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CHAPTER ONE
Larissa Day moved swiftly along the canal. A dense fog had settled in, blanketing Venice in a thick deep gray cloud. The night air was thick, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders to keep from shivering. Why she’d agreed to come to Venice was beyond her. It had seemed so easy, so simple when she was back home in New York. Now, though, she regretted coming with every step.
A splash made her pause, her boots no longer clicking on the cobblestone street. She peered through the darkness, but the writhing mist blocked her view. Ridiculous, she scolded herself. She was letting the city and the fog get to her.
She continued walking along the ancient cobblestones. The anonymous note she’d received had said to follow this canal until she came to the pretty bridge. What did that mean? Whose idea of pretty? Nonetheless, she continued. She had passed only one bridge so far and it had been nondescript.
She shivered once more in the damp darkness. The elegant blue dress she’d put on was a ridiculous choice now that she thought about it. She’d wanted to be…presentable when she met whomever she was meeting, which seemed downright stupid now as she was freezing her butt off.
She peered into the darkness ahead. The streetlights were as fog-bound as everything else, making them as useless as a bucket under a bull. She didn’t bother pulling out her cell. Reception in Venice was spotty at best. Besides, who would she call?
The idiocy of what she was doing settled deeper into her soul with every step, like a rock skimming the surface of a pond, rippling over her nerves. When the note that promised the truth about her birth with directions to come to Venice had appeared in her mail, she’d hopped on the first plane. Was she really that desperate? Her friends all told her not to go. Not by herself at least. Wait until one of them could go with her. But she’d gone on her own.
They didn’t understand. Not knowing her origins had impacted her life, like having a puzzle with a missing piece. Missing the entire picture left her off-kilter, and frankly, most of her friends would agree, a little ditzy.
As if to prove that point, she stumbled on a loose brick on the walkway.
Her adoptive parents had been wonderful people and she missed them more than she could stand. But the idea of finally knowing the truth? Finally understanding where she’d come from and who her people were? That was too much of a draw to not come, to even hesitate to come. Being on the outside of life looking in sucked, but that was how she felt every day. Permanently locked out. She needed to know who her biological family was and where she came from. She was done with banging on the door to be let in.
Another thing her friends chided her about was the fundamental feeling she’d had about herself all her life; that she was somehow special, or maybe different was a better word, than those around her. Her adoptive parents had called those feelings fantasy, but she knew differently. It hadn’t gone away as she reached adulthood. Her belief had intensified as she aged. A fact that could explain why she was hurrying through the fog-shrouded night a world away from her home.
A stranger had promised to tell her the truth. She’d do almost anything to find out her truth.
Ahead, a bridge emerged from the fog. A massive stone deck spanned the canal, but the balustrade was done in intricate metal work. The black wrought iron was hard to see in the darkness but as the mist lifted, excitement zipped through her torso. This had to be the bridge that the note referenced. It was picturesque.
She paused at the bottom of the bridge and took a deep breath, the mist filling her lungs, the damp making her shiver. She moved tentatively, one foot inching forward, then the other. Her heart pounded faster with each step. Would she finally learn the truth?
She walked to the top of the bridge and stood there, gripping the iron railing. The mist-shrouded night muted all sound. No people, no wildlife. Not even moving water. Had it all been a lie? Some kind of bad joke? She glanced at her watch. The note hadn’t specified a time, just a day, or rather, a night and a location. Was she to wait for hours?
Time ticked by slowly. Gradually she became aware of a scent. She couldn’t quite make it out. The familiar scent triggered something but what that was eluded her grasp. Sound shattered the night, loud and aggressive. She ducked and turned toward the racket, squinting into the fog. What the hell was it? The mist swirled as if being disturbed by someone’s approach, and the sound grew louder. She took a step forward just as a form emerged from the darkness. Instinctively, she threw herself backward, lost her balance, and plunged over the railing into the canal below. Icy water dragged her under. She fought against it, fought to get to the surface, but the water would not let her go.
CHAPTER TWO
“E ancora viva?” the man demanded as he leaned over Cash Walker’s shoulder.
“What?” Cash grunted as he checked the pulse on the body he’d just pulled from the canal. He tilted her head back on the cobblestones, tucked two fingers under her chin, and blew air into her lungs. He’d had no intention of jumping in after the woman when he saw her go over the railing. The canals aren’t that deep and he assumed she would just pull herself out but when she hadn’t broken the surface again, he’d decided he had to go in and pull her out. He’d had a hand in putting her in there and explaining a dead body to the police was not on his yearly bingo card.
He continued to push his breath into her lungs. Come on, breathe.
She started coughing and his shoulders sagged. Crisis averted. He turned her on her side. She coughed some more, spewing out canal water from her lungs. Her eyelids flickered and she looked up at him.
Violet. Could that be right? Her eyes were violet at least in this light. There was only one woman he’d ever met with violet eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he shoved her long blond hair back from her face. He wouldn’t be human if he hadn’t stopped to check her out. Maybe one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen. Sculpted cheekbones and full lips, but her violet eyes mesmerized him. Another round of coughing took hold of her, and she gasped for breath.
“Call nine-one-one.” Cash barked the command at the man whose gaze was still riveted on the woman.
“Che cosa?” the man asked and then frowned. “What?” he asked again.
“Call for help.”
“Ah,” the man’s face lit with understanding. “It’s one-one-two,” and he smiled.
Cash didn’t care if it was six-six-six, he just wanted to get the woman some help. She shouldn’t have been on the damn bridge in this fog. Had he realized what was about to happen, he would’ve stopped it and he could’ve, easily, but the fog had blocked his view and then it was too late. It was his fault this gorgeous creature ended up almost drowning in the canal.
The man spoke into his cell phone in rapid-fire Italian. The black scarf wrapped around his neck fluttered in the wind. Cash shivered. The air was crisp, and the breeze made his wet clothing stick uncomfortably to his skin. The dress shirt and dark dress pants were perfect for the dinner he’d just attended with members of the Lock and Key Society, but not helpful now in the cold of spring in Venice. The fog accentuated his soggy condition and crept into his bones. Being cold from the inside out sucked, but it had to be worse for the beautiful woman.
She rested her head on the cobblestones after a particularly harsh round of coughing. A small silver Celtic cross dangled from a delicate chain around her neck. In the center of the cross was a blood-red stone. The hair on his arms lifted. He’d only ever seen one other necklace like this, and it was around the neck of a member of the Lock and Key Society, a member who had been murdered. Blood thrummed in his veins. Alicia. The other woman he knew with violet eyes. He searched this woman’s face. The light was feeble but the similarities stood out like a beacon. This woman must be related to Alicia, but what did that mean?
