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“You tookphotographs?” Jack snarls. His fingers curl sharply into my collarbones, making me writhe instinctively away.
Sandro leans forward to push me back firmly into the chair. “Why would you do something like that?” he hisses.
“Because Iassumedthey were Bernardis,” I hiss back. “And I wondered if Leo had sent them, after our littlecontretempsat The Cellar. And if he hadn’t, then I still wanted to see if he knew who they were.”
Sandro looks at Jack. I can’t see Jack’s expression, but the grip on my shoulders lessens. “You expect us to believe two of Legs Liggari’s halfwits got the jump onyou?” Jack asks, skeptical.
“My mind was on other things,” I tell them loftily. Damn Leo.He’sthe reason I’m in this mess. I was too busy being irritated with him to watch my back. “Will you two stop doing that? It’s very rude.”
“What?” Jack asks, coming around to look me in the eye at last. I’m not sure who would win in a fight between us, but I’m glad I don’t have to find out today.
“Having a silent conversation between yourselves.” I look from Jack to Sandro. “I can show you the photos, if you like.”
They do it again, share silent thoughts in a glance, and then Sandro gives me a hard look. “Show us.”
Lucky I thought to chuck my phone in my robe pocket before I came down. I fish it out, unlock it, and hand it to Sandro. As soon as he sees the pictures, his face tightens. Jack moves closer to get a better look over Sandro’s shoulder. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees the men’s faces, like he recognizes them. His eyes flick back to mine and this time, there’s speculation in them.
Sandro swears softly under his breath, then silently hands the phone to Jack before turning away to pace across the room. “These are the men,” he says. “The men from Liggari’s port crew.”
But I still watch Jack closely. He stares too hard at the pictures, and then at me. There are calculations going on in his head, and I don’t think I’m going to like his conclusions.
“They really attacked you?” Sandro asks, but all the heat has died out of him.
He believes me. I’m rather shocked.
“They really did.”
“But Julian,” Jack says slowly, “why didn’t you recognize them?”
I turn my exasperated attention back to Jack. “I told you. They were wearing balaclavas. They didn’t stop to introduce themselves, either.”
Jack won’t be dissuaded. “No.Afteryou pulled up the balaclavas. How did you not recognize them then?”
I roll my eyes. “Is there some reason I should?”
“Yeah,” Jack says, and once again I picture that dog snuffling around for a buried bone. “Zanetti used to be your bodyguard, until he got moved to the port. And Allegrini was your driver for a while.”
I stare blankly at the pictures, and then up at Jack. He watches me closely. “I don’t bother myself to remember peons, Jack.”
“But you remember them now?”
“I suppose so.”
Sandro has taken notice. This isn’t good. “What is all this?” he asks Jack. “What point are you trying to make?” But he sounds interested, not annoyed, which is bad news for me.
“Just a minute.” Jack pulls out his own phone and taps at it for a few minutes, then holds it out to me. “Who’s this?” he asks.
It’s a glamorous redhead at a red carpet event. “Roxanne Rochford.”
“No,” he says. “This is a photo of Miller’s sister from a few years back. Anaïs Beaumont.”
“I’m afraid one Hollywood redhead looks very much like another to me.”
Sandro studies both of us intently.
“I don’t see what this has to do with what happened last night,” I try.
But Jack just won’t be dissuaded. He taps away again, then shows me another photograph. “Who’s this?”
