't until Sabrina turned away, back toward the restless surface of the lake, that she remembered.

  She was the one who was going to betray him.

  ~~~

  Harry had news for them by the time they got back to the motel.

  "That was fast," Sabrina observed, returning the message that had been left on their hotel phone. She sat atop the worn bedspread beside the night table.

  "Hey, am I good, or what?" Harry demanded.

  Sabrina's gaze drifted to Vincenzo, where he leaned a shoulder against the wall. He'd followed her through her motel room door and didn't look inclined to leave. Well he was paying for it, Sabrina mused. He probably had a right to listen in. "What have you got?" she asked Harry.

  "First of all, Alan Miller is dead."

  "Dead," repeated Sabrina. Too late, she regretted the indiscretion. Vincenzo's eyes sharpened on her like two black knife blades.

  "Dead, as in deceased, kicked the bucket, bought the farm, shipped out, may he rest in peace," Harry elaborated, gleeful.