Colleen’s writing was witty and informative as well as thought-provoking. And the times they’d interacted, such as at the Valentine’s Day dinner, he’d enjoyed her feisty personality and charming wit.

He felt Dahlia’s hard stare. Alessandro blinked and realized with embarrassing clarity that he’d lost track of the conversation with the museum’s curator and his only lead to Escalante. “ Scusa , you were saying?”

Her red-as-blood lips curled. “The painting.”

He glanced at the portrait of a woman standing on a hillside with a parasol. The painting had a wistful feel to the lines and strokes of the brush.

“Ah, sì . A masterpiece.” He handed his still-full glass of punch to a passing waiter. “Miss Sainsbury, will you excuse me un momento? ”

The knowing look in Dahlia’s eyes as she gazed from him to the corner of the room where Colleen now studiously inspected a Renoir led him to believe his distraction had been quite obvious.

And it was a distraction he didn’t need, because he had a drug lord to bring down.

“Of course, Mr. Donato. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to talk business at a later date.”

Alessandro hesitated. He’d come to the museum tonight to insinuate himself into Dahlia’s life as a path to Escalante. He should stick close to her, but if he couldn’t concentrate he’d screw up. Screwing up was not an option after what had happened to Paola.

He bowed slightly and moved away, slowly and methodically making his way toward Colleen. He’d talk with her and get her out of his system so he could get back to his real purpose: finding Escalante and taking him down, once and for all.

“Buona sera, bella signorina.”

Colleen blinked as Alessandro Donato took her hand and placed a light kiss on the knuckles. Sparks shot up her arm. “Good evening to you too, Mr. Donato.”

She tilted her chin up in an effort to dispel the way the smooth cadence of his oh-so-pleasing accent caressed her senses, much as his lips caressed her fingers.

“Please, call me Alessandro,” he said, a gentle smile touching his well-formed lips.

Her throat suddenly dry, Colleen swallowed. “Alessandro.”

Saying his name aloud felt strange and thrilling. The name rolled off her tongue in such a delightful way, making her aware of a threat she hadn’t anticipated.

This man affected her in ways she’d only experienced around him. With every interaction they’d shared, the effect had intensified.

It made her nervous. She didn’t like to be nervous. Nervousness was a weakness she’d learned to overcome in order to pursue the gritty stories that would one day propel her career to new heights.

“Lovely party, no?”

“Yes, it is.”

Feeling slightly off balance when she gazed into his eyes, she glanced around, hoping to find some equilibrium, and spotted her parents entering the room.

The former mayor of Colorado Springs looked handsome in his dark tuxedo with his shocking-white hair and bushy eyebrows. Her mother wore a floral tea-length dress in vivid shades of coral that brought extra color to her rosy complexion.

Fondness for her parents tightened Colleen’s chest. Her mother’s bright eyes and warm smile made anyone who came in contact with her feel special.

Colleen met her mother’s gaze and saw a question in her pale blue eyes: why was her only daughter talking to a man suspected of shooting his uncle?

Colleen gave a slight shrug as if to say “so what?” Her mother would understand how little stock Colleen took in the rumor mill. So often she’d proven the gossips wrong when she’d investigated a story.

She turned her gaze back to the man standing beside her. The knowing look in his dark eyes made her sense he’d somehow interpreted the exchange between mother and daughter correctly.

“Your mother is protective, no?”

His words confirmed her thoughts. “Yes. I’m her only daughter and you’re basically a stranger, even though you’ve been in town off and on for over a year now. Still, even your aunt Lidia doesn’t seem to know you well.”

She studied him, liking his dark wavy hair and the aristocratic lines to his jaw. His soulful eyes could be hard and demanding yet turn so charming and compelling that her heart pounded with a rapid beat.

He’d said he was an accountant. He certainly didn’t come across like any number cruncher she’d ever met. Superhero, Holly had said. Determination to uncover his secrets slid into place. “What is it exactly you do for the European Union again?”

A slow smile tipped the corners of his mouth upward. “I’m gathering information to bring back to Europe on the feasibility of opening a branch of the E.U. Bank in Colorado Springs.”

“What kind of information?” She’d heard her father and Max talking about how they’d yet to see any results from Alessandro’s work.

“Information that will further transatlantic economic integration and enhance the flow of investments as well as trade between the E.U. and the U.S.”

“That sounds like a party line to me,” Colleen stated as her reporter’s instincts kicked into gear. “Does such information include art?”

“Scusi?”

“I’ve heard from sources that you’ve taken an interest in the museum. And its new curator,” she commented, thinking of the brunette he’d been talking to when she walked in.

She hadn’t missed the way they’d stood close together, as if they were involved romantically. Perhaps that was why he’d been hanging around. Why did a bubble of disappointment lodge itself in her chest?

He arched a brow. “Really? You are checking up on me, bella? I’m flattered.”

A heated flush flamed in her cheeks. “People talk. Especially about a mysterious newcomer.”

“Is that what I am to you, bella? Mysterious?” His dark eyes probed her as if he wanted to see deep inside her where she held her own private thoughts.

She rubbed at the sudden goose bumps prickling her arms. “I think you’re a man with much to hide.”

“For you, cara mia , I would gladly tell all my secrets.”

“Yeah, right.”

Not for one second did she believe him, but his smooth-as-silk tone and roguish smile still made little butterflies take flight in her stomach.

She lifted her chin. “I’ve heard that Italian men are dreadful flirts. You are very accomplished, indeed.”

He chuckled, a deep sound that penetrated all the way to her heart. “What a delight you are, Colleen.”

Unaccountably pleased by his words, she sought to bring some reality to the situation. “I doubt my brothers would agree with you,” she replied as she caught sight of her two brothers standing side by side, glaring at them.

She smiled. They both shook their heads, clearly indicating they didn’t approve of the person she was talking to.

Alessandro followed her gaze with his own. “Ah, the protective Montgomery brothers.”

“What can I say? Do you have family besides your aunt Lidia?” she asked, needing to turn the conversation back to him.

There was a story here. She wanted to unravel the mystery of this intriguing man so he’d no longer hold any appeal for her. Besides, she’d promised Holly.

“What is family? Only those whose blood you share? Or those who stand by you in time of need?”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she saw something flicker in his eyes, something dark and painful, and she fought the urge to reach out to him. She had no experience in offering comfort to anyone, let alone to a man who was not family.

“Family can be both of those things. Family comes through connection. Whether through blood or friendship. Or through the bond of faith.”

His expression softened. “Ah, sì . Faith. You believe deeply in God, no?”

“Yes. Very deeply.”

“Because you were raised to believe.”

“I was raised to believe, but that’s not why I believe.”

“Tell me, then, why do you believe?”

“Because without faith in God there is no hope.”

“So is that what keeps you going, even when you investigate the travesties of the world? When you report about an abused wife whose life has become a nightmare at the hands of the one man she should trust? When you report on the drugs and the crimes perpetuated by evil men? Is it hoped that God will deliver justice? Where is the justice for the victims?”

Surprised by his passionate words, Colleen laid a hand on his arm. “God is faithful all the time,” she said simply. “I don’t understand God, can’t fathom why the bad things in life are allowed to happen. All I can do is put my faith in the only One who does know.”

Alessandro covered her hand with his. The warmth of his palm against the back of her hand made her toes curl inside her pointed black sandals. “I admire your steadfastness,” he said.

His admiration was pleasing, not to mention the tender expression in his dark eyes. If she weren’t careful, she could get used to having him around.

A commotion near the entrance interrupted the moment and common sense rushed in. Colleen extracted her hand. Having him around? What was she thinking? Obviously, she wasn’t.

She didn’t have time for such things. She needed to stay focused on her job.

Raised voices drew her attention. She turned to see Fire Chief Neil O’Brien push past the burly doorman.

“I’ve a right to be here, just as everyone else does,” Neil said, his words slightly slurred.

“Not in this condition, you don’t,” the doorman replied and made a grab for Neil’s arm. Neil dodged and continued forward, his gaze scanning the crowd, obviously looking for someone.

He looked even more haggard and worn than he had the last time Colleen had seen him, at the fire station when she’d confronted him about his gambling debts. His hair was mussed and his brown eyes bloodshot. A generous amount of weight had settled around his middle.

Colleen guessed his gambling was getting to him. She felt bad for his pregnant wife, Mary, and thankful that she wasn’t here to witness the spectacle her husband was making of himself.

Neil drew up short when he met Colleen’s gaze. He pointed a shaky finger at her. “You.”

Not one ever to run from a challenge, she stepped forward. “Chief O’Brien.”

“Because of you, people are saying I had something to do with the hospital fire. I told you I didn’t. But you couldn’t leave it alone.”

“I don’t for a second believe Lucia was negligent that day. My instincts tell me you’re hiding something and I’m going to prove it. And if what I wrote in my article cast suspicion elsewhere, then so be it.”

Colleen was aware that every person in the museum was watching, and she was even more conscious of the fact that Alessandro had come to stand behind her as if he were guarding her, protecting her.

The thought should have annoyed her. She always hated it when her brothers took that he-man stance. But having Alessandro standing watch over her made her feel secure inside.

“It didn’t cast suspicion elsewhere. It cast it on me and I have enough to deal with without your vigilante journalism destroying my life.” He swayed, but jerked away from Sam’s steadying hand.

“It looks to me as if you’re destroying your life quite nicely all by yourself,” Colleen retorted, feeling sympathetic toward his wife and unborn child. “You need some help, Chief.”

“I don’t need anything from you people.” He turned on his heel and stormed toward the entrance.

At the archway he stopped and yelled, “You’ll get yours, missy. One of these days, you’ll get yours. I’ll see to it.” Then he banged out the door.

His threat rang hollow, just like other threats she’d received before from those whom she’d upset with her candid and factual stories.

Concerned that Neil would end up doing something stupid like driving while intoxicated, Colleen took a step forward to follow him, but Alessandro’s hand cupping her elbow stopped her.

“No, bella . You must let him deal with his mistakes on his own.”

“But he shouldn’t be allowed to wander the streets in his condition.” She stared up into Alessandro’s handsome face.

“You have such a generous heart.” He released her elbow and stepped away. “Your family,” he said before melting into the crowd.

Colleen took a steadying breath as her family gathered around her, making sure she was all right. After assuring everyone she was okay and that they should resume their evening, she looked around for Alessandro.

She caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared down the corridor that led to the curator’s office. And the curator was nowhere in sight. Just what was the relationship between Alessandro and Dahlia Sainsbury?

But more importantly, what was this funny ache in the middle of Colleen’s chest? It couldn’t be jealousy, could it? Absurd.

Colleen walked over to her editor, Al Crane, who was talking to Dr. Robert Fletcher and his wife, Pamela. “Good evening, Doctor Fletcher, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“How are you feeling, Colleen?” asked Dr. Fletcher. He was a tall man and still athletic in build, though his light-brown hair was thinning out. Humor always sparkled in his blue eyes.

“Good, thank you.”

When Colleen had been injured during the hospital explosion a few months ago, Dr. Fletcher had been her doctor. “Do you mind if I borrow Al for a moment?”

Colleen pulled Al aside. “There’s a story in Alessandro Donato.”

“What kind of story?” Al asked around the unlit cigar hanging perpetually from between his lips.

At five feet eight inches, Al was paunchy and crabby and tough. Colleen liked him because he didn’t give an inch and always demanded the best.

She shook her head. “Not sure yet. But there’s something there.”

Al narrowed his brown eyes. “Seems to me you two were getting pretty chummy before ol’ Neil came blasting in.”

“I was questioning him. Trying to get some background information. He was not forthcoming,” Colleen replied, thinking of his words about God and justice. Not the information she’d been after, but interesting just the same. What had hardened his heart toward God?

She wouldn’t admit to her editor the emotional roller-coaster ride she’d just been on, courtesy of Alessandro Donato. Alessandro had evoked curiosity, excitement, longing and an odd sense of rightness in her when they were together. Strange how someone she barely knew could do that to her.

“It seems to me Neil might be a better option. Your articles on the recent fires have him hiding. Far as I know, this is the first time he’s emerged since the bombing at the hospital. I don’t like the way he threatened you.”

Colleen scoffed. “Empty words. I’m not putting Neil on the back burner, believe me. But I want to see what I can find out about Donato. There’s something he’s hiding.”

Crane’s bushy eyebrows rose. “You think he has anything to do with the recent drug activity going on?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know.”

She couldn’t picture Alessandro participating in drug trafficking. The drug trade seemed too smarmy for such a sophisticated man, but then stranger things had happened. And not all criminals looked the part. Nor did all superheroes.

Crane snagged a crab puff from a passing waitress and popped it into his mouth. He chewed for a moment then said, “You get the scoop on Donato and the growing drug business in town and I’ll give you a raise.”

Excitement jittered through her veins and she grinned.

“I’ll hold you to that, Crane.”

He grunted and moved away to catch up with the young woman carrying the tray of appetizers. She watched him stuff two into his mouth and swipe two more. How he could eat around that disgusting cigar she didn’t know.

Her mind focused on the budding story in her head. She could see the headlines in her mind. Mystery Man Revealed. Drug Trade Unraveled.

A flash of pale pink caught her gaze. Dahlia was returning from her offices, carrying a glass of punch. Alessandro wasn’t with her. This would be a good opportunity to ask Dahlia about the elusive Signor Donato.

Colleen started forward and realized Dahlia was making a beeline straight to her. They met in the middle of the room.

“Miss Sainsbury, this is a lovely event,” Colleen said by way of easing into a conversation.

“Thank you, dear. Punch?” She handed the crimson liquid to Colleen.

“Uh, sure.” Colleen accepted the cool glass. “You’ve certainly worked wonders in the short time you’ve been here. How long has it been now?”

Dahlia waved a hand. “One loses track of time when putting together a new project.”

“Where were you before coming here?”

Dahlia’s expression tightened slightly. “Europe.”

“Ah, so is that where you met Alessandro Donato?”

“How do you like your punch?” Dahlia asked, completely ignoring the question.

“I haven’t tried it yet.” It looked syrupy sweet.

“Please do. I just made a new batch and would like your opinion,” Dahlia purred.

“You made this? I thought that was what the caterers were for.”

Dahlia’s lips thinned. “I keep tight control over everything. That’s what makes me successful. Drink. Please.”

Colleen lifted the glass to her lips. The sugary scent wafting up made her nose twitch. She grimaced as she opened her mouth to take a sip.

“There you are,” a familiar masculine voice said from Colleen’s right just as a hard body slammed into her shoulder, knocking the glass from her hand and sending it to the floor with a sickening crash.

Dahlia screeched as she jerked back, avoiding the mess. Colleen jumped away, managing to only get a few sticky drops on her shins and the tops of her black shoes.

Glaring at Mr. Tall, Dark and Suave next to her, she said, “What are you doing?”

Alessandro gave her a charming smile. “ Mi scusi ! I must have tripped.”

Colleen narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

He was too graceful and too self-controlled for her to believe that nonsense. He’d done that on purpose. But why?

The sharp edge to Dahlia’s tone when she instructed the wait staff to clean up the mess clearly conveyed her irritation.

“Miss Sainsbury, I may have a potential buyer for one of the paintings. Could we discuss it?” Alessandro asked.

One side of Dahlia’s red lips curled. Her eyes were cold as she gave Colleen a final glance before taking his offered arm. “Indeed.”

They walked away leaving Colleen to stare after them. So much for questioning Dahlia or Alessandro any further. Anger boiled in her blood.

To be made a spectacle of and then to be so easily abandoned did not sit well. Oh, yes. She was definitely going to uncover that man’s secrets, even if it was the last thing she ever did.

THREE

A lessandro thought fast and spoke just as quickly, coming up with a cover story of an unnamed buyer wanting to have one of the exhibition’s paintings at an astronomical price. He could see Dahlia was taking in the story at face value. There was no buyer, but he’d fork out the money himself if he needed to.

Anything to keep Dahlia from whatever mischief she had intended for Colleen.

Alessandro had seen Dahlia slip into her office while Neil O’Brien had drawn everyone’s attention. As soon as Alessandro could, he’d left Colleen’s side to spy on Dahlia.

Through the partially open doorway of her office, he’d heard her on the phone telling someone that, yes, it would be done, just give her a few minutes. And then she’d hung up and taken a small vial from her desk drawer and poured the contents into a glass of punch. He’d hidden in the shadows when she’d left. He’d slowly followed, wondering what she was up to.

His heart had nearly stopped when he saw her hand the glass to Colleen. He’d known he had to stop Colleen from drinking the tainted punch and the only feasible way to do so without giving up his own cover was to knock the glass from her hand.

He’d hate for anything bad to happen to Colleen. He liked her—more than he had any woman in a very long time.

Not since Paola. His heart squeezed at the thought of the woman who’d broken his heart so many years ago.

He welcomed the pain as a reminder that no matter how much he liked and admired Colleen Montgomery, she was off-limits.

He wasn’t looking for a relationship.

Only for justice.

Colleen made excuses to her family that she needed to go home and clean the punch off herself, but really she wanted to get started researching Donato and Sainsbury.

She left the museum, hailed a cab and was soon home in the house she’d grown up in. Once inside the two-story ranch built in the 1940s, Colleen stepped out of her shoes, left them by the front door and then vaulted up the stairs to the guest room in the back where she’d taken up residence ever since she’d given up her downtown apartment and moved back in with her parents to save money.

It was only a temporary arrangement, but she couldn’t bring herself to stay in her old bedroom with its purple walls and posters catering to her childhood whims. Living in a shrine to her youth would be too weird. She’d planned to redecorate her old room, but hadn’t as of yet found time.

Once in the guest room, she changed into lightweight stretch pants and a T-shirt, pulled her hair up into a ponytail and then fired up her laptop computer.

With the marvel of modern technology, she’d have access to all sorts of information on Donato. And luckily she knew several reporters in Europe who would be willing to do a little footwork for her.

She settled in and started digging into the life of Alessandro Donato.

Alessandro was glad to see Colleen leave, but he hated that he had the urge to follow her home to make sure she arrived safely.

As it was, he’d watched her get in the cab without harm and that would have to do for now. Without the distraction of Colleen’s presence, he could concentrate on initiating Dahlia’s trust.

Dahlia had led him to an alcove near the swinging doors that closed off the caterers from the party. “Tell me, Mr. Donato, would your buyer be willing to come to Colorado Springs and meet with me?”

“ Sì , that could be arranged.”

Out of habit he moved to stand with his back toward the wall so he could see any approaching threats.

Dahlia laid a hand on his arm. “Good. You’ll get back to me with a time?”

“ Sì , yes.” Alessandro would contact his boss and have someone arrange to pose as an art buyer.

A piercing scream split the air.

The noise came from behind the swinging doors.

“Stay put,” Alessandro said to Dahlia, as he left her to charge through the doors.

A sobbing waitress was trying to explain to another waiter what had made her scream. Alessandro took her hands. “Shh. Breathe, signorina . Slowly, now. What has caused your tears?”

Behind him, the swinging doors banged open as Sam Vance stormed in, followed closely by the Montgomery brothers and Al Crane.

“I heard a scream. Is someone hurt?” Sam demanded.

The girl hanging on to Alessandro’s hands hiccupped and then pointed out the back door. “I think…he’s dead.”

Alessandro beat Sam out the door. Seeing Neil O’Brien face down on the ground, Alessandro hung back as Sam bent to check the pulse of the man lying prone in the alleyway, a dark stain spreading across his back.

“He’s dead,” Sam confirmed.

Sam secured the crime scene and placed a call for forensics. The burly doorman ushered all the bystanders back inside, where they were instructed to wait because the police would need to ask questions since they were all potential witnesses.

Alessandro observed Dahlia’s less-than-horrified expression as she assured those around her that the museum would be open for visiting as soon as the next day.

As the CSI techs and medical examiner arrived, Alessandro stayed on the fringes of the activity. After combing the scene for clues, the CSI team released the victim. They rolled Neil over and placed his body in a black bag before loading him onto a gurney and taking him away.

Alessandro watched Sam bend down and with the end of a pencil pick something up. A large lump formed in Alessandro’s chest when he realized the object of Sam’s inspection was the blue scarf Colleen had been wearing when she’d first walked into the museum.

Colleen stayed up all night, tapping her resources for information on the mysterious Alessandro Donato. She’d e-mailed a friend at immigration asking for information on Alessandro’s visa, because knowing where the visa originated and when it expired could be helpful.

The information supplied had led her to Fabriano, Italy.

She contacted a former classmate who lived in Rome and had her check hospital records in the small town in the center of the country.

A few hours later, the information she received back stunned her. Not only had Alessandro been born in that small Italian community, but so had his child. A little girl.

The knowledge hit her like a physical blow. It was one thing to think of Alessandro as a playboy but another to know that there was a woman in his life.

“A daughter,” she muttered as she typed in the information in the spreadsheet she used as a tool for gathering notes for her articles.

She could picture a raven-haired feminine version of Alessandro running around with mischief in her dark eyes and a grin on her face.

The image tightened something unfamiliar in her chest. She frowned.

Children were for other people, not her. She didn’t have time in her life for the ties of an immediate family. Yet…she couldn’t shake the strange feeling or the image. She hoped that if she slept, she’d be able to banish the sudden abnormal longing for a family of her own.

She forced herself to lie down and tried the relaxation techniques she’d learned in college when she’d needed sleep in order to be attentive for her classes. Deep breathing and concentrating on letting each limb become heavy helped her to relax. Eventually she fell into a light sleep.

Colleen awoke as daylight filtered in through the slats of the blinds covering the window. Though she was not completely refreshed, her mind buzzed with alertness.

Without preamble, she went back to work. In her note file, she typed, Where’s mother of child? Where’s child? Is the mother his dead wife? Is Dahlia Sainsbury mother of child? If so, what are they planning? If not, is he just a playboy sniffing after a pretty face?

That last question brought her up short.

There was no question the man was suave and charming. He had the ability to make whomever he was talking to feel special. But a womanizer?

Surely she’d have heard rumors of specific liaisons if that were the case. No, whatever he was up to wasn’t anything so frivolous or obvious.

“Find the child and the mother won’t be far away,” she muttered.

She put another request in to her Italian connection and asked that she track down the child’s whereabouts and check marriage records for Alessandro Donato.

A knock sounded at the front door. She glanced at the clock and realized she was alone in the house. Her parents would have left over an hour ago.

She clicked out of her e-mail and brought up her desktop screen saver: an ocean beach with tranquil water and warm-looking sand. One of these days she was going on a vacation.

She left her office and went downstairs to open the front door. Becca Hilliard and Sam Vance stood on the stoop.

“Hey, guys, come in.” Colleen stepped back to let them enter. It wasn’t unusual for the pair of detectives to appear at her front door. Often they’d come with leads or in hopes of gaining information on a story she was working on.

Becca’s light-brown hair was pulled back into her usual long ponytail hanging almost to her waist. She was dressed in navy slacks and matching jacket over a white blouse. She smiled slightly as she stepped into the foyer. “Hello, Colleen.”

Sam passed Colleen without comment. His tall, muscular build could be overwhelming at times, especially when he was working. His dark wavy hair looked clean and his face freshly shaved, but Colleen noticed the grim expression tightening his strong jaw.

“Where were you last night?” Sam asked as he looked around.

Colleen arched one eyebrow. “You saw me last night at the museum. What’s up?”

Becca walked into the living room. “Are you alone?”

Wary, Colleen followed her in. “Yes.”

“Where did you go after you left the museum last night?” Becca asked.

Colleen slid her gaze to Sam, who watched her with hooded eyes. She frowned. “I came here.”

“Was anyone here?” Sam asked, his voice low.

“No. I heard my parents come home later.”

“Where are they now?” Becca asked.

“They’re at their Bible study. Every Thursday morning for the past ten years.” Colleen put her hands on her hips. “What is going on?”

“Did you see Neil O’Brien after you left last night?”

Becca’s softly asked question sent a ripple of concern down Colleen’s spine. “No. He stormed out and that was that.” She shook her head. “He was really drunk. I hope he didn’t get in a car and drive like that.”

“No. He didn’t get into a car.” Sam moved restlessly around the room.

Colleen tracked his progress. “Sam. Talk to me.”

He stopped his pacing and turned to look directly in her eyes. “Do you own a gun?”

“What?” She dropped her chin. “Do I need one?”

He moved to stand right in front of her. “Colleen. Neil O’Brien was murdered last night.”

Colleen staggered back a step. He was about to be a father. “Oh, poor Mary. How…What happened?”

“Someone shot him in the back,” came Becca’s reply.

Olete lõpetanud tasuta lõigu lugemise. Kas soovite edasi lugeda?

Eelmine 12

Strictly Confidential

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TWO

THREE

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