Full Exposure

He glanced at the bureau drawer where he stored smaller pieces he’d acquired at various ports of call. He periodically rotated them to the library to freshen his lectures. Some were also real rather than reproductions, but nobody else knew that. His own…private investments. If the boss’s grand scheme worked, a bonus. If it didn’t…his insurance policy.

He swallowed another gulp of whiskey. Damn good thing he’d invested wisely, because it was looking as though he might have to cut and run.

A sharp rap on his door startled him. He opened it to see First Officer Giorgio Tzekas, and swore. “What now?”

Giorgio anxiously slipped inside. The playboy’s classic bone structure showed he’d once possessed looks to go with his oozing charm, but too much boozing and sordid nights now etched his face. “Did you see him? Lanky, salt-and-pepper hair, fiftysomething Italian?”

“Bernardo Milo. Yeah, he attended my lecture last night.”

“And?” Giorgio’s anxiety sharpened. “Did you get the vibe?”

The cop vibe. After fifteen years conning other people, Mike knew when he was being conned. With Milo, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if it was because several things had gone wrong during this operation…or because the scam really had been blown to hell. Mike wasn’t big on taking risks this late in the game. He planned to retire in the sunny Caribbean, not rot behind bars in some dank federal pen.

He sipped whiskey, buying time. He trusted his instincts, but he sure as hell didn’t trust the cocky bastard in front of him. Every screwup required a sacrificial lamb, and he couldn’t think of better roasted mutton than Giorgio Tzekas. The young Greek was an intellectually challenged egomaniac who squandered Daddy’s money on easy women and hard-core gambling. Old man Tzekas’s friendship with Elias Stamos, the cruise line’s owner, was the only reason sonny-boy had a legitimate job. God only knew why their mutual boss in the smuggling ring kept him on. In fact, on one of the first legs of the cruise, the moron had panicked and moved artifacts to potted plants, of all places, where they’d been discovered and spurred speculation and an investigation.

If Mike had his way, Giorgio wasn’t going to be his enforced partner much longer. Which meant keeping him obedient and unsuspecting. He shrugged. “Milo seemed real interested in the lecture. He took a buttload of notes, and chatted up the other attendees. He had more artistic know-how than any cop I’ve ever run into.”

“Since he boarded, I’ve had this weird feeling.” Giorgio scratched his chin. “I’ve never caught him staring, but he just seems like he’s around a lot, ya know?”

Milo had sought out Mike to discuss antiquities. The tall, craggy Italian had said he was a contractor who’d restored historical buildings. Art was his hobby and his passion—frescoes mostly. He’d recently lost his son, who’d worked with him, in a car accident and had booked the cruise to recover. The man was intelligent, interesting and seemed lonely rather than threatening. Their conversations had been relaxed and friendly on the surface…but Mike’s intuition was twitching. “There’s only so much real estate on a ship. We run into the same passengers frequently. Maybe he likes your technique for picking up sluts.” He smirked. “Or maybe he just likes you.”

The distraction worked. The Greek huffed. “I don’t bat for that team, and you know it, you bastard.”

“I figured you’d do just about anything for money.” In fact, Mike knew Giorgio had his own hoard of “private investments.” Tzekas had brokered several successful buys for himself and bungled one. Just more rope to hang his idiot self with. Mike inclined his head at the door. “I’m beat. Bye now.”

Giorgio hesitated. “Maybe we should tell the boss.”

That’s all he needed. For Megaera to climb all over his case again. Or worse, get suspicious and decide to micromanage the operation. “Report that you’re imagining some guy is looking at you? That would go over like a hooker at mass. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Giorgio shuffled his feet again. “Ariana Bennett’s mother is still aboard. Claims she’s not leaving until her daughter is found. You’re the one the boss usually contacts. Have you heard any news?”

“No.” Mike rolled his suddenly taut shoulders. Toward the beginning of the cruise, one of his genuine artifacts—an Olympian vase—had been accidentally broken in the library. He’d meticulously pieced it back together and discovered a shard missing. The sharp-eyed librarian had been suspicious of him since day one, and she’d been the only person nearby, the only one who could have taken it. She’d been poking her nose into things that didn’t concern her and asking questions, and Mike and Giorgio had reported her to the boss.

Then Ariana Bennett had disappeared.

“She’s been missing over a month.” Giorgio shifted. “Do you think she’s dead?”

“Not my concern.” Mike gulped the last of his whiskey. Truth was, he’d been growing antsy. Not about the nosy librarian’s welfare…but about his own. If she’d been killed because of his tip-off, it made him an accessory to murder. But he didn’t want Giorgio overthinking it. The moron was likely to bolt and leave him holding the bag. “You really had it bad for her, didn’t you? Quit whining over the one who got away. There are plenty of babes on this ship to keep you busy.”

Giorgio didn’t snap at the bait this time. “It will be your concern if Ariana is dead and her disappearance is linked to us.” The Greek’s forehead furrowed. “Murder carries a stiffer penalty than smuggling.”

Mike barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Don’t strain your brain cells, genius. “It’s too late for an attack of conscience, Tzekas. The boss is a pro. Megaera’s plans have worked brilliantly so far, even through the snafus.” He clapped a falsely friendly hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Keep the faith.”

Mike ushered Giorgio out and refilled his glass. From here on, his eyes and ears were wide-open. If he picked up a hint of trouble, he was a ghost. He would disappear and leave Megaera and her flunky to pay the price.

IMPRISONED IN the swaying belly of a seafaring monster, Ariana Bennett reluctantly floated to consciousness. Had she passed out? Been knocked out? She strained to see, but no light pierced the icy veil of smothering darkness.

No, she had died and gone to hell. Hades was cold and damp and black, and stank of fish and diesel fuel.

She tried to move. Her wrists, bound behind her back, throbbed in tandem with the pulsating heartbeat of twin engines. Her head pounded. Every breath dragged in her parched throat, and her body felt as battered as a discarded piñata.

Like many foolish souls before her, she had challenged the Fates—and lost. She moaned. She would have rather remained in the grip of somnolence. Oblivion was safer.

“Signorina Bennett?” The resonant baritone flavored with a rich Italian accent echoed from the abyss. “You are awake?”

She jerked. She wasn’t dead.

But she hadn’t escaped the devil.

“Where are you?” His deep voice in the black void seduced her with the promise of warmth. Compelled her to reply.

She compressed her lips. If he didn’t know, she wasn’t drawing him a map.

“Are you all right?”

That depended on his definition of all right. Surviving a mob kidnapping, yacht explosion, failed escape attempt and near drowning probably qualified. If she were a cat, she’d be eight lives short and counting.

“Ariana? It’s Dante.”

A shiver glided up her spine. As if she wouldn’t recognize the alluring voice of the man who had held her hostage for almost six weeks.

At the end of August, an antiquities dealer in the Naples market had directed her to a nearby archaeological dig. She’d found Dante excavating at the site. A fierce, dark Napoletano with a big, hard-muscled body and spine-tingling voice. She’d asked a few questions, and the mob had kidnapped her. She’d been interrogated and almost killed by Dante’s partner. Then she’d been drugged and awoken in a strange house. Alone with Dante.

“Answer me, bella. I am also a prisoner.”

She peered into the oily gloom. That was a new tactic. Fragmented memories of the previous night tumbled into place. Was this an elaborate plan to gain her cooperation? Signor Dante had held her captive for a month before bringing her aboard a yacht. They’d drifted around the Mediterranean nearly two more weeks. Yesterday, a fiery explosion had destroyed the yacht and in the melee, she had been forced to rely on Dante to get her to shore. She’d tried to escape from him, but a few bullets from a guy in a Zodiac and they’d both ended up prisoners.

“We must act. We may not have much time before they return.”

They? He actually sounded concerned. If this was a ruse, he’d done a superlative job. If their predicament was real, who would cross the mob by attacking him? Unless he wasn’t working with the Camorra, Naples’s Mafia. Perhaps the Camorra had hunted Dante down and incinerated the yacht. She closed her eyes. Impossible to think with a hammering headache.

Maybe Dante had gone rogue and kidnapped her solo. That would explain why he hadn’t hurt her. She was his investment. It also explained why she hadn’t been ransomed. Dante labored under the misimpression her family owned valuable antiques, although she’d explained multiple times that they were less fiscally solvent than dot-com investors.

“Trust me,” his low tone coaxed.

Right. And he had a cactus farm in Venice for sale. She cautiously shifted on the ice-cold floor, and her abused muscles shrieked. Were they both prisoners of the mob?

“Trust me, Ariana,” he repeated fervently.

Even before Dante had kidnapped her, she’d felt so alone. So isolated. Her mother disapproved of her job on the ship, and Ariana hadn’t been able to disclose the truth about her mission. Her father’s former contacts were leery of her motives. Ariana had made friends among the cruise-line staff, but she couldn’t confide in them about her plans to clear her father’s name. And she was suspicious of two employees who had expressed a little too much interest in her. The priest was savvy about antiquities and gave lectures to the passengers in the library, but Father Connelly’s disposition wasn’t exactly saintly. And First Officer Giorgio Tzekas was a player with more lines than the telephone company.

She wanted desperately to trust in something—trust someone. Dante had not threatened or hurt her. He’d calmly refuted her fear that he meant her harm, and remained cool and aloof…while implacably refusing to release her.

“I know you are listening, signorina. Why won’t you answer?”

How did he know? She gnawed at her lower lip. Logic had failed during her five-month journey to restore her father’s reputation. She’d gotten nowhere. A woman of order and reason, she had been thrust into an alien universe.

“San Gennaro, mio bello, aiutami tu!” Distress tinged his muttered exclamation. “If you wish to live, speak!”