“One of the group, and there is a group, is still in Italy, to arrange the handling of the money,” he answered. He let his eyes fall to the jacket of her suit, and he studied it absently with disturbing concentration. “We may do some traveling before this is all over.”
“But first we’re going to Italy,” she murmured dazedly.
“Yes. To meet some old friends of mine,” he said, his chiseled mouth smiling faintly. “They owe me a favor from years past. I’m calling in the debt.”
“We’re taking a team?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up. It was getting more exciting by the minute.
“My, how your eyes light up when you speak of working with a team, Miss Darwin,” he mused.
“It’s so gung ho,” she replied self-consciously. “Kind of like that program I watch on TV every week, about the group that goes around the world fighting evil?”
“The Soldiers of Fortune?” he asked.
“The very one.” She grinned. “I never miss a single episode.”
“In real life, Miss Darwin,” he reminded her, “it’s a brutal, dangerous occupation. And most mercenaries don’t make it to any ripe old age. They either get killed or wind up in some foreign prison. Their lives are overromanticized.”
She glowered at him. “And what would you know about it, Mr. Criminal Attorney?” she challenged.
“Oh, I have a friend who used to sell his services abroad,” he replied as he sat back in his seat. “He could tell you some hair-raising stories about life on the run.”
“You know a real ex-merc?” she asked, eyes widening. She sat straight up in her seat. “Would he talk to me?”
He shook his head. “Darwin.” He sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“It’s your fault. You corrupted me. I used to lead a dull life and never even knew it. Would he?”
“I suppose he would.” His dark eyes wandered slowly over her. “You might not like what you found out.”
“I’ll take my chances, thanks. He, uh, wouldn’t be one of the old friends you’re meeting in Rome?” she asked.
“That would be telling. Fasten your seat belt, Darwin, we’re approaching the airport now,” he said as the flight attendant collected his cup and put the tray table up before moving on.
Her eyes lingered on his dark, unfathomable face as she complied with J.D.’s curt order to put her seat belt on. “Mr. Brettman, why did you bring me along?” she asked softly.
“You’re my cover, honey,” he said, and smiled sideways at her. “We’re lovers off on a holiday.”
“The way I look?” she chided.
He reached over and took the pins out of her coiffure, loosening her hair. His fingers lifted the glasses from their perch atop her head, folded them, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. He reached over again and flicked open the buttons of her blouse all the way down to the cleft between her high breasts.
“Mr. Brettman!” she burst out, pushing at his fingers.
“Stop blushing, call me Jacob, and don’t start fighting me in public,” he said gruffly. “If you can remember all that, we’ll do fine.”
“Jacob?” she asked, her fingers abandoning their futile efforts to rebutton her buttons.
“Jacob. Or Dane, my middle name. Whichever you prefer, Gabby.”
He made her name sound like bowers of pink roses in bud, like the softness of a spring rain on grass. She stared up at him.
“Jacob, then,” she murmured.
He nodded, his dark eyes searching hers. “I’ll take care of you, Gabby,” he said. “I won’t let you get in the line of fire.”
“You meant it, didn’t you?” she asked. “You’re going to try to rescue Martina.”
“Of course,” he replied calmly. “She and I, we had a tough time as kids. Our father drowned in a bathtub, dead drunk, when we were toddlers. Mama scrubbed floors to keep us in school. As soon as we were old enough, we went to work, to help. But I was barely fifteen when Mama died of a heart attack. I’ve taken care of Martina ever since, just the way I promised I would. I can’t let strangers try to help her. I have to.”
“Forgive me,” she said gently, “but you’re an attorney, not a policeman. What can you do?”
“Wait and see,” he told her. His eyes surveyed her quietly, approving her elfin beauty. “I’m not in my dotage yet.”
“Yes, sir, I know that,” she murmured.
“Jacob,” he repeated.
She sighed, searching his dark eyes. “Jacob,” she agreed.
That seemed to satisfy him. He glanced past her as the plane started down, and he smiled. “The Eternal City, Gabby,” he murmured. “Rome.”
She followed his gaze and felt her heart lift as the ancient city came into view below. Already, she was leaping ahead to the time when she could actually see the Colosseum and the Forum and the Pantheon. But as she remembered the reason for their being in Rome, her enthusiasm faded. Of course there wouldn’t be time for sightseeing, she reasoned. J.D. was going to be too busy trying to get himself killed.
The drive into Rome was fascinating. They went in on the Viale Trastevere, through the old part of the city, across the wide Tiber on an ancient bridge. The seven hills of Rome were hardly noticeable because of centuries of erosion and new construction, but Gabby was too busy gaping at the ruins they passed to notice or care.
They went right by the Colosseum, and her eyes lingered on it as they proceeded to their hotel.
“We’ll find a few minutes to see it,” J.D. said quietly, as if he knew how much it meant to her.
Her gaze brushed his hard face and impulsively she touched her fingers to the back of his hand. “It really isn’t that kind of a trip,” she said softly.
He searched her worried face. His big hand turned, grasping hers warmly in its callused strength. “We’ll have to pretend that it is, for a day or so at least,” he said.
“What are we going to do?” she asked nervously.
He drew in a slow breath and leaned back against the seat, handsome and rugged-looking in his vested suit. It strained against massive muscles, and she tingled at the sight. J.D. had always affected her powerfully in a purely physical way. It pleased her eyes to look at him.
“I’m working on that. But one thing we’ll be doing in the hotel,” he added slowly, “is sharing a suite. Will that frighten you?”
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of anything when I’m with you, Jacob,” she replied, finding that his given name was more comfortable to her tongue than she’d expected.
He cocked a heavy eyebrow. “That wasn’t the kind of fear I meant, actually,” he murmured. “Will you be afraid of me?”
“Why would I be?” she asked, puzzled.
He blew out a harsh breath and looked out the window. “I can’t think of a single damned reason,” he growled. “I hope Dutch got my message. He’s supposed to call me later at the hotel.”
“Dutch?” she queried softly.
“A man I know. He’s my go-between with Roberto,” he replied.
“Roberto and Martina don’t live in Rome, do they?” she asked.
He shook his head. “In Palermo. So, for all appearances, we’ll be a couple on holiday, and there won’t be anything to connect us