“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?”
“She is Mrs. Parker, Gino.”
While his thoughts took off in a dozen directions, Carlo kept talking. “I guess I’m not surprised. She’s a widow grieving for her husband.”
Gino had proof of that. He’d just come from her cell. She’d claimed that she’d sought out Marcello in the hope of giving and receiving comfort. But if that was true, how did she explain the laptop? Something didn’t ring true.
“She said she’d been in St. Moritz to visit the scene of the accident,” Gino murmured.
“It’s unfortunate she chose this time to come to Italy when the press is just waiting for anything they can do to sensationalize this case. She’s the last person you should be seen with.”
Gino agreed. All it would take was a photo of the two of them together caught by one of the lurking paparazzi, and the hellish situation would escalate overnight.
“You need to leave the jail and let me handle this, Gino. I’ll instruct the sergeant to free her. One of the guards will escort her to Rome by train and put her on the next plane for the States.”
Gino grunted a response as he listened to his friend. Though Carlo made a lot of sense, Gino couldn’t forget that Mrs. Parker had come all this way with that laptop to see Marcello for a specific reason. Since she’d put herself in jeopardy to accomplish her objective, Gino couldn’t let her go until he’d found out what was so important she’d risked everything, even jail, to make contact.
“I’m sure you’re right, Carlo. I’ll leave it up to you.”
“That’s good. You need to stay as far removed from her as possible.”
He would as soon as he’d had time to talk to her away from other people. “Grazie, Carlo. It seems that’s all I ever say to you.”
“Forget it. Ciao, Gino.”
Ally had been sitting on the cot wondering what was going on when the door flew open.
It was the same guard as before.
“Come, signora. You’ve been released. Please to follow me.”
Hardly able to believe it, she grabbed her purse and started after him.
“What about my suitcase?”
“It is here,” he said once they’d reached the reception area of the jail.
Convinced her abductor had confiscated the laptop, she leaned over to open the catches and sure enough, she discovered it was gone.
For some inexplicable reason, which was absurd considering her circumstances, she wished he were still here so that in front of his colleagues, she could accuse him of absconding with it.
She shut the lid and lifted her head. “What about my passport?”
“You’ll be given it after you board your flight for the U.S.”
She almost blurted that she couldn’t leave