Reunion in Death

«As you wish, sir. Lieutenant Dallas, I cannot hope to apologize sufficiently for the …» she seemed to gather all her disgust into one word «… stupidity of my assistant and what that has cost you. She is young and naive, but this does not excuse her, nor does it excuse me. I take full responsibility for the failure to do all that was necessary to help you in this matter. Elena was under my charge, therefore …»

Composed again, she turned to Roarke. «I will tender my resignation immediately. If you wish it, I will stay on to train a replacement.»

«Your resignation is neither desired nor warranted, Signorina Vincenti, and will not be accepted. I trust you to handle any disciplinary action regarding your assistant.»

«Former assistant,» Vincenti said coolly. «She will now be re-assigned to a lesser position where she will have no contact with guests.»

«Ah, well. As I said, I leave it in your thoroughly capable hands.» He took those hands in his, spoke to her quietly in Italian, and made her smile again.

«You're very kind. Lieutenant, if there is anything that can be done, you have only to ask.»

«She didn't walk out of the country, so I'll need to check on transportation services. She's gone, but we'll stick with procedure and do what we can to track her moves. If I can use your office.»

«As long as you like.»

«I came down hard on you.»

«Yes, you did.»

«Sorry.» She offered a hand. «And that was really good ass-kicking with the assistant. I admire that.»

«Thank you.» Vincenti accepted the hand. «Believe me, I have not yet finished that particular task.»

She'd gone over the Swiss border, using a private car service she'd arranged, probably on her pocket-link. The car had picked her up at the end of the shady lane that led to the villa's gates. She'd been wearing a blue sundress, one she'd probably been wearing under the long, white robe.

From there it became sketchier. Public and private shuttle companies, airports, and ground transportation were being studied for any passengers meeting her description.

«She's probably already back in New York.» Harnessed for takeoff, Eve shut her eyes as Roarke's private shuttle began its taxi.

«I imagine so.»

«One step behind. After she gets over being pissed at having her little holiday interrupted, she's going to feel really good about it. She took another battle, riding off unscathed while I eat her dust.»

«You were right about her, what she would do. What she would need. What she had here, Lieutenant, was sheer luck. Not to discount the value of luck, but I'll wager on the side of brains and grit any day of the week.»

«I wouldn't mind a little of that luck to go with them. I'm going to zone out for a while here.»

«That's fine.» He tapped the release on the table in front of him and brought the data center into position.

«How come I didn't know you could speak Italian?»

«Hmm? I don't, at least not fluently. Enough to handle basic business and employee relations. And, of course, I have a working knowledge of all the more colorful obscenities and sexual come-ons.»

She could hear the faint click of him working the computer manually. «Everything in Italian sounds like a sexual come-on or colorful obscenity. Say something.»

«Silenzio.»

«Nuh-uh, I can figure that one out. Say something in the sexual come-on division.»

He glanced over. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips were curved upward. Apparently she'd run out of her mad, he thought, and was ready to recharge. One way or the other.

He shut the computer down, pressed the lever to have the table swing away. Leaning close, he whispered a silky stream of Italian in her ear, while his fingers roamed possessively up her thigh.

«Yeah, that sounds pretty hot.» She opened one eye. «What does it mean?»

«I believe it loses something in the translation. Why don't I demonstrate?»

*** CHAPTER 21 ***

Julianna stormed into her townhouse, heaved her travel bag aside. The hours on the run hadn't chilled her anger, but instead had bottled it up under the rigid cork of control. Now that she was back, alone, unobserved, that cork popped.

She grabbed the first thing in range, a tall vase of delicate English bone china, threw it and its contents of white roses against the wall. The crash echoed in the empty house and set her on a rampage of temper and destruction. She batted lamps to the floor, pitched a large crystal egg into an antique mirror, stomped the already bruised roses into dust.

She upended chairs, tables, spilling precious crockery onto rug and wood until her foyer and living area resembled a war zone.

Then she threw herself down on the sofa and, pounding her fists onto the pillows, wept like a baby.

She'd wanted those few lovely days at the villa. She'd needed it. She was tired, tired, tired of fixing her own hair, of going without the simple necessities of facials and manicures.

And that bitch had ruined it all.