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  Heart pounding in her throat, her breath came in short, panicked gasps. She had to slow down, get control, or he would hear her labored breathing across the courtyard. Inhaling five deep breaths, she let the air out slowly. The terror inside lessened. She silently closed the Jaguar door and moved back to the garage’s side entrance.

  She hoped that he would go to the gate entrance, thinking she would head that way. He could also be outside the garage door, waiting for her.

  On tiptoes, she moved back across the garage to the tool bin, selected a heavy wrench, and then moved back to the door.

  She peeked around the doorframe into the courtyard. No visible threat. The wrench gripped so tightly her fingers felt numb, she ran towards the palazzo’s shadows. Her feet slipped on the slick stones and she landed on her knees. Pain shot through her legs and warm blood seeped down her right shin. She grabbed the wrench again and hobbled to the building, pressing her back against the cool limestone.

  The gate lay about a quarter-mile away. The only cover was the huge, stone flower urns dotting the landscape between the villa and freedom.

  With her wounded knees, she would be an easy target, moving from vase to vase. She had to try.

  Lorenz still had the gun, and he would use it.

  She stepped around the villa’s corner towards the gate, poised to dart to the nearest urn.

  From behind, a large hand covered her mouth, stifling her scream.

  31

  Isle of Capri, Italy

  Friday, July 7

  Thomas arrived early at the Mergellina Dock. The Aliscafo hydrofoil didn’t leave until 23:10. That would put him on Capri in forty minutes. While he waited for departure, he rented a car. He would drive it onto the ship and be ready to roll when the boat docked on the island.

  He pulled into the queue as the huge white ship glided to the wharf. Vehicles on board disembarked. A white-coated steward stood in the rain at the ramp, directing cars into bays. Travelers were few this time of the evening, and Thomas parked on the lower level.

  Following the steward’s directions, Thomas pulled into the slot indicated, cut the motor, and decided to remain in the car for the short trip. He leaned against the seat with a feeling of throbbing urgency he couldn’t shake.

  Mercy was dead.

  The reality of that twisted his gut. His eyes filled with tears, and he tasted their salt as they rolled across his mouth. He shook his head, pushing away the ache, folding the hurt deep inside. He had to concentrate on what lay ahead. All he could do was find some kind of justice for her death.

  He withdrew the copy of the death certificate that Captain Galluzzo had given him. Unable to read it then, he needed to wait for the shock to wear off.

  The report Paul Redford had sent was still in his jacket pocket, also unopened. He withdrew the documents, and switched on the dome light, death certificate open in the faint glow above him.

  He had to translate Italian to English as he read. The Italian equivalent of a Jane Doe, most of the spaces on the form were filled in with approximate and unknown, spaces such as age, address and burial site—until he came to the cause of death.

  Trauma, multiple fractures, hemorrhagic shock, and cervical fracture.

  The car’s interior closed in on him as the clinical description of her death sank in. Clenching and unclenching his hands, he realized he’d read the entire document without taking a breath. Then it hit him. He’d missed something.

  He read the death certificate again, his breath coming faster. His gaze bounced back to the date of death. One week after Traci disappeared. Almost eight months ago.

  Under cause of death, the authorities noted possible suicide. Fishermen saw her go off the cliff and pulled her from the water. Too late to save her life.

  Thomas knew Traci too well to believe it had been suicide. She wasn’t the type to take her own life. She’d loved life too much. Someone had pushed or driven her off the precipice.

  He lowered the window, letting the damp ocean air wash over him.

  The woman in the morgue was Traci.

  Mercy was alive and still in the hands of Ricco Rossellini. She had told him the truth from the beginning.

  He ripped the Redford report from the envelope and jerked the papers free. A yellow sticky note in Paul’s almost illegible script clung to the first page.

  Here’s the information you wanted. This makes us even.

  Paul

  Thomas moved closer to the light and read the report twice. Everything came into focus, all the missing parts were there. How and why he had mistaken Mercy for his wife. Anyone could have made the same mistake. In fact, everyone had done so. That didn’t absolve his guilt.

  Questions filled his mind, questions he might never know the answers to. How Traci’s body remained unidentified for so long? Small morgue? Limited funds to investigate? Thinking someone would surely inquire about her?

  He hadn’t checked hospitals and morgues, only because she left with her lover. He thought she didn’t want him to find her.

  A heavy mixture of grief and joy battled inside him. He didn’t love Traci. Her infidelity had killed that part of him. The burden of grief, and the effect her death would have on Daniel and Nanna, almost overshadowed the elation that Mercy, by God’s grace, was alive.

  The hydrofoil slowed, and within minutes, the ramp was in place for departure. He was the third car off the boat. The open window helped clear his mind.

  If Mercy was still alive, she faced imminent danger.

  Ricco had killed once. He wouldn’t hesitate to do so again.

  Thomas floored the vehicle, taking the slick curves at top speed, headed east into the hills.

  Ricco’s palazzo sat at the end of a winding road like a bright jewel atop the knoll, a massive estate with a two-story edifice surrounded by high stone walls. The villa lay well back from the unmanned gated entrance. Walls would be wet from the storm, and he’d have to scale it without the equipment in his backpack.

  When he first began to look for Traci, he’d climbed the hills overlooking the estate. Hiding with binoculars, he’d watched the activity on the grounds. Driven by jealousy, pride, and hatred, he became little more than a peeping tom.

  She’d been dead by then, but he hadn’t known that, and he’d spent the long night watching for signs of her. Had he found her there, he was unsure what might have happened. It had not been his most shining hour. He’d told himself he did it for Daniel. His motives had been less than altruistic. Enough. That was the past.

  Now he must focus on finding Mercy. Her life depended on it.

  If memory served, the exterior lighting stayed on until daylight. If there were hidden cameras, he’d have to disable them before going over the wall. Becoming a spotlighted target wouldn’t help Mercy.

  Minutes later, he parked next to the gate and located the two cameras that panned the front entrance. He picked up a handful of mud and rolled it into balls, then pulled the car directly under the security cameras. Standing on the automobile’s roof, he plastered the lenses with mud.

  If guards watched the monitors, they’d know company had arrived. They would rush to secure the gate.

  He hid the car and jogged around the wall and up into the hills, back to his old perch. The rain made his recon position a mudslide. He slid down the hill and crashed with a thud on top of the wall. Scrambling to his feet, he jumped to the ground, landing fifty feet from the palazzo.

  Rain settled into a fog-like mist that worked in his favor, giving a little unexpected cover. No stars. No moon. But the exterior lights still haloed in the gloom.

  No surveillance equipment in the back of the property, at least none he could see from his position. The absence of cameras would give him an edge.

  In a crouch, he moved into the dark bulk of the house’s shadow.

  There had to be a back entrance for the household staff.

  He stood still, waiting and listening. No dogs but there hadn’t been any during his last visit.
A good thing. The trusty dog-be-gone canister Chip had given him was at home in his backpack.

  Boots on stone pavement brought him to a halt. He moved closer to the building and flattened against the wall.

  A short figure, dark pea coat and knitted cap, rounded the corner, an AK-47 slung over his shoulder.

  Thomas waited until the man was within arm’s reach, grabbed his neck and held him until he became unconscious and slid to the ground. He stuffed the man’s cap into his mouth, removed his belt and tied his hands behind his back. No reason to kill him. He was just a foot soldier.

  Finished, Thomas pulled the body into the shadows.

  Close. Sentries were a new addition.

  A muffled shot sounded inside the villa.

  As Thomas bolted towards the front entrance, another sentry came into view, heading the same direction. Thomas launched at the man, hitting him at the knees and heard a bone crack. The sentry grunted as they both crashed onto the wet grass.

  Thomas rolled, gripped the man’s gun hand, and twisted it until the weapon wrenched free.

  The guard struggled for purchase on the wet lawn. He didn’t make it.

  Thomas hit him with the butt of the rifle, knocking him out cold. No more trouble from this guy. With a broken leg and a headache, he would stay put for a while.

  Shouts and curses echoed from inside the villa. The front door flew open and Mercy rushed out, turned in a circle, and then dashed towards the garage.

  A man burst out the door, dodged into the shadows and shouted. “Mercy, I’m coming. Playing hide and seek will make it more fun when I catch you. And make no mistake. I will find you.”

  Thomas’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding. When this man fell into his hands, the fun would begin. He made a U-turn, skirted back around the villa, and approached the garage from the opposite direction.

  Calling out to her wouldn’t be wise. Best if the gunman didn’t know he existed. He had to find Mercy before the thug did.

  He slipped into the garage’s side entrance, and hesitated a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. “Mercy!” he whispered.

  No answer.

  On the opposite side of the carport, a thin shaft of light from an open doorway revealed her outline. Two vehicles lay between them.

  He whispered her name again, but she didn’t hear him. Urgency drove him forward.

  The gunman was just outside waiting for her.

  Before he could catch her, she hesitated a moment and then eased out the door.

  Thomas sprinted to the doorway in an instant, just as the man grabbed Mercy from behind.

  “You should’ve known you couldn’t hide from me.”

  Thomas stepped into the open, his weapon aimed at the gunman. “Let her go.”

  The man turned and faced Thomas, Mercy in front of him, his gun pressed against her neck. “And who might you be? Not polizia. No uniform.”

  “Thomas, shoot. Don’t worry about me. He’s a hired killer. He murdered Traci, and he just killed Ricco. Don’t trust him.”

  “So this is the great Thomas Wallace, who wasn’t man enough to keep his wife at home. He won’t kill me, Mercy. He’s weak. Besides, he knows I’ll kill you if he tries.”

  The taunt was meant to unnerve him. Thomas smiled. “You know who I am. Care to introduce yourself?”

  “I guess you deserve to know who’s going to kill you. The name’s Lorenz Lucci.” Lucci turned his head and shouted over his shoulder. “Biagio, Enzo, get over here!”

  Thomas kept his tone cool, firm. “Are those the names of the two unconscious sentries?”

  Lorenz raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I’ll have to revise my estimation of you. Maybe not so weak.” His pale eyes glittered in the half-light. “So what do we do now, Mr. Wallace? We have a standoff. If you shoot me, I kill her. Why don’t you drop your gun and maybe we can make some financial arrangement for her release?”

  “Don’t trust hi—” Lorenz jammed the gun in her neck.

  “You have until the count of three, Lucci, to let her go before I kill you.”

  Lorenz laughed. “You don’t mind if I kill her? I hadn’t really considered that. She isn’t your wife, after all, is she?”

  “One. Two.”

  With full force, Mercy brought the wrench in her right hand down on the gunman’s knee.

  He cursed and lifted the muzzle from her neck. Thomas fired twice, putting both rounds between Lorenz’s eyes. The impact sent him tumbling to the stone pavement. His eyes opened and then went blank.

  Mercy stood in place. Stunned. Eyes wide and searching. Her gaze shifted to the man on the ground and then back to Thomas. She took three steps forward, and Thomas met her there. His arms wrapped around her, and she buried her face in his chest. Shudders rippled through her body.

  After a moment, she looked up at him. “Daniel...he reached safety? He’s all right?”

  “Yes, he’s on board the plane with Fergus. Waiting for us.”

  “I was so frightened for him, Thomas. Ricco said he would...I had to get him away.”

  He smoothed strands of hair away from her face and tilted her chin. “You did exactly the right thing. If you hadn’t, you’d both be dead.”

  Her brows drew together, and she expelled a tired breath. “However are we going to explain about his mother...about me?”

  “We’ll have to talk to him soon but not tonight.”

  She leaned into him again and then looked up, a question in her eyes. “What were you going to do on the count of three?”

  He grinned down at her. “I knew you would save me. I saw the wrench in your hand, even if your friend didn’t.”

  She slapped his chest. “And if I hadn’t used the wrench? You would have let him shoot me?”

  “No, I had a plan B. I would have shot his gun hand, and then put one between his eyes.”

  “You were willing to risk my life on your plan B?”

  With both hands framing her face, he looked into her eyes. “I would never let anyone hurt you.” He pulled her in closer and whispered a truth from his past. “You were never in danger as long as I had the gun in my hand.”

  32

  Isle of Capri, Italy

  Friday, July 7

  Sirens wailed at the villa entrance. Within minutes, police crashed the gate.

  Thomas and Mercy met them in the driveway.

  The two disabled sentries were gathered off the lawn and loaded into ambulances. For the next hour, Thomas explained what had happened, more than once. Either he explained it badly, or they were too dense to comprehend. Meanwhile, he and Mercy stood in the misting rain, getting wetter and more exhausted by the nanosecond.

  He gave the officer his most patient smile. “Look, Captain, with all due respect, this woman has been through a terrible ordeal. I’m going to take her inside and make her a hot drink until you decide to release us. Contact Captain Galluzzo in Naples. He will vouch for me.”

  “The captain is on his way here. You cannot go back into the palazzo. It is a crime scene. Only our people are allowed inside.”

  Thomas shook his head. “The kitchen is not a crime scene. The villa has been closed for the summer. You can send an officer in with us. All I want is to let her sit down and get something hot to drink.”

  “I just told you, I cannot permit you to go inside. It is a crime scene.”

  He had more important things to do than to contend with this bureaucrat. Thomas whipped the cell phone from his pocket and tapped in a number. “This is Thomas Wallace. May I speak to the Prime Minister?”

  After a short wait, a man with a distinctive and well-known voice answered.

  “Sorry to wake you, sir. But I have a situation here on Capri.” Thomas explained the problem briefly. He held out the phone to the captain. “The Prime Minister wants to speak to you.”

  Moments later, they were inside the massive kitchen full of Old World charm, and stocked with all the modern conveniences. He found Mercy a seat in a booth. “What’ll it
be, coffee or tea? There’s cheese and wine, but I wouldn’t trust the cheese.”

  Mercy’s head rested on the table, using her arms as a pillow. She looked up when he spoke. “I’d love a cup of tea with honey and lemon.”

  “Coming right up. No fresh lemons, but tea and honey I have.” Thomas filled the teakettle and set it on a burner and then turned to the young Italian officer who followed them in. “What about you? Coffee?”

  The young man gave a shy nod, and pulled out a stool from under the butcher-block island.

  While they waited for the drinks to brew, Thomas placed a call to Fergus. The plane awaited them at the Capri airport. He tried to explain the Traci/Mercy situation, but he could tell his mentor was still confused. It would just have to wait for now.

  They had settled down with their drinks when Captain Galluzzo strode in. He took one look at Mercy and stopped as if he’d grown roots through the tile floor. ‘The woman in the morgue, she was not your wife?”

  All Thomas wanted was to get away from here. He would have to explain Mercy to the captain but not tonight. It was too late, the story too complicated, and Mercy was exhausted.

  Thomas set his coffee down and motioned for the captain to follow him outside. He didn’t want Mercy to hear the truth this way. When they were out of her earshot, he halted. “Yes, Captain. The woman in the picture was my wife.” He nodded towards Mercy. “That’s her sister. I will return in a few days to Naples and explain everything. Now, I need to take her home. She’s been through enough tonight.”

  “She was the one on the boat...with your son?”

  Thomas nodded.

  “The note said she was Traci Wallace.”

  He nodded once again. “She was afraid no one would come if she used her own name.”

  The policeman fingered his mustache, his bushy eyebrows drawn together in a straight line across his brow. Finally, he shrugged. “I know where to find you.”

  Outside, Thomas opened the rental car’s passenger door, helped Mercy in, and drove to meet the plane.