The Bride of Montefalco

Without hesitation she pushed the chair over to the door and climbed up to press the button.

While she waited for a response, she put it back against the wall.

In a minute the door swung open to reveal the guard who’d brought her breakfast.

“Signora?”

“I hate it in here and I’m ready to talk.”

He took the tray off her bed and started out the door.

“Did you hear me?” she cried. “I’m ready to confess!”

He shot her an oblique glance before the door closed.

“Ooh—” She pounded her fists against it. “What kind of a lunatic place is this?” she shouted.

When she realized she was only hurting herself, she gave it up and walked around her cell, trying to rub the pain from the sides of her hands.

Five minutes later she experienced déjà vu to hear the door open and see her captor enter the room. When she glimpsed the forbidding look in those fiery black eyes, she backed away from him.

“You’re ready to tell the truth, signora?”

“Yes, but not in here. I can’t abide enclosed places.”

He gave an elegant shrug, reminding her what an amazing physique he had.

“It’s either in here, or not at all.”

“Oh all right!” She took a deep breath. “It’s true I pretended to be Mrs. Parker to get the duc’s attention.

“I do freelance stories for a local magazine in Portland. One of my boyfriends works for the police department and once in a while he tells me something interesting.

“A couple of months ago he told me his boss was working on a missing persons case involving a married man from Portland and another woman who died with him in Europe. Just the other day he mentioned that they’d finally identified the woman and had pictures of her.

“I asked him if he would let me see them. He did, so I scanned them and downloaded them to my laptop.

“All I wanted to do was talk to the woman’s husband and ask if I could do an exclusive story on him. In case he didn’t believe I was serious, I planned to show him the pictures. But I wouldn’t have allowed them to be published, or have bribed him for money. I just wanted to write about his heart-wrenching ordeal. Americans love stories about wealthy, titled people with problems. It makes them feel better about their own less glorious lives.

“So now that you know the truth, please let me go. All I want is my passport and suitcase back. If you’ll send for a taxi, the driver will take me to the train.

How about it? You let me out of here and I’ll go straight home to Portland.”

His eyes held a frightening gleam.

“You’re lying through your pearly-white teeth, signora, but I give you credit for your amazing resourcefulness.”

His wintry smile daunted her. “As it happens, I never told you the nature of those photos. If you’d known what they contained, you wouldn’t have placed your source’s job in jeopardy. All you’ve done is convince me you’re a liar.”

He was bluffing…

“How typical,” she mocked. “If I were a man, you would have said ‘good try.’ But since I’m a woman, I can’t be trusted.”

One black brow quirked.

“Aren’t you? So far you’ve told me two diametrically opposing lies, none of which hold water. While I’m still here, want to try for a third? I have nothing more important to do for the moment.”

“Okay.” She felt all the stuffing go out of her. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you’ll let me go. No one will need to know.”

“If it were a hundred thousand dollars, I wouldn’t take it.”

He was impossible!

“Look— All I wanted to do was speak to Mr. Montefalco. This is between him and me, no one else.”

He pursed his lips. “Why is that, signora?”

She lifted solemn eyes to his.

“Because it’s very sad and very personal.”

He put his hands on hips, the picture of the ultimate male. “I’m his closest confidant. You can tell me anything. If it will make you feel any better, you can whisper it to me. I promise it will remain sacrosanct.”

Something in his tone had her halfway believing him, but it didn’t matter.

“How do I know you’re not wearing a listening device?”

“You don’t,” he clipped out. “You’ll have to trust me.”

She leaned close to him. “Sorry, but I have to talk to him alone.”

The nearness of her heart-shaped mouth and the flowery scent her body gave off, stunned him as much as the words that fell from those enticing lips underlining her intransigence.

She couldn’t be Mrs. James Parker. Any man married to her wouldn’t have felt the urge to turn to Donata or any other woman for that matter.

“If you won’t let me out of here,” she continued in a low voice, “then bring Mr. Montefalco to me. I want to talk to him, and I believe he’ll be anxious to talk to me. We might find we’re a comfort to each other.”

With his body still reacting to the warmth of her breath on his ear, Gino found himself reluctant to put distance between them. But he had to no matter how much the imploring look in her eyes and the haunting appeal in her voice persuaded him to believe she was finally telling him the truth.

He’d just stepped away, rubbing the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of frustration when the door opened to reveal one of the guards. He informed Gino that Inspector Santi wanted him on the phone.

Without saying a word to her, he strode down the hall to the office, hardening himself against her sound of protest. In truth he was oddly reticent to find out she was the beautiful dust of the enemy.

He picked up the receiver, then turned his back toward the desk sergeant.

Knowing the jail phone was tapped he said, “Inspector? I’ll call you back on my phone.” After replacing the receiver, Gino pulled out his cell and rang him on the other man’s private line.

Keeping his voice low he said, “Carlo? What did you find out?”