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But the hurt he’d seen on her face… he didn’t know how he could ever set it to rights. The bed smelled of her. He allowed himself to pick up a pillow and press it to his face.
His gut clenched with regret. What had he done?
So she’d gone out with another guy.
One guy, in three years. Three years after hearing nothing from Carlo. Nada. Zip. Niente. He hadn’t so much as sent her a Christmas card. She could have remarried in the time it had taken him to get his act together.
He threw the pillow across the room with a guttural cry, then stood and stormed over to the window. Rome spread beneath him, but even the stunning view did nothing to quell his dark mood. He would go to her and apologise. He would find a way to erase what had just happened, because he had to. He couldn’t face losing her again.
A movement beneath the window caught his attention, and he scowled, leaning closer and scanning the driveway. A small white car, a fiat, was pulling to a stop. A taxi, he saw with a frown. His heart began to drop as Jane, a bag over one shoulder, stepped into it. It was unmistakably her. The blonde hair he’d run his fingers through only a little while earlier had been styled into a loose bun, and she’d changed into a pair of black pants and a pale pink sweater, but it was Jane.
He had not thought, for a single second, that she would actually leave his compound, and his protection.
His temperature sky-rocketed as he watched the taxi pull out of his home and head towards the city. Panic gripped him. As angry as she was with him, someone out there still wanted to hurt her.
Carlo had thought he could not feel any worse. He had hurt her, perhaps beyond repair. But he’d also pushed her right back into harm’s way.
He looked around for his phone, and saw it on his bedside table. He snatched it up, and dialled her number by heart. It rung out. He made a sound of frustration and dialled again. This time she hung up on him, without even letting it ring out. The third time he dialled her number, it went straight to voicemail. She’d switched her mobile off.
He groaned and dialled Elisabetta’s number instead.
“Si?” She spoke down the line in her usual no-nonsense way.
“I have a problem. I need your help.”
Elisabetta, had she not already been sitting down, would have fallen off her chair. Carlo Santini did not make a habit of asking for help. Nor did he sound desperate or worried, as he did in that moment.
“What is the matter?”
“It’s Jane.” Every fibre in Elisabetta’s body seemed to spark with electricity. Her military training flooded to the forefront.
“Has she been taken?”
“God, no.” Carlo could only pray no harm would come to her, because of his stupidity. “We argued. I was… I was… I was unreasonable. She’s upset.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “She left. I don’t know where she’s gone.”
“When?”
“Only a few minutes ago. In a taxi.”
“Right. I’ll pull the security feed and get the number plate. I’ll be able to track it through the depot, but it will not be instant. At least it can give us an idea of where she’s headed.”
Carlo nodded. Yes, that was good. He hadn’t thought of that. “Thank you.”
Elisabetta disconnected the call, resisting the urge to tell her boss and friend that he’d been an idiot. He already sounded as though he would never forgive himself. No good could come from making him feel even worse. Her priority was finding Jane.
She set to work, quickly navigating the Italian officials so that she could secure the necessary clearance to track Jane’s taxi. She only hoped she could find her quickly. Her eyes dropped to the computer screen, where her London replacement had emailed over yet another death threat. This time, it was far more sinister. A photograph of Jane, taken at close range, standing on Carlo’s balcony. Someone knew where she was, and it was highly likely they’d watched her get into the cab too. Elisabetta suspected she was not the only person tracking Jane’s movements. Unfortunately, whomever else was chasing Jane had the definite head start.
* * *
Jane’s eyes were stinging behind her oversized Balenciaga sunglasses. She stared across the square without really taking in the activity. People moved like an excited wave. Tourists mingled with locals, gypsies and children were color and noise. She was an unmoving object in the centre of it all. A solitary figure, cradling a milky coffee while everyone around her ate lunch and drank wine. She stared at the detailed architecture that surrounded her, wondering distractedly why she hadn’t come here more.
In a whole year of marriage, she’d done surprisingly little sightseeing. She’d watched the city from high up on the hill, rather than rolling up her sleeves and getting to know it.
Carlo had not included her in his life, but why hadn’t she made a life of her own? Why had she sat at home and waited for him? Why had she let herself be miserable for so long? Rejected and dejected, when this glorious city was at her feet.
She hunched her shoulders over and continued to watch, as a chubby toddler toppled to the ground and began to wail. Her mother quickly scooped her up, holding her to her chest and patting her back comfortingly.
Jane looked away. She had reconciled herself to the fact that she’d lost their baby, but seeing other little children still left her with a metallic taste in her mouth.
