Page 45
“Why? This is an excellent opportunity for her.”
“An excellent opportunity? Yeah, for you to humiliate her for making an honest mistake.” I stepped closer to him and he studied me carefully.
“Diana certainly did not exaggerate your protective streak.” I stood up straighter, my ego pathetically inflated by her this description of fake fiancé Levi. I had always been watching out for her—and that’s why I’d come.
My determination to leave Diana alone faltered again. I didn’t trust Harris. But if Diana wanted me to go, I wasn’t going to force my presence or my bad luck on her.
By the time we made it back to the house, the other guests had arrived. The garden was teeming with smartly dressed academic types and I felt distinctly out of place in my jeans. But before I could head up to the room to change and find Indy, I heard Signora Visconti call my name.
“Levi!” Signora Visconti cried and immediately enveloped me in her arms. “Just in time! We are about to begin. Diana has been worried about you.”
My eyes shot to Indy’s. Relief and then anger flashed over her features as she took in my disheveled appearance. I made my way over to her and placed my hand on the small of her back. She stiffened, and her hand came to her throat as she took a sip of lemonade.
“I thought you’d left me again,” she whispered, and the unspoken hurt and panic in her voice was like a kick in the knees, throwing me off-balance. I’d left her once and I’d hurt her. I couldn’t do it again, even if my intentions were good.
“Does this mean you want me to stay?” I whispered in her ear. She turned to look at me, her eyes searching mine. I could only imagine what she saw there. I was too tired to hide it—my sadness, my grief, my goddamn insecurity about her safety, and most of all my need to be near her.
“Yes, Levi. I need you.” And that’s all it took to throw my all my good intentions out the window.
Chapter 17
Levi
Iwent to our room to change because it had gotten chilly and found a series of anxious messages from Gonzo on my phone.
Where the hell are you man? Anderson is pissed!
You owe me big time. I came up with an excuse about a family emergency. Give me a call when you can.
I wrote back quickly: You didn’t have to do that, man.
Thank god he had. I shouldn’t have blown off Anderson like that. Not when I still didn’t know if I wanted to stay in the Air Force. and being so cavalier I’d have a lot to make up for when I got back.
When I returned to the garden, Signora Visconti was explaining the day’s program to the guests. The famous Signore Visconti stood next to her, a small man with a glossy bald forehead and white hair.
“We’re going to the Laboratorio!” Diana squeezed my arm, giddy with excitement, when I reached her side. Seeing my befuddlement, Indy pointed to a small island in the middle of the lake. “It’s a research lab on a private island and where Signore Visconti keeps his most priceless objects. He loans them out to museums sometimes, but it’s essentially his private collection. It’s almost all Etruscan. You have to be very far up the archaeological food chain to even step foot there.”
Signora Visconti tapped a silver spoon against a crystal vase. “Teams of four, please.”
As croquet mallets and glasses of champagne were passed around, I whispered to Indy, “This sure beats beer pong.”
She elbowed me and I seized the occasion to grab hold of her arm and steer her near the Viscontis, figuring that if we teamed up with them, she’d have time to talk about her research. However, before we could get to them the Harris beat us to it. Another man, a lean Italian in a blue suit approached them as well.
“That’s Professor Harris’s rival Bruno Marcangeli. He’s based in Bologna,” Indy explained.
“He’s also Helen’s luh-vuh . . .” sang Sabrina behind us. Indy shushed her with a worried glance in her boss’s direction. “We don’t know that.”
“I do,” said Pete matter-of-factly. Indy rolled her eyes.
“Have you talked to Signore Visconti yet?” I asked, setting up my ball and mallet.
“No, whenever I go near him, Harris shows up with some menial task for me and Pete. We spent the last two hours compiling packets about our project for the guests.” She bent over and slapped her ball into mine.
“Hey!” I protested then glanced over at Harris who was checking his phone. “You’re right. Harris is up to something. When I was in the woods earlier, I overheard him on the phone talking about keeping something secret.”
Indy sighed. “He is not ‘up to something.’ He’s got a lot on his plate, publishing his latest book, overseeing the dig . . .”
“Technically, we’re doing that,” Sabrina said pointing her mallet at Pete and herself. “And ‘Leroy’s’ right. Harris is acting cagier than usual, don’t you think, Peter Pan?”
