Charmed and Dangerous (28 page)

“All right.” He nodded to himself. Maybe Cassie wasn’t so crazy after all. “I’ll be there. Is there anything you want me to tell Maddie?”

“I’ve gotta go. I heard Peyton in the hall.” She rang off.

David snapped his phone shut, adrenaline pumping through his body. He didn’t know what to make of Cassie’s call, but he did know one thing, his lust to bring Shriver to justice had returned with a vengeance. Grinning to himself, he turned to the shopkeeper behind the counter and asked him how to get to the nearest police station.

“Who’s on the phone, luv?” Peyton asked Cassie. He was standing in the doorway, disappointment on his face, resignation in his voice.

“Um . . .” Cassie slipped the receiver into its cradle, her heart pumping fast. “Wrong number.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that.” He stepped into the room, suddenly looking very menacing and kicked the door closed behind him. He pulled the gun she’d taken from Jocko Blanco out of his pocket.

Uh-oh. Trouble.

“What’s with the gun?” she asked, giving him her best wide-eyed innocent expression. “You don’t like guns.”

“I decided I needed to learn to like them.”

“How come?”

“I thought I could use this one for protection.”

“Against what?”

“My enemies.”

“I’m not your enemy, Peyton.”

“You’re certainly not my friend. I’ve been listening at the door for quite some time.”

Gulp. “It’s not what you think.”

His smile was wistful but the look in his eyes was deadly. Cassie took a step back and eyeballed the door. He stood squarely between her and freedom.

“Don’t lie to a liar, luv.”

“Peyton . . . I . . . I . . .” Cassie sputtered, at a loss for words.

“You called David Marshall,” he said flatly.

Come on. Concoct a likely story. You’re good at thinking on your feet.

Cassie wracked her brain but came up with zip in the good excuses department.

“And here I was thinking we might have a real future together.” He clucked his tongue and stepped closer. Cassie drew a deep breath and forced herself not to back up. “Serves me right for getting these romantic ideas.”

“The phone call was not what it seemed.”

“It’s exactly what it seemed. You planned to rat me out to Marshall all along, but only after you convinced me to set up this auction so you could take my connections down with me.”

“Are you terribly mad?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead. “It really wasn’t personal. I just wanted to prove to my irritating twin sister Maddie that I could do something useful.”

“Like catching an art thief?”

“Not just any art thief,” she flattered, “but the world’s best.”

“You’ve put me in a difficult position. I’m going to have to do things I wouldn’t usually do.”

“Hey, your problems are your own fault. If you hadn’t targeted me as your next mark, none of this would have happened.”

“My mistake,” Peyton said. He came closer until they were nose to nose.

Cassie struggled to control her fear, forcing herself to breathe normally, to smile cheerfully. She had no idea what Peyton was capable of. “Do you forgive me?”

“If you forgive me for what I’m about to do to you.”

“What’s that?” Her voice rose an octave.

“Open my suitcase.”

“What?” Was he going to chop her into little pieces and ship her home in his luggage?

Peyton nodded at his suitcase resting on the luggage rack at the end of the bed. “Open it.”

Nervously, she obeyed because he was bigger and stronger and he had a gun and she was still hoping she could flirt her way out of this. She released the snaps and unzipped his suitcase. His clothes were carefully folded. She gave him extra credit for neatness.

She glanced at him. “Now what?”

“Under the clothes.” He motioned with the gun. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it but you’ve left me no choice.”

“Peyton . . .”

“Shh. Under my shirts.”

She slipped her hand beneath his shirts, her fingers making contact with a coil of rope.

Oh boy.

“Let’s have it.”

Slowly, Cassie pulled out the rope.

“Good girl, now bring it here.”

What was he going to do? Goosebumps lifted the hairs on her arms and her mouth went spitless.

He took the rope from her. “Take off your clothes.”

What! Was he going to rape her? In spite of all her efforts to control her fear, Cassie felt her legs tremble.

“Take off your clothes.”

“I won’t.” She notched her chin upward.

“I guess I’ll have to do it for you.” He reached for the buttons on her blouse.

She slapped his fingers. “Hands off. I can do it.”

He smirked, watching her with half-lowered lids. “Too bad we never had a chance to make love. I can tell I missed something special.”

“Yes you did,” she said tartly, standing before him in her bra and panties.

“Those too.”

“What?”

“Your knickers.”

“Aw, come on.”

He waved the gun, not pointing it at her, but threatening her with it. “Off with the underthings.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Peyton . . .”

This time he did point the gun at her. “Please don’t make me hurt you.”

“Okay. Okay. No shooting.” She shimmied out of her panties and then unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor. How friggin’ humiliating.

“Hands behind your back,” Peyton said.

She complied, waiting with bated breath to see what he would do next.

“Now turn around.”

“Oooh, sounds kinky,” she teased, desperate to lighten things up and get him to change his mind.

“I’m not playing. Turn around.”

Cassie did as he asked; grateful at least that he couldn’t see the expression on her face. She knew her eyes would give away her fear.

“You’re lucky I’m just going to tie you up and leave you here,” he said, wrapping the rope around her wrists.

She didn’t know what he’d done with the gun while he was tying her up but she was too big of a wimp to fight him at that point. He would only win and she would end up getting hurt in the process. She wasn’t strong and physically fit like Maddie.

“That’s so terribly sporting of you, thanks,” she said sarcastically.

“Could be worse. I could give Jocko a call and tell him where to find you.”

“You wouldn’t.” Her heart thumped.

He traced a finger along her jaw. “I would.”

“I thought you two were at war with each other.”

“We negotiated a peace treaty.”

“Hey,” she said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “How come you packed rope? You intended on ditching me all along, didn’t you?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“Stop acting so betrayed. You’re not any more honest than I am.”

He sighed wistfully. “I had such high hopes that the rope wouldn’t be necessary. But alas, we obviously weren’t meant to be.” He tightened the bindings. “Now, into the bathroom.”

“The bathroom?”

“I’m going to tie you to the toilet.”

“Oh, that’s really rude. Taking my clothes and tying me to the john.”

“Would you rather me lash you to the bed with no access to the water closet?”

She thought about it for a moment. “No.”

He marched her into the bathroom, made her sit down and laced her hands around the back of the toilet bowl.

“By the way,” he said, once he’d finished tying her up. “Just to let you know, I’m taking all your clothes with me. In case you get any crazy ideas about escaping.”

“That’s really low.”

He shrugged. “All’s fair in love and war.”

“We were never in love.”

“True enough. Oh, and by the way, your phone call to David Marshall isn’t going to ruin the auction.”

“What do you mean?” Cassie frowned, trying her best to look cool, calm and collected without any clothes on.

“I told you the wrong time on purpose. The auction isn’t set for five o’clock.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” Peyton grinned, leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. “It’s in thirty minutes.”

What was taking David so long?

The soap and water had dissolved the honey long ago and bits of newspaper floated around her. And even though she’d twice let out some cold water and refilled it with hot, the bath had gone cold and the bubbles dissipated.

She’d been in here at least an hour, her hands and feet shriveling into pale prunes. Leaning over the edge of the tub, she peered at her clothes plastered on to the bathroom tile. There would be no salvaging those garments without a heavy-duty washing machine and that was still an iffy proposition. Her luggage was lost in the wilds of Europe. Essentially, she was naked in a foreign country, dependent on a man she didn’t even trust all that much.

Come on, Maddie, David is an FBI agent. He’s not going to abandon you. He’s probably just having trouble finding your size.

When the going gets tough, men take off. The old refrain that had formed her belief system about the opposite sex circled in her brain.

That’s utter nonsense. Why would David leave you stranded in a tub?

Same reason he’d given her the slip at the Prado, to find and arrest Cassie on his own. He had a perfect opportunity and he’d seized it.

No he didn’t.

How about the way he ran out of here?

Don’t jump to conclusions. Remain calm.

But even as she was giving herself a pep talk, Maddie was reaching for the towel. That’s it. If he didn’t come back within the next fifteen minutes she was never ever trusting another man again.

Briskly, she toweled herself off and marched into the bedroom. Too bad he didn’t have any luggage either. She would have borrowed his clothes.

Maddie stood in the middle of the room, assessing her options. Hmm, perhaps she could fashion a toga for herself out of a bedsheet, pretend it was a Carnevale costume, slip down to the hotel gift shop and pray that they sold apparel.

Not the best plan in the world, but it was the only one she had.

She searched the bathroom, found a sewing kit and spent the next fifteen minutes fashioning a toga from a sheet. Once she was certain the makeshift garment would stay on, she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. She’d give David one last chance to appear before taking matters into her own hands.

Below her window Carnevale was in full swing. Loud riotous music played. Delicious aromas filled the air. Revelers danced in the streets, wearing all manner of costumes and masks. She would fit right in.

Part of her was angry with David, but another part of her was worried. Maybe he hadn’t ditched her. Maybe something bad had happened.

Maybe he’d run across Blanco again.

Either way, she needed clothes. She turned to go back into the room to retrieve her Mastercard from her honey-coated shoulder bag when she saw something in her peripheral vision that rooted her to the spot.

Was that Peyton Shriver moving through the crowd on the other side of the square? Maddie stepped farther out onto the balcony and narrowed her eyes.

Come closer, she mentally willed him.

He must have picked up her vibes, because he did walk in her direction.

Yep. It was indeed Shriver. His plain beige coat amid the colorful Carnevale costumes was what had snagged her eye. She searched for Cassie in the crowd around him, but Shriver appeared to be alone.

She had to get down there, had to follow him.

What if he spots you? What if he and Blanco aren’t at odds as David contends but working together? What if . . .

To hell with
what ifs.
Where had caution and prudence gotten her? Shriver was out there right now. She had a chance to do something about it. Was she going to stay here and cower in a hotel room hoping David would come back and take care of things? Or was she going to plunge ahead, take a chance and sally forth after Shriver.

Go, Maddie, go. She heard Cassie’s voice, clear as if her sister was standing beside her.

She stared at the crowd, intimidated by the thought of waltzing around in a bedsheet. You can do it. She raised her chin. Yes. She would do it.

Glancing around, she realized she’d lost the beige coat in the mass of humanity. Oops! Where had Shriver gone?

Panicking over the thought that her indecision might have lost her only link to Cassie, Maddie desperately scanned the people for Shriver.

Ah, there he was, going into a church not far from the hotel.

She wasn’t about to let him escape now. Resolutely, Maddie squared her shoulders, marched out the door, down the stairs, through the lobby and into the Piazza San Marco.

She moved through the costumed throng, her gaze beaded on the church where she’d seen Shriver disappear only minutes before. No one gave her a second glance in her makeshift toga, and for that she was grateful to Carnevale.

What she wasn’t so thankful for was the wave of humanity keeping her from her target.

You can’t let him get away.

She elbowed aside a drunken Marco Polo who was leering openly at her breasts and dodged a man on stilts juggling orange glowing balls. The air was ripe with enticing aromas—freshly baked pastries, roasted turkey legs, generously spiced pan-seared fish—but Maddie barely noticed.

She vaulted over a two-year-old sitting on the steps of a shop eating gelato. She zigged past strolling young lovers holding hands and zagged around slow-moving tourists gawking at the sights.

The trip across the Piazza San Marco seemed the longest trek of her life—much longer than any race she’d ever run—although it probably took less than three minutes. Finally, she pushed through the door of the church and blinked against the contrast from the bright sunshine outside and the dimly lit interior.

She stepped away from the door and stood there a moment getting her bearings and letting her eyes adjust. A few people sat in the pews praying. She swung her gaze up and down the aisles.

No sign of Shriver.

He was gone. She’d lost him.

Dejected, she sagged against a pillar.

What now?

And then she saw him pass by the window. He was outside the church. His head was down as if he was talking to someone either shorter than he or someone sitting down.