Lie With Me / Destiny's Hand: Lie With Me

I leaned toward him. “How can I? I found that body on the beach. And Ariel asked for help. When she comes back I want to try and find a way to help her.”

Roman was about to say something else, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Look, if you’re going to try to persuade me to leave, you’re wasting your time. From the moment I stepped out of the taxi, I’ve been certain that I’m meant to be here.”

“Fate?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you so sure of that?”

It wasn’t skepticism I heard in his voice. If it had been, I probably would have kept my mouth shut. But the thing I was discovering about Roman was that he was a patient listener, down on the beach and again right now. He was an easy man to talk to. And sometimes truth was the most effective weapon.

Aunt Cass was always saying that the Fates only offered a choice. It was always up to the person to grab on to what was offered.

“I’m sure that Kit has told you that my family has a history of finding their soul mates here in Greece—first my mother and Aunt Cass and most recently my dad. So after you turned down my proposition at the hospital, I decided that I’d try my luck over here. Not that I’m looking for my true love—exactly. I’d settle for a really hot fling. But life is nothing if not ironic. Instead of finding a lover on the beach, I found a dead man.”

When Roman said nothing, I hurried on. “I’m convinced he’s just the beginning of the adventure. I know that the Fates have brought me here, and I’m not going to leave until I find out all that they have in store for me.”

There was a sort of nonplussed expression on Roman’s face that I’d never seen before. It gave me the courage to say, “Now that I’ve bared my soul to you, turnabout’s fair play. Why did you lie to Miranda and tell her you were Kit?”

I WISH THE HELL I knew. Roman had been pondering that very question ever since the lie had slipped so easily out of his mouth. He knew how to guard his tongue. He’d cultivated the skill in countless business negotiations. Still, he’d told Miranda he was Kit without missing a beat.

Why?

The surface answer was easy enough. “I’d already heard from Demetria that they had no rooms available. She offered to get me a room in the nearest village. There’s no way I’m leaving you here alone until this matter is sorted out.”

Her chin lifted in just the way he’d known it would. “I don’t need a big brother. I can handle myself.”

“You weren’t doing so well when I ran into you on the cliff path.”

“That was only because you were there. If you hadn’t been, I would have been fine.”

Roman didn’t doubt that for a moment. Still he was glad that he’d been there. He thought of what she’d looked like right after he’d apologized for kissing her and she’d knocked him flat on his ass. She’d reminded him of Aphrodite—beautiful, powerful and furious. A goddess you wouldn’t want to mess with. And he’d wanted her mindlessly. God help him, he still did.

And that was the other reason he’d lied to Miranda.

But what he said was, “You believe the sniper was shooting at the cat. Who’s to say his next shot wouldn’t have been aimed at you?”

She swallowed hard. “He missed the cat. Twice. Maybe he was just trying to scare us away so he could get rid of the body.”

Roman nodded. “That’s possible. But once we report all this to the inspector, and the shooter finds out you’re still here at the villa—not only here, but asking questions—he might decide you saw too much.”

“If you’re trying to frighten me—”

“I am.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Neither am I.”

There was a beat. Then Philly leaned forward and there was a glint in her eye he couldn’t recall seeing before. “Fine. But if we’re going to share the same room, I want to lay down some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” What in hell was coming next?

“You’re a businessperson. You must be familiar with the concept.” She lifted her wineglass and sipped. “The next time you kiss me—no pulling back, no apologies. You’d better be prepared to finish what you start.”

The challenge was clear in her voice, in her eyes. But he was saved from a direct reply when Miranda ushered a thin, wiry man of medium height and sharp, intelligent eyes onto the terrace.

“Philly, Kit, this is Inspector Ionescu,” Miranda said. “Inspector, these are my cousins from San Francisco.”

5

DURING THE TWO HOURS Roman and I had spent in the company of Inspector Ionescu, I’d learned he was a very professional and thorough man. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’d expected someone who was a bit more of a hick—or at the least someone more rumpled or cranky. The inspector was none of the above.

He sat across a table from me in a shaded and isolated part of the terrace flipping through a small notebook. The first word that had popped into my mind from the moment I’d seen him was dapper. He reminded me a bit of the actor who’d starred as Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot in the British television series. His build was thin and wiry. He wore neatly pressed khaki trousers, a short-sleeved shirt and tie and sturdy boots that had served him well when he’d accompanied Roman and me to the crescent-shaped beach where I’d last seen the body. I was hoping that I might catch a glimpse of Ariel on the way down, but I hadn’t.

Before we’d climbed down the cliff path, Ionescu had questioned Roman and me separately in Miranda’s office. Once we returned to the villa, he’d separated us again. Roman now sat several tables away, sipping coffee and chatting with Demetria.

Ionescu closed his notebook and glanced up at me. “Is there anything else you can tell me, Ms. Angelis?”

I pretended to think for a moment, and then I said, “No.”

Ionescu said nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Roman was perfectly at his ease while my stomach was knotted with nerves. I’d been lying to the inspector for two hours.

“You don’t have any idea of the identity of the young man you saw talking with the victim?”

“No.”

He was looking right into my eyes, and I prayed that he couldn’t read my mind. Because I did have an idea of who the younger man was. Still, I didn’t know for sure that it had been my cousin Alexi.

“Is there anything about what you’ve told me that you’d like to change?”

“No.” That was a lie also. Because I wanted very badly to tell him that Roman wasn’t my brother Kit. Roman and I had argued about that point on the beach while Ionescu had been some distance away searching the promontory of rocks near the Castello. I’d pointed out that the inspector was going to discover that Roman was lying anyway. He was definitely going to check our passports. Or he could privately Google Kit’s name if he didn’t want us to know he was curious about us. My brother Kit had two different Web sites—one for his P.I. business and the other for his novels. His picture was prominently displayed on both. All Roman had said was that he’d handle that when the time came.

Somehow I didn’t think Ionescu was going to approve of Roman’s timing.

When Ionescu slipped the small notebook into his pocket and rose, Roman walked to the table to join us. “All finished, Inspector?”

“For the moment. Have you thought of anything else I should know, Mr. Angelis?”

“No—I believe we’ve covered it all. What will you do next?”

“I’ll trace the owner of the cell phone Ms. Angelis found. Then we’ll have a name. Whether or not it belongs to the victim is another question. By tomorrow, I may have a report of a missing person, either from here or the Castello Corli. I’d like the two of you to keep yourselves available.” He handed Roman his card. “And if you think of anything else I need to know, please call me at once.”

After nodding at me, Ionescu moved toward the lobby. Roman and I watched him stop and speak to Miranda. To my surprise, he reached out and touched her arm in a gesture that spoke of comfort.

I murmured to Roman, “They know each other more than professionally.”

“If that’s true, then he knows Alexi also.”