White Heat (5 page)

“Are you telling me that you were on
assignment
for more than three weeks?”

He gave her a somewhat surprised look, then his face evened out and he muttered, “Yeah.”

“For the magazine?”

“My boss sent me out of town.”

The words were right but she knew he was lying. Why and about what was a completely different matter. But, as Daniel had often cautioned, “If Max is talking, he’s lying.” She knew that despite his efforts, Daniel had been rebuffed by Max over the years. But Daniel had clearly been kept apprised of his son’s goings on. By Max’s mother? she wondered. Daniel had never said.

“You aren’t a reporter at all, are you?” Not unless he worked for
Soldier of Fortune
magazine.

“No.”

He must’ve used all his words the first time they’d met. Now he’d run out.

“You knew exactly what you were doing in there. And you have a gun on you. Not too many reporters I know carry a loaded weapon.”

The confrontation between Max and the intruder hadn’t taken long, and even Emily, who hated violence of any kind, including in movies, knew that those movements were practiced. Very practiced.

“Are you some kind of policeman in the States?” It was a logical conclusion after what he’d done earlier, except that he was too ...
steely
to be a police officer.

“Sort of. Yeah.”

Anger made her grit her teeth. “What does ‘sort of’ mean exactly?” At three in the morning, the wet streets were all but deserted. The tires hissed on the wet pavement, and the wipers
thump-thump-thumped
slowly across the windshield. And the smell of him, the
heat
of him, made her feel as steamy as the windows. She pressed the defrost button.

“I work for a counterterrorist organization.”

Could be another bullshit story. She wasn’t quite sure she believed him. But such a thing existed, so she didn’t call him a liar. Yet. “I presume for the United States government?”

“Privately funded.”

“You’re making it up.”

He shrugged.

“You’re serious?”

“As death.”

“Don’t say that.” She shivered. “Does it have a name?”

“Terrorist Force Logistic Assault Command. T-FLAC for short.”

“Why did you tell me you were a photojournalist when we first met? I’m not a terrorist.”
If Max really was a counterterrorist operative as he claimed to be, had
Daniel
known? Was that one more thing about his son that Daniel had conveniently omitted telling her the night he casually mentioned that his son wanted to go to the Castelreighs’ party with her?

“No. But a man at that party was.”

And?
her brain encouraged. She turned her head to stare at him. “Was
sleeping
with me part of your way in, too? Or was that just a side benefit?” She wanted not to be hurt about it. She wanted not to be angry. She wanted, damn it, not to care one way or the other.

It was unfortunate that the memory of their short fling had made such a lasting impact. With any luck propinquity would take care of
that
problem. Her stupid heart fluttered as she caught him watching her. She turned her head to look out of the window, but it was too late to stop the heated throb of her blood. He’d had that ability. One look and she’d been toast. No, she thought, feeling a little panicky. She was the melted butter to his hot toast.

It was a good thing she had changed her mind about Franco, and would be seeing him soon. Their flight left in less than eight hours. Max could have Florence while she was in the States. With Franco. By the time she returned, Aries would be long gone and there’d be no need for them ever to see each other again.

She was just fine with that.

Three

BIOTOXINS. SPORES. ASSASSINS.
EMILY SHIVERED. A SECOND later warm air rushed out of the vent in front of her as Max turned on the heat.

The wipers sounded like a heartbeat, faster now as the rain fell harder. They sped through the shiny, dark streets of Florence toward God—and Max—only knew where.

She glanced at his profile in the bluish illumination from the dash. Her heart wouldn’t behave, no matter how much she reminded herself that he was a lying, father-disrespecting, thoughtless bastard she shouldn’t care a thing about.

Franco.

Her mantra wasn’t working. Her breasts ached as she stared at Max’s strong, tanned hands on the steering wheel and remembered what those hands had felt like on her bare skin. Or the way he’d brushed her hair back from her face to see her smile, or—Damn. Damn. Damn.

The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wipers automatically adjusted to the conditions. “I hope we’re not going too far.” She had to raise her voice a little, as she changed the subject to something less inflammatory. For now. “I have to be at Galileo Galilei airport in Pisa by six tonight. And I still have a hundred things to do before I—” Even as she said it, Emily knew it didn’t matter how adamant she was, or how great her desire, she wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not yet anyway.

Max slid her an unreadable glance. Fear churned in her stomach as she accepted that arguing with him wasn’t going to change the fact that she was stuck. Everything inside her rebelled, but she said reasonably, “I won’t be going anywhere for a while, will I? Did they give you any idea how long we’ll be in quarantine?”

“Until they know what was in that vial, and we’ve both been cleared. So settle back and enjoy the scenery. We’ll be staying at his place for the duration.”

“By ‘his’ I presume you mean your father’s?” Daniel’s home was located on the outskirts of Florence in the Certosa hills of Impruenta, only twenty minutes away. The villa was large enough to avoid seeing Max for a year. Not that it would take that long for them to get a clean bill of health, and not that Max would stick around for a hundredth of that. According to his father, a lot of women knew what the back of Max Aries looked like. She’d just been unlucky enough to be one of many.

“I imagine,” Max said matter-of-factly, “he left the villa and everything else to you.”

“To me? Don’t be ridiculous.” Emily rolled her head on the headrest to look at him. “Why on earth would he do that? You’re his heir.”

“Biologically.”

More alike than either would admit. It tore at her knowing that it was their stubborn gene, obviously hereditary, that had thwarted any chance of a father/son relationship. Now of course it was too bloody late. “My God. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it? You and your father both got the same dogged stubborn streak. Biological or any other way you look at it, you were his only child. There’s no reason to suppose he didn’t leave everything to you. Who else would he name in his will?”

“You were more a daughter to him than I was ever his son. He loved you,” Max told her flatly. “Enough reason to leave all his worldly possessions to
you.
He always did have his priorities straight.”

“He loved you, too.”
In his own way.

Max’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Instead of defending Daniel she kept her mouth shut. She was sure his father had loved him. But she had no illusions about the man who had helped her rise to the top in a field where not just talent, but who you knew, could make or break you.

Daniel had loved Daniel best of all.

She’d adored him. Daniel Aries had been an amazing, if oblivious, mentor. Emily also acknowledged he’d been a shitty and oblivious parent, too. But it was partly Max’s fault that he and his father had had a lousy relationship. As long as she’d known him, Daniel had tried his best to make a connection with Max. Max hadn’t been interested.

“I suspect that his death and your intruder are somehow linked,” Max said evenly, shoving his seat back a little more to accommodate his long legs. “Tell me what you know about his day- to-day life in the months before he died.”

Emily frowned, tucking one leg under her, and turning in her seat to face him. “What an odd thing to say. Why would you think Daniel’s suicide had anything to do with this morning? You might not have gotten my messages in a timely fashion, but it’s been almost a month since your father died.”

“It wasn’t suicide. And your friend back there didn’t drop in for a social call. He was there to kill you.”

“Ki – My God, Max! Scare the crap out of me, why don’t you? That’s a hell of a stretch. I’m an artist. There might be someone who doesn’t like my technique, but I doubt they’d want to kill me for it.”

“Someone killed the old man. You two were close. And less than a month later, someone breaks into your house and deposits a vial of an unknown substance in
your
bedroom. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“There are all sorts of different reasons,” Emily pointed out. “How about
this
scenario? That guy showed up at my place to wait for
you.
No, really. Think about it. I’ve lived in my palazzo for more than ten years without anyone ever breaking in. Then suddenly, on the same night—ten minutes before
you
show
up—he
arrives.

“You have a gun. He has a gun. You know how to restrain a guy and knock him out, he knows how to throw some pretty impressive punches, too.”

Max made a growling noise, which Emily wisely ignored. She adjusted the controls so the warm air blew on her feet. “Or not. I really don’t know what that guy was up to in my house, but as hard as it is for us both to believe, as awful as it is to imagine, your father threw himself from the balcony outside his tower studio.” Dramatic and theatrical and
typical
of Daniel. “He left a note.”

“If he were going to kill himself he would have used pills. Not a gunshot, which tends to be messy as hell, and
not
by jumping off a third-floor balcony to splat on the driveway below and be seen by a bunch of servants and house guests, which is messier still. “Trust me,” he said wryly. “He didn’t jump.”

Emily reached over and almost touched his arm. He’d pushed up the long sleeves of his black T-shirt, baring strong forearms dusted with crisp dark hair. Her mouth went dry. She could almost feel the heat of his skin, almost feel the dark hair tickling her palm. Her body listed toward him as though he were a magnet, and she a sliver of metal.

Danger, oh Lord. Danger.

She redirected her hand, adjusting one of the air vents instead. Then straightened out in her seat, still looking at him, but not quite as engaged. The car felt extremely small and confined, and she was enveloped by the delicious and familiar smell of him that seemed to permeate her very pores and fill her brain with wicked and unwanted memories. Pheromones, nothing but pheromones. Whatever the hell it was made her want to rub her body against his like a purring cat.

“But that’s what be did:’ she said gently, understanding his disbelief because she’d felt it, too, when she’d heard the news.

Max shook his head. “A, he was too vain a man to end up splattered on the driveway. B, the trajectory was wrong. If he’d jumped, he’d’ve landed closer to the building. He was thrown.”
For someone who’d barely known his father, Max seemed to know Daniel pretty well. He was right. Daniel had been extremely vain. He’d been a striking-looking man even at seventy plus. And had kept his hair the same rich, dark brown color as Max’s. Daniel had also had a face-lift when he’d turned sixty, and several other minor he’d called them—over the past few years. “Are you sure?”

“I have someone doing a tox screen and checking his body for suspicious marks. I’ll know more in a couple of days.”

The seat belt tightened as she turned her entire body to stare at him. “Your father’s been
buried
for three weeks. What are you saying? That you had his body
exhumed
on
conjecture?”

“Yeah.”

Emily tried to digest what he was telling her as she observed the rain sheeting the windows, blurring the dark houses as they passed through the empty streets. She also
tried
not to let her own feelings for him, and her own guilt, cloud her judgment. She glanced away, refusing to be drawn in by his tight jaw or the way his knuckles showed white as they gripped the leather-covered wheel.

Max wasn’t here to see
her.
He was here to say good-bye to a man he’d barely known. She needed to keep reminding herself that his presence in Italy wasn’t personal. Her feelings for Max were jumbled and disjointed. She missed Daniel. She was still mourning his loss. She’d forgotten
Max—almost.
She’d thought she wanted a life with Franco. Now she wasn’t sure. Damn it.

How had life gotten so screwed up in such a short time?

Her stomach wasn’t clenching just because of Daniel’s recent death. Or even wholly attributable to the intruder. Or the fight. Or the vial. Or the hazmat guys.

Not hearing from Max right away had given her perspective and a plan of action. Even when she was leaving him curt messages and silently cursing his answering machine, she was rehearsing different scenarios. He’d walk back into her life and she’d be calm, collected, and immune.

Why wouldn’t she be? She had an incredible new man in her life. A man who cared deeply for her. A man she’d considered marrying. A man she’d been taking home to meet her family. The final test. That seemed a lot of past tenses all of a sudden. She’d been prepared for seeing Max again. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the resurgence of heat. Not the kind of thing a girl could prep for. At least not this girl.

She’d had all year to try to sort the wheat from the chaff. And she’d just about come to terms with what had happened between them the first time around. Now Max was back to muddy her emotional waters all over again.
The big jerk.

Just for a few hours, she reminded herself. She could deal with him for those hours. And then go back to forgetting him.

Sure. Just like I forgot him for the last eleven months, one week, and three days? Riçht.

Think Franco.

This time tomorrow, she told herself firmly, they’d be in Seattle, and Max would be nothing more than a distant and annoying memory.