A Dangerous Liaison Part One Read online

  “You know I’ve always thought it was a mistake that we split up.”

  My stomach clenched and my toes curled all at once. He made it sound like a mutual decision.

  He slid his hand down my arm, then cupped my breast.

  I tried to ignore what he was doing.

  “Will, I’m asking you, please put me on the list.”

  He squeezed my breast and smiled.

  “Maybe there is something you can do to persuade me to change my mind.”

  I tried to push him off but he was way too strong. He bent his head forward to kiss my neck, then there was a loud knock on the door.

  “Will?”

  It was Gabriel.

  Cooper jerked away from me, straightening his tie.

  “Come in.”

  Gabriel walked in, holding the list. He glanced from Cooper to me, then said:

  “I think Petra should be on this list, Will.”

  Cooper did a double take.

  “You recommended she stay behind, Gabriel. Or have you forgotten?” he looked up, searching for the words. “You said she was a liability.”

  Gabriel put his hands on his hips and looked directly back at Cooper. I held my breath.

  “I was wrong. If Petra hadn’t done what she did at the bank scores of people would have died.”

  Cooper face went slack. He’d obviously taken Gabriel’s support for granted.

  “Petra thinks outside of the box. She makes things happen. And that’s what we need on this operation.”

  Cooper sighed. He looked like his teeth were being pulled. But he trusted Gabriel.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “She goes. But you’re responsible for her, Gabriel, okay?”

  Gabriel nodded and I felt an overwhelming surge of relief. I didn’t know why Gabriel had changed his mind. But I was full of gratitude.

  Chapter 2

  Alec

  I was strolling down a cobbled side street near the Pantheon, drinking Italian coffee and eating a croissant, when it happened. It started like always, with beautiful blue lights in my peripheral vision. They looked like stars I could reach out and touch. But that didn’t last for long. It never did. And, because I knew what followed, the sweat on my back went cold.

  Quickly I sat down in a chair, outside one of the half dozen cafes on the narrow street, and waited. My heart was beating hard and my throat was tight. I blew out a long breath through my mouth, and let my gaze unfocus a little – trying to relax. Then stage two hit me. In my mind’s eye I saw a vivid picture of a young woman. She was in an alleyway facing a dead end – a brick wall. She was out of breath and terrified.

  “Come on, darling, turn round. Don’t be shy.” The cruel, mocking voice was right behind her. I couldn’t see its owner, but I heard two more voices – young men perhaps in their twenties – give big belly laughs as if the first had just made a great joke.

  The girl’s shoulder’s tensed, and abruptly she spun round.

  She was pretty, blond with black eyeliner running down her face from fresh tears. Her eyes were wide.

  “Please don’t hurt me. I have money,” she said, holding up her bag. “Take what you want.”

  The guy with the cruel voice stepped forward. I could see now he was only in his late teens. His black hair was slicked back and a heavy gold necklace hung around his neck.

  “But we want you, signorina.”

  The girl visibly swallowed – her face lost all color.

  I was completely absorbed in the vision, so like always, the headache when it came blindsided me. A lancing pain knifed through my right temple, making me flex forward, clutching my head in my hands and digging my fingers into the bone, in an attempt to distract myself from the agony in my head. I breathed hard through my nose, knowing this stage, like the others, would pass soon. I just had to bear it for a few more seconds.

  Then it did. The pain dropped down to mildly agonizing, rather than excruciating, and the compulsion came. That was the only way I could describe it. It was like an internal switch had been flicked, taking away my free will. I had to save the girl, whatever the cost.

  I jumped up from the chair, knocking it onto its back, and sprinted down the street.

  Four minutes and seven seconds

  I instinctively knew where the girl was, and how long it would take me to get there. In exactly four minutes seven seconds I turned a corner and she was there – lying on the ground – her dress ripped and bloodied, two of the thugs holding her down, and the third pulling off his belt. He was still laughing. The other two grinned back at him, excitement, fear, and hate in their eyes.

  He wouldn’t be laughing for long.

  I took five steps to reach him, and grabbed his neck with my right hand, digging my fingers into the sensitive flesh, until he yelped. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the other two start in surprise, then move to get up. But they were too far away. I’d be able to deal with their leader before they got anywhere near me.

  I grabbed the top of his head and pulled it back hard until his neck cracked. Then I let him fall to the ground. He was out cold, saliva running from his slack mouth.

  But I didn’t have time to admire my work. The other two were on me now. One of them swung a haymaker at my head. I ducked and punched him in the guts. When he flexed forward, I hit him on the chin with a half-strength uppercut, and he fell alongside his friend. They looked like a couple of freshly landed fish.

  Number three moved in, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. His eyes were wide and darting left and right. He balled his hands into fists, but couldn’t hold them steady. He wanted to run but his pride wouldn’t let him.

  For a moment I thought about letting him go. Then I glanced at the girl on the ground, taking in her red-rimmed eyes and torn skirt halfway up her pale thighs. A few minutes ago he would have happily watched his friend rape this girl. Then he would have taken his turn. He’d get no mercy from me.

  When I looked back at him he must have known, because he took a step back. But I followed him, batted his upheld fists away, slapped my hand on his face and pulled his head down to meet my knee. As soon as he hit the ground, and the danger to the girl was gone, the compulsion left me. It was like I’d been unplugged from a giant power source. My shoulders dropped a couple of notches, and a breath escaped through my lips.

  I was exhausted like always – and only had a short time, before the final and worst stage. But there were a few things I had to do first.

  I crouched down next to the girl.

  She flinched away from me.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, still uncertain. Then down to the bodies of the three attackers. She must have been too terrified to notice them getting their asses kicked.

  Her hand went to her mouth.

  “Are they…?”

  “No,” I said wearily. “They’re not dead, but they’ll all spend a month in the hospital.”

  Her jaw dropped and then she looked back at me, fresh tears in her eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I felt a wave of exhaustion. My stomach was already spasming. I swallowed some bile and wiped the sweat off my brow. I was running out of time. I looked her in the eye.

  “Do you know why these men attacked you?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, I mean apart from…”

  “I mean specifically. Did you know them?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Has anyone you know – family or friends – been attacked?”

  “No.” She was getting angry now. “Why are you asking me these crazy questions? Are you with the police?”

  I retched and swallowed again.

  “Can you think of any reason...”

  Then I vomited the contents of my stomach, and before I could speak again someone shouted down the alley.

  “Hey, you – get away from the girl.”

/>   Shit. A cop was here already.

  He’d seen a rough-looking giant of a man hulked over a terrified girl, with a ripped dress, and come to the obvious conclusion. Obvious but wrong. He’d have his gun out in seconds, and there’d be a half a dozen more police here in minutes.

  Fighting back the nausea, I pushed myself to my feet and turned around.

  Petra

  The middle-aged Italian cop was explaining what had happened, for the third time. It was obvious he thought he was wasting his time, with a dumb American blonde cop, who should be at home doing housework or preparing dinner.

  “Attempted rape,” he said. “Four local guys roughed the girl up then fought amongst themselves. Maybe they couldn’t decide who should go first.” He half-smiled.

  I couldn’t believe his altitude but didn’t say a word. It wouldn’t do me any good to pick a fight with the Rome police. We relied on them for our intelligence. Without their goodwill we’d be screwed.

  I looked down the alley.

  Paramedics had hauled the three young thugs onto stretchers. They were coming around now, but were all badly beaten. I turned back to the cop.

  “I’m still not entirely clear, officer.”

  He sighed like he was talking to a five-year old.

  “You say there were four men.”

  He nodded.

  “And the fourth man ran off when you arrived? You scared him off?”

  The cop lifted his chin and smiled.

  “Yes.”

  He was looking at me more kindly now.

  “I heard a scream, and when I ran around the corner I saw the girl on her back, with her dress up around her waist. He was leaning over her about to do God knows what. But as soon as the coward saw me, he ran.”

  “He must have been terrified.”

  The cop’s chest visibly expanded.

  “I suppose so.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Big guy – about six two, broad, built like one of your American line-backers.”

  His chest expanded another notch with each word.

  “Anything else?” I said, smiling sweetly.

  “He had short hair – almost crew-cut. He was wearing jeans, and an olive green shirt. And looked sick. Red eyes and a pale face like he’d been up all night, drinking your American bourbon.”

  I rubbed my nose.

  Something didn’t fit. This guy didn’t sound like a teenage thug. He sounded military or ex-military at least.

  “Was he hurt?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did he have any injuries? You said they got in a fight over the girl. I can see the other guys are badly hurt but what about this crew-cut guy?”

  The cop shrugged. “I didn’t notice anything.”

  Then his radio buzzed, and he turned away speaking rapidly in Italian.

  “He’s wrong.”

  I started and looked towards the voice.

  The girl was sitting on the step on the back of the ambulance, being treated by a paramedic. He pulled a blood pressure cuff off her arm, then started to dab at a wound on her forehead.

  She pushed his hand away.

  “The cop’s wrong about that guy. He wasn’t one of them.”

  I walked over and crouched down next to her, nodding at the paramedic.

  “Do you mind if I speak with her for a few minutes?”

  “Keep it short,” he said. “She’s had a shock and needs to be assessed in hospital as soon as possible.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” Then I turned back to the girl.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. He wasn’t going to rape me. He saved me. If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead. I owe him my life.”

  I nodded. The girl’s account was very different than the cop’s. And I was inclined to believe her. She had a front-row seat to the whole show, and she seemed pretty sure of herself.

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  “Like the cop said, he was big. Built like a wall. He looked like an off-duty soldier.”

  “Go on,” I said as reassuringly as I could.

  “He had an American accent,” she said, biting her lip, her eyes watering again. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult to talk about it.”

  “Okay,” said the paramedic, putting his arm between me and the girl. “I think she’s had enough.”

  “Just one more question,” I said raising my eyebrows.

  He nodded. “Make it quick.”

  “Anything else? Anything at all that could help us find him?” I said to the girl.

  “No – but there’s one more thing the cop was wrong about.”

  I leaned forward.

  “What’s that?”

  “He hadn’t been drinking – no way. I would have smelt it on his breath, and he wouldn’t have been able to beat up those guys like that, if he were hung over.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” said the paramedic.

  “Thank you,” I said to the girl as the paramedic bundled her into the back of the ambulance.

  I stood in the alleyway for a long moment. Then, just as I was about to leave, I noticed something on the ground. I picked it up, and turned it over in my hand. It was an old St. Christopher medal. For some reason I didn’t understand, I put it in my pocket.

  ***

  I decided to walk back to the station. The FBI had set up in Rome’s Central Police Department near the Pantheon. It was only ten minutes away and would give me time to think. This was the first lead we had on the case since I’d got to Rome four weeks ago. Since then I’d watched the body count rise. Muggings, suspicious accidents, people thrown out of windows. Week by week Americans were dying and we had nothing. Occasionally we had a sketchy eyewitness account of one of the perps making their escape, but so far it had led nowhere.

  I turned a corner and walked down a street lined by cafes with sophisticated looking Romans drinking their morning coffee and pulling on cigarettes.

  I didn’t believe the Italian cop’s story for a second. The girl hadn’t been hysterical. Terrified, yes. But she knew what she’d seen. And the description she’d given was too detailed to be made up.

  So a young American girl had been saved from a brutal attack by a mystery man. From the description and from how he’d dealt with the attackers it sounded as if he had a military background ­ possibly Special Forces. Was it possible he just happened to be passing the alley when the girl was attacked? A man with the perfect skill set to disable three strong, young thugs set on murder? I supposed it was possible – but not likely. My instincts told me he wasn’t there by chance. He knew in advance where and when the attack would happen. He wasn’t one of the perpetrators. That was obvious. But he was connected somehow.

  That meant he was already streets ahead of us, in terms of knowing what the hell was going on. And it made speaking to him our top priority.

  I sighed and pulled out the small St. Christopher’s medal that I’d picked up in the alley – turning it over in my hand. It looked about fifteen years old. The surface was heavily worn, so much so that you could hardly see the figure of St. Christopher on it. It looked like it had been carried or kept in a pocket rather than around the neck. As I touched it that sense of familiarity hit me again. I felt like it was trying to tell me something, which was ridiculous, I knew.

  Did it belong to this man? And if so, why did it seem to mean so much to me?

  I shook my head, shoved the medallion back in my pocket, and headed back to the station.

  ***

  “No,” said Cooper. “For the last time, no.”

  I clenched my fists and swore under my breath.

  I was in the FBI briefing room back in the police department. I’d gotten back just in time for the daily briefing. Five agents were there, including Cooper and Gabriel. Cooper stood beside a whiteboard with pictures of the victims pinned to it: a grisly reminder of our failure to solve this damn case.

  I was trying unsuccessfully to persuade Cooper t
o put everything we had into finding the mystery guy. I’d gotten nowhere so far. But this was so important to me I couldn’t take no for an answer. Feeling compelled, I pushed myself to my feet.

  “Why not? He’s the best lead we have, you know that.”

  “I do not know that, Petra. The report from the cop on the scene,” he said, waving a piece of paper at me, “says this mystery guy of yours was one of the muggers. In which case, yes, we do want to find him, but we have a long list of other perps we’re also searching for. I can’t divert all of our resources to find this one man. He’s just not that important.”

  I felt my face redden.

  “He couldn’t be more important,” I replied, trying to keep my voice controlled. “I’ve told you the victim said he wasn’t one of the muggers. He saved her. She would have been killed, if he hadn’t been there.”

  Cooper sighed.

  “The victim was probably in shock.”

  I raked my fingers through my hair, looked away then back at Cooper.

  “I spoke to her. She was coherent. Shocked and terrified, yes. But she was thinking clearly. I believe she told me the truth. And if she did, it makes this guy vital to our case. Do you think it’s a coincidence that an American with his obvious skillset and background turns up at a crime scene in Rome, just in time to save this girl?”

  Cooper threw down the paper on the desk, breathing hard. He was obviously incensed.

  “Petra, I’d rather believe the word of an experienced Italian cop, with a perfect record, over that of a teenage girl who was very nearly violently raped a few minutes before. I can’t understand why you’d believe her over him.”

  Fuck. Cooper really was an asshole. How did he get to be station chief?

  “I’m not saying we won’t look for this guy,” he said. “We will. But I can’t ask the Italian police to divert all of their resources to finding him.”

  My heart hammered in my chest. I threw my hands up in the air. “We have to. You know the body count is rising, fast. We’re up to nearly one a week now. You know that, right?”