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  Thomas gulped down a swig of coffee and nodded at his son. “Daniel and I had a difficult time deciding what to get for two women who have everything. Didn’t we, Danny?”

  Daniel nodded, put his hand over his mouth, and giggled.

  “Nanna was pretty easy. She can always use another Hermes. But you—” he glanced over at Mercy, “—were difficult. We did find a gift. However, it couldn’t be gift-wrapped. Danny, would you like to give your mother her present?”

  Mercy sat speechless as Daniel ran from the room and returned with her cat, Paddy.

  The cat jumped from Daniel’s arms and dashed to rub his head against her leg, rumbling a deep purr.

  Mercy’s throat tightened, and she mouthed a silent thank you to Thomas. Bringing her cat revealed a chink in his hardened image. A man who would go to such trouble to keep a promise couldn’t be all bad.

  She pulled Paddy into her arms, tears stinging behind her eyes. “Hey, you old reprobate. Have you been making it OK without me?”

  Thomas laughed. “When Frank brought in this battle-scarred old tomcat, I thought he’d gotten the wrong animal. I was expecting to see some white, blue-eyed pedigree, and he brings home this old warrior.”

  She smiled, nuzzling the cat’s fur with her nose. Getting a Mother’s Day present was a new experience. Diamonds wouldn’t have pleased her as much. “He adopted me during a hurricane in Houston.” Mercy stroked his fur. “I heard yowling on my patio. When I opened the door, he shot in and took up residence. We became best friends. I named him Patton, after the tough old general, but he became Paddy.”

  Daniel moved in close. “May I pet him, Mummy?”

  “Of course. He’s gentle as can be, and he’s always hungry.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Frank said he ate six cans of cat food on the flight, so I guess we need to lay in a big supply.”

  Mercy shook her head. “Paddy’s a survivor. He’s use to scrounging for food. He’ll probably catch his own fish and rid the island of mice.”

  Daniel picked up Paddy and headed towards the kitchen. “Come on kitty, I’ll get cook to give you some shrimp.”

  Paddy’s hazel-eyes crossed and turned to her as if he understood Daniel’s words. The old street fighter had just landed in cat heaven.

  

  Naples, Italy

  Saturday, May 13

  Ricco Rossellini removed three tabloids from his middle desk drawer, glared at the headlines, and then at the man sitting in front of him. ”I thought you took care of this problem, Lorenz. It was a simple task. Get rid of a woman half your size. You blew it.” Ricco settled back in the chair. “You came highly recommended, and at an exorbitant price, I might add. You should have made her tell you where she stashed the pictures.”

  Lorenz Lucci towered over Ricco’s own six-feet-one-inch stature. He had the manicured hands of a surgeon, dressed in a tailored gray suit, Italian silk shirt, discreet navy tie and simple elegant jewelry. More like an English banker than a paid assassin.

  Despite his name, Lucci didn’t look Italian. Ricco figured him as mixed, probably Swedish, with his icy blue eyes. That, or he’d been adopted.

  Lucci’s cold gaze settled on Ricco. “It didn’t go as planned. She put up a fight. Before I could question her, she went off the cliff. She couldn’t have survived that plunge, Ricco, with the rocks and surf below.”

  “If she couldn’t survive, tell me how she was seen—” he tapped the newspaper, “—at a Bermuda airport boarding her husband’s jet? The photos she took can destroy me. Did it occur to you to make sure she was dead?”

  Lorenz glared at him. “No way to scale the cliff, and I didn’t think it was necessary. Like I said, no one could survive that drop.”

  “You didn’t think at all. Now I still have a problem to deal with.” Ricco gave the two goons standing by the ship’s portal a curt nod. “Get him out of my sight.”

  Lorenz stood. “I’ll take care of it. I have a reputation. And, I still have a contact on the island.”

  “I’m not paying you to re-do a job you bungled in the first place.”

  “I didn’t ask you for money. This is personal, a freebie. A satisfaction guarantee.”

  Ricco shrugged. The man should finish the job he paid him to do. “Don’t mess it up this time. You won’t get another chance. You understand what I’m telling you?”

  Lorenz didn’t flinch. His icy gaze swept over Ricco without blinking. Lorenz was one of the most deadly men alive. He didn’t scare. Without a backward glance, he wheeled around and left the cabin.

  Topside, Ricco strolled the deck, as his men escorted Lucci back to the dock. Violence wasn’t something Ricco enjoyed. Unfortunately, it was a byproduct of his business—a lucrative business that paid for his villa, his yacht, and all the other luxuries he enjoyed.

  Ricco gazed across the harbor. Pristine luxury cruisers rolled easily in the cerulean sea. A whisper of breezes brought faint sounds of reggae music and laughter across the water. Seagulls swooped across the clear sky and hovered near fishing boats in the harbor. He relaxed against the deck chair. Days like this brought his thoughts to lazy afternoons with Traci Wallace aboard his yacht.

  He had loved Traci’s free spirit, her thumbing her nose at social constraints, the wild excitement she generated whenever she entered a room. Even though she betrayed him, a part of him welcomed the news she was alive.

  How could he have known the little fool, so lacking in moral fiber, would suddenly develop a social conscience?

  He’d never tried to hide anything from her. She had been his soul mate, his equal. Rules and laws were for others. But she’d put the pieces of his organization together and turned patriot, snapping pictures with her cell phone of terrorist leaders onboard his boat.

  Those photographs could topple the empire he’d built. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. Not even for the lovely Traci Wallace.

  6

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Sunday, May 14

  Thomas had avoided Traci and liquor for the remainder of the seven-day holiday. He found himself relaxing in his home for the first time since his marriage. Daniel’s laughter sounded through the villa’s corridors and that pleased Thomas. It was the reason he’d brought Traci home. Not that he trusted her, but whatever her reasons, he welcomed the change.

  Past visits left everyone exhausted and glad to see her fly off into the horizon. He’d tolerated her tantrums for Daniel’s benefit. Nothing she did dampened the boy’s affection for her.

  He’d held his breath, waiting for the outbursts that would send the villa into an uproar, but it never came. With luck, it would last when he returned to work.

  At breakfast Sunday morning, he found the dining room empty. He filled his plate from the buffet and seated himself at the head of the table.

  A kitchen maid brought coffee and juice. “Good morning, Mr. Thomas.” She turned to leave.

  He swallowed the bite of toast. “Good morning, Lily. Has the rest of the family eaten?”

  She nodded. “Yes sir, they were down early. They’re upstairs dressing for church.” She shook her head. “Imagine that, Mrs. Wallace in church.”

  He hid a smile at her frankness. “Mrs. Wallace is going?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s what she said.”

  Thomas finished breakfast and was on his third cup of coffee when voices in the foyer caught his attention. He brought his cup to the doorway and leaned against the arch.

  Traci, Nanna, and Daniel stepped into the entryway. Traci wore a white linen sheath and straw hat, Nanna was in light blue and sported her new scarf, and Daniel looked handsome in short pants, blazer, and tie.

  Thomas smiled. The tabloids would have fodder for a thousand articles with this image of his flamboyant wife, dressed discreetly, and on her way to church. He joined them outside where Fergus waited. “Headed to chapel?”

  They stopped, and Nanna gave him a teasing smile. “You’re welcome to come with us, Thomas. Father Paul
asks about you.”

  “Can’t this time. I’m leaving for Edinburgh this morning. Have to get back to work.” He didn’t want to leave. It was always hard being away from his son for five days. He covered the space between them in a few strides and picked Daniel up. “I’ll be home late Friday. Be good and have fun. School starts again tomorrow.” He gave Nanna a slight nod. “Call me, if you need to.”

  Her smile brightened. “I’ll call if we have an emergency.”

  He turned to Traci. “Let Nanna or Fergus know if you need anything. They’ll contact me.”

  Traci looked into his eyes and held his gaze. “I can’t imagine anything I could possibly need.” The unspoken words, “except my freedom,” lay between them.

  

  The chapel was crowded with islanders, many of whom Mercy recognized as staff at the villa. Most nodded with stiff smiles, though a few ignored her. She and her small family moved down the aisle and found seats near the front.

  Open windows on each side provided a cool morning breeze as the ancient priest took his place behind the rough-hewn pulpit. His skin, dark and wrinkled by the island sun, highlighted his white hair and luminous dark eyes.

  Before beginning his message, Father Paul introduced a young cleric sitting on the dais. ‘This is Father Joseph. He will be taking my place while I return to Rome to take care of a few health problems.”

  Father Paul’s sermon spoke of handling troubles when they come. It seemed he had prepared it for Mercy’s situation. “There are four things you need to ask yourself in times of trouble. One, did I do anything to cause the problem? Two, what can I learn from the experience? Three, what can I find in this experience to be thankful for? And four, how can I find humor in this situation? Laughter is medicine for the soul.”

  As he expounded on the questions, Mercy considered her own answers. Was she responsible for her situation? No. There might be a lesson in her predicament, but it hadn’t yet presented itself. Being thankful was easy. Thomas Wallace was a stubborn, hard man, but so far, he had done her no harm, if one didn’t count making her unemployed. Laughter, she was learning from Daniel.

  Father Joseph rose from the pew after the message ended. He wasn’t a tall man, but he stood tall, his steps strong and purposeful. He could have been Father Paul fifty years ago, with his full head of black hair, dark eyes, and permanent laugh lines at the corners of his mouth. “As the good father mentioned, I’ll be filling in for him until he returns. I know you will miss him, and will pray for his speedy recovery.”

  After the service, the two black-robed men stood at the door as the congregants left.

  “Mrs. Wallace, I’m so glad you came.” Father Paul’s wrinkled hands clasped her own. “I hope you’ll be here for Father Joseph’s first sermon next week. Alas, I’ll be leaving right after the service.”

  Interesting. How was the priest getting off the island? There were no other planes or boats on the island, other than Thomas’s. At least, not to her knowledge. “We’ll be here to give him moral support. How are you getting to Rome?”

  “A cargo ship comes to the island twice a month. I’ve booked passage for this afternoon.”

  She filed the information away and shook hands with the new pastor.

  He smiled, still holding her hand, and leaned in close. “If I’m not being too personal, Mrs. Wallace, when was your last confession?”

  “Last night.”

  His eyebrows drew together and he tilted his head.

  She smiled. “I’m not Catholic, Father. But if it helps, I think God is nondenominational.”

  He burst out laughing, dark eyes twinkling in his handsome face. “You may be right, but don’t spread it around. I might find myself unemployed.”

  The temperature had grown warmer as the morning progressed. A cool breeze whispered into the foyer, giving temporary relief. “We’ll keep it our secret. You must come to lunch next week, to celebrate your new post.”

  “Those are precious words to a man who dislikes his own cooking.”

  “Do you have a phone here?” she asked.

  “A radio, but no telephone.”

  “Then I’ll ask Fergus to pick you up.”

  “I will wait impatiently.”

  Minutes later, Fergus pulled the golf cart in front of the church and drove them home for lunch. There were no automobiles on the island and, obviously, no gas stations.

  To her surprise, Thomas hadn’t left when they reached the villa. His luggage sat outside the front entrance. She hurried inside to catch him before he left. They almost collided in the entrance. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  “You’ll have to make it quick. I have an appointment in Edinburgh this afternoon.” He turned back and led her into his office.

  After the door closed, she picked up pen and paper from the desk, made a note and handed it to him. “This has my name, social security number, and my address in Houston. It will prove what I’m telling you is fact. Just check it out. That’s all I ask.”

  “Traci, I don’t have time—”

  “Have one of your people look into it. Please.” She started to leave, and then turned back. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Another favor?”

  She nodded. “Father Paul is very ill. Can you give him a lift to Rome? Otherwise he’ll have to spend a day or more on an old tramp steamer.”

  “To Rome, by way of Edinburgh? You flunked geography, right? I told you I have an appointment...I’m not running an air-taxi service, Traci.” He folded the piece of paper and placed it in his inside pocket with a dark look that tightened the lines around his mouth.

  She gave him her biggest smile.

  He expelled a deep breath. “OK, I can have Frank drop me off, and then take the priest to Rome before he returns to the island.”

  “What do I do with myself while you’re gone? Any special instructions before you leave?”

  “You can practice being a loving, caring, mother.”

  She stood still for a moment.

  When at a loss for words, he always fell back on rudeness. Pity. No response was needed and she turned and left the room.

  After the plane had gone, Mercy changed into jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed Paddy, and ran down to the dock. The steamer was just coming in. She had no money, but she could tell them she was taking Father Paul’s place.

  Did Thomas know about the steamer? Probably not. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left her alone today. Heart racing, she stepped onto the dock. In Rome, she could contact the American Embassy. She could be home in less than a week.

  “Mummy. Mummy. What are you doing?” Daniel ran and took her hand, his over-bright eyes darted from her, to the ship, and back to her. Almost as if he read her mind.

  The pleading look in his eyes broke her heart.

  She couldn’t do it. Easing out a deep breath, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Just watching the big ship unload supplies. Want to watch with me?”

  

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  Sunday, May 14

  Thomas kept the appointment he mentioned to Traci with the buyer. The man stopped in Edinburgh to firm up connections with Wallace personnel at the conference in Saudi Arabia. The meeting was a courtesy visit with an important buyer. It turned into an early dinner before Thomas saw him to his gate and left the airport.

  The last ray of evening sunlight reflected off the car’s windshield as Thomas exited onto the highway, turned left, and headed for Wallace Manor, his family home. He stayed with his father during the work week. Edward Wallace had retired, but since his wife’s death, he went into the office almost daily.

  The property wasn’t gated. There’d been no need until after Thomas married Traci—when the Wallace family achieved celebrity status. As a result, photographers often lolled outside the entrance trying to get a photo op they could sell to eager tabloids.

  Thomas had never lost the sense of pride that filled him each time his family home came into view. The hu
ge, rambling estate represented two-hundred years of Wallace ancestors, descendents of Sir William Wallace, the leader of the wars for Scottish independence. Sir William died in 1305 without children, but was survived by his brothers Malcolm and John Wallace. The manor, the social focal point of the district while his mother was alive, was now only used for family gatherings.

  His father’s old manservant met him at the door. “Hi, Henry. Is Dad at home?”

  “Yes, sir. In the library, reading, I believe.”

  Thomas left his luggage in the entryway and strolled down the wide corridor to find his father.

  The scent of cherry pipe tobacco and a woodsy oak fragrance from the hearth greeted him when he entered the library.

  Edward Wallace sat in a large leather chair, before a hearty fire, his Bible open in his lap. Something he had done every evening for as long as Thomas could remember.

  Thomas’s loss of faith had disappointed the senior Wallace, but he couldn’t fix that. He’d tried. Faith was the cornerstone of his dad’s life, and Thomas hated that his own disillusionment caused his father pain.

  Edward Wallace’s hair had turned white, but his spine was still straight as a soldier’s. His eyes sparkled with intelligence and good humor.

  Thomas smiled. This would be his own image when he was seventy.

  “It’s good to have you back, Thomas. Did you enjoy the time with your family?”

  Thomas eased into the chair next to him and nodded. “Yes, it was great, really. Traci was on her best behavior, for a change.”

  Edward Wallace ran his index finger over his lower lip, a small wrinkle between his brows. “I’ve been happy to see there have been no new escapades in the tabloids recently. Perhaps she’s growing up.”

  “We can always hope so.”

  “It’s none of my business, son, but what are you going to do about the situation if she hasn’t changed?”

  Thomas rested his head against the cushioned wingback chair. “Dad, I wish I knew.”