Page 46

We’re in a hotel. I don’t know which one. Some grand old dame near the park. Everything else is a blur as Marco bustles me in and up the elevator. It’s only after I step into the room that I turn to him.

“You’re… PCTracy?”

Marco steps toward me, his lips curving in a smile. When I back away, that smile twists with chagrin.

“All right,” he murmurs. “Not exactly the way I imagined this.” He clears his throat. “Largo di Torre Argentina.”

“What?”

“It was our second date. We were looking at the Largo di Torre Argentina. You said you’d read a mystery where someone was murdered there, at the same place Caesar was presumably assassinated, but seeing it, you realized the writer had never been to Rome, because the scene made no sense.

That got us talking about mysteries and then about classic mysteries and then about–”

“ Dick Tracy ,” I say. “You’d read the old comics as a kid.”

“I thought you might get the connection, but I also knew it was a long time ago, a passing conversation.”

“You pretended to be a private investigator?”

His brows shoot up. “Pretended?”

I eye him and then lean back against the wall, arms crossed. “So when you said you wished you could fly out and help, but you’d just make things worse? Because you’re only a tour guide and bike courier?”

“Uh…”

I give him a hard look.

Marco sighs. “Yes, I lied, but if I admitted I’d been an investigator, you would have still insisted I stay home so I couldn’t be implicated. If I showed up anyway, you’d have blamed yourself for not making your point strenuously enough.”

“You decided it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

“More like I decided to take full responsibility for my actions. I will explain everything, but right now, I’m a little more concerned with what just happened.”

“The paparazzi finding me?”

Now I’m the one getting a hard look. “You know that isn’t what I mean, Gen. As for them finding you, though, that was Justice’s fault.”

Before I can speak, he hurries on. “No, he didn’t rat you out.

The paparazzi were following him . Then they spotted you .

Back to the real topic of concern, though…

” He lifts the bundled jacket and opens it to reveal a silenced handgun.

“I know it takes a lot to rattle you, Gen, but the way you handled that tells me it’s not the first time he’s come after you.

He was the guy in the park, wasn’t he? I didn’t get a good look at the time, but you obviously did. ”

I hesitate. Then I nod.

Marco sets the jacket and gun down. “Was the park the first time you’d seen him?”

“I… I don’t think so.”

I tell him about the attack outside the sandwich shop, and then about the man I’d briefly spotted the night before.

He lets out a string of curses in Italian and sinks onto the bed. “So, after you’d been held at knifepoint in an alley, I suggested you spend the night in Central Park.”

“I wasn’t sure the alley encounter was connected to Isabella’s death. I didn’t want to seem…”

“Paranoid. I get that. But if you’d told me, I would have been paranoid for you.”

More curses as he shakes his head. “I should have told you the truth right after the park attack. Instead, I was in a panic over what happened and just wanted…”

“To put me safely in a hotel and shower me with goodies.”

He exhales as he raises his eyes to mine. “I’m sorry, Gen. I’ve made a mess of this, and I could have gotten you killed.”

I look at the gun. “Pretty sure you just saved me from getting killed.”

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t have needed to if I’d told you who I was two days ago.”

“If you had, I’d have sent you back to Rome for your own good.” I move to the bed and straddle his lap. “Let’s skip the blame game. We have a lot to talk about but right now…”

I hug him tight and whisper in his ear, “I love you.”

He gives a start at that, obviously not what he expected, and then he takes my face between his hands and tugs it in front of his. “I would say it back, but it’s never quite the same in response. I think you know how I feel. At least, I hope you do.”

“I kept things from you. Huge things. And when I was accused of murder, you flew across an ocean to help.” I put m y arms around his neck. “Yes, I think I know how you feel about me.”

I bring my lips to his, and he lowers me onto the bed.

An hour later, I’m watching Marco sleep. I’m still struggling to fully comprehend what he did. I should have figured it out. The Dick Tracy reference, the food, the fact that we got along so well…

The last is both unsettling and deeply, deeply satisfying. Unsettling because it makes me realize what I could have lost.

My tour-guide and bike-courier lover used to be a private investigator.

I should be shocked. I’m not. You can’t spend two years with a guy and not realize he’s done more than his current jobs suggest. I knew Marco had an undergrad degree.

I knew just how smart he was. I suspected something had happened to make him decide on a quieter life, careerwise.

I’d done the same. So I’m fascinated by his past, but surprised? No.

I’m still watching Marco when one eyelid flutters. One eye opens and then the other.

“Are you watching me sleep?” he says. “You know that’s creepy. I’d never do it to you. Especially not when you’re sleeping in a park.”

I kiss his cheek. “This place is a whole lot nicer than a park. A little too nice if I’m being honest.” I look around the room. “Don’t tell me you’re also a secret millionaire.”

“One quarter.”

I arch my brows.

“I have a modest trust fund that makes me roughly a quarter of a millionaire. I suspect it’s higher now because I haven’t touched it in years and my parents are nothing if not good investors.”

Marco has never talked much about his family except to say he comes from a big Italian one, but contra-stereotype, they aren’t particularly close.

When he doesn’t elaborate, awkward silence falls. A silence that it’s my job to fill because there’s something I really need to say.

“I am so sorry, Marco. I lied to you. Lied about who I was. Lied about my past. Lied about why I was coming to New York. I’m not who you thought I was.”

He touches my chin. “You are Genevieve Callahan. You are from Albany. Your mother is a retired school teacher, and your dad died when you were five. You went to Juilliard for viola. I know all that, and all of it is true. You are smart. You are kind. You are funny and sweet and good. You didn’t lie about who you are , Gen. ”

My cheeks heat at the compliments. “I still should have told you the rest. You suffered for that. They exposed you online and threatened your job, and you couldn’t even say that you already knew about my past. I never gave you that opportunity, and I’m sorry.”

“I accept the apology. But to me, you didn’t lie. You just omitted things. We both avoided talking about our pasts. I kept a lot from you, too, as you may be realizing now.”

“Did you sleep with a celebrity? Please tell me you did.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, no. My downfall was worse… and far more mundane.” He rolls onto his back and pulls me on top of him. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Well, you know I got my bachelor’s degree in the US. I a lso went to law school here. I clerked in a defense attorney’s office, where I ended up doing more investigative work than clerking. After my second time failing the bar exam, I had an epiphany. If I wanted to pass, I needed to study.”

I smile. “I’ve heard that.”

“Weird, huh? The real epiphany was that there was a reason I wasn’t studying. I didn’t want to practice law. Never had. It was my parents’ game plan. Instead, I’d discovered a career I actually enjoyed.”

“Investigating.”

“Yep. I gave up on law, and the firm hired me on full-time. My parents were furious. Disowned me. Did you know that’s actually a thing? I figured it was just something people did in historical novels. Apparently not.”

He’s making light, but old confusion and hurt cloud his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Marco.”

He shrugs. “We were never close. I went to school in the US to get away from them. When I gave up law, they severed ties in hopes it’d scare me into changing my mind.

Instead, I opened my trust fund, paid them back for my tuition, and stayed in America as an investigator.

Fast-forward three years. We were representing this guy in court – a real son-of-a-bitch – and I met his wife.

She came to me later, asking for help gathering incriminating evidence against her husband for a divorce suit. ”

“Ah.”

“It wasn’t anything to do with his less-than-legal activities. That would have been a violation of my employment contract. Still… let’s just say I didn’t tell my boss. What she wanted was evidence of infidelity. Typical PI work, and not my thing but…”

His cheeks heat, and he rubs a hand over his face. “I know this reflects badly on me, so I’m just going to get it out in the open. She was very pretty and very fragile, and my chivalric streak exploded.”

“You had a fling with her.”

“I almost wish I could say yes, because the truth seems even more embarrassing.”

“That you helped her without getting any?” I waggle my brows.

“Oh, it was on offer from the start, but I was being a gentleman. I’d see her through the divorce and then hope for more than a weekend fling. I didn’t want to take advantage of her fragility, especially considering she was in an abusive marriage.”

“Ouch.”

“The more she shared, the more I wanted to kill the guy. Then she asked me to kill him. Came to me in tears with fresh bruises, begging me to get rid of him so we could be together. That’s when the alarm bells clanged.”

“There was no abuse.”

“Exactly. While I felt like a bastard for doubting her, I had to investigate. Turned out her husband was an asshole, but he wasn’t abusing her.

She just wanted his money, and I was the chump who’d help her get it.

As I was deciding how to handle the situation, her husband wound up dead in an alley. ”

“Damn.”