No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 26

  “Perfectly. I’m putting together a foolproof plan as we speak.”

  “Just get it done with extreme haste. I don’t know how much more time we have. The pope is looking more frail with every passing day. The future of the church is in our hands. We cannot fail.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Your Eminence. I’ll contact you the moment we have anything.”

  Jacopo hung up the phone, leaning back on the cushions and resting his feet on an ottoman. Everything was falling into place. The coalition had been formed and cemented, the pope’s health was rapidly declining, and his biggest threat was about to be neutralized. All he needed was that DNA to seal the deal. He had no doubt Slash was Armando’s son and he’d prove it with or without Slash’s permission. He wasn’t about to let anyone, especially a man as damaged as Viper, stand in the way of his crowning moment.

  He was going to lead the Catholic Church into the new age.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Lexi

  When I woke in the morning, I felt something heavy on my stomach area. Light streamed in from the window; I’d forgotten to close the curtains. I blinked several times and reached down, feeling around until I picked up the object.

  It was a potato.

  I turned it over in my hand. A small, ordinary, brown potato.

  “Why is there a potato in my bed?” I asked no one in particular.

  When I sat up, I spotted Principessa in one corner of the bedroom, licking a paw and staring at me.

  “Did you put a potato in my bed?” I wagged the potato at her. “Because that’s just weird.”

  The cat tossed her tail and exited the room with a huffy glance at me.

  Sighing, I set the potato on the dresser and got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I was going to cook in jeans, but I was out of sundresses, skirts and cool blouses. I needed to do laundry badly.

  I was fastening my jeans, which seemed a bit tight, when Slash walked into the room. He pulled me into his arms and nuzzled my neck. “I missed you last night, but I fell asleep faster than I expected.”

  “Me, too.” I looked down and noticed he’d replaced the larger bandages around his hand with slightly thinner ones. “How are your hands?”

  “Better. Nonna had some smaller bandages that give me a bit better flexibility. Check your hands after you shower and see if these will work better for you, too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out my engagement ring. “Then you’ll be able to wear this again.” He set it on the sewing table.

  I took it from him, holding it between my fingers. “It seems odd to miss a piece of jewelry, but I do. Do you think we can also do laundry before we leave? I’m getting kind of desperate for clean clothing.”

  “Si. Give me your clothes and I’ll get a load of our stuff started. While it’s washing, I’m going to go to the store for Nonna.” He glanced over at the dresser and then back at me. “Why do you have a potato in here?”

  I picked up the potato and tossed it at him. He caught it one-handed. “I have no idea. It was on my stomach when I woke up. I think the cat dragged it in and put it there.”

  “The cat put a potato on your stomach?”

  I loved him, but right now I didn’t like the look on his face. “Yes, the cat. Who else would do it? Don’t look at me like that. There was no potato on the bed last night, and this morning a potato magically appears on my stomach. Then I see the cat over there in the corner watching me. You have no idea how devious she is. It’s like she’s stalking me or something.”

  Slash raised an eyebrow. “The cat?”

  “If you say ‘the cat’ in that tone one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

  His lips twitched as he scooped Principessa up and scratched between her ears. The cat meowed and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “I will endeavor to make sure the animal-that-may-not-be-named stays out of your way.”

  “I think she’s jealous.”

  “The cat?” He held up one hand. “No. Pretend I didn’t say that.” He slipped out of the room, carrying Principessa and giving me a grin over his shoulder.

  That cat was driving me nuts.

  I took a quick shower and examined my hands. The burns were still raw and tender, but improving. When I got out, I dried my hands, added the ointment and rebandaged using the smaller wraps Slash had provided. It felt good to more easily flex my hands and slip the engagement ring back on my finger. I took a minute to admire it before I went downstairs.

  Nonna was alone in the kitchen, cooking again. “Buongiorno, Lexi!” she said cheerfully.

  “Buongiorno, Nonna,” I looked around the kitchen. “Dov’è Slash?”

  “Ah, lui è al mercato,” she answered.

  Mercato. Market. Yep, Slash must have already left for the market. She insisted I sit at the table and poured hot milk from an aluminum pot into a mug that sat in front of me. I took a sip. It was hot, delicious and seasoned with some mild spices.

  She set a plate of hard biscuits in front of me, mimicking how I should dunk them in the milk to eat. I followed her instructions and ate them, the milk dribbling off my chin. The biscuits were followed by a plate of fresh fruit and what was surely freshly squeezed orange juice. Just like that I was stuffed, and I’d barely got out of bed.

  Eventually she joined me at the table, sipping coffee of her own and nibbling on a biscuit. I pulled out my cell phone, thinking about using my phone translator so we could actually have a conversation, when there was an abrupt knock at the back door.

  The knock surprised her, and she frowned. Maybe people didn’t often knock on her back door. Or knock at all. I wondered if she ever locked her door.

  Before she could respond, two men opened the door and stepped in. Possibly neighbors or friends, but I wasn’t getting that vibe from Nonna.

  She stood and started speaking to them angrily in rapid Italian. I didn’t like how this was playing out, so I was coming to my feet as one of the guys shoved her back into the chair.

  “Whoa,” I said jumping between them and holding out a hand. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

  The guy muscled me aside, pushing me back until my butt was against the stove. I reached behind me, searching for some kind of weapon. I grabbed a wooden spoon dripping with tomato sauce and brandished it at them threateningly.

  “Who are you?” I said in English.

  They ignored me. The muscled guy stayed where he was, effectively trapping me against the stove while the other disappeared into the house.

  “Where are you going?” I shouted after the guy.

  No one responded. I debated taking on muscle guy—not that I had much of a chance of winning—but I didn’t like what was happening. Still, I considered the option on the table if he made any other move.

  The second guy came back almost immediately and said something to muscle guy before whipping a phone out of his pocket and speaking rapidly in Italian. Then he returned the phone and walked over to me. Muscle guy moved aside.

  “Where is the man?” he said in halting English.

  “The man?” I repeated, pretending not to understand.

  He jabbed a finger toward my chest. “Yes. Your man. Where is he?”

  Slash. They were looking for Slash. I had to figure a way to stall them. “Look, dude, I’m just visiting my grandmother. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He narrowed his eyes, then strode over to Nonna, asking her something in Italian. She spit on him, so he gripped her jaw, and the second he touched her, I’d had enough. I jumped on his back, screeching like a banshee and poking the wooden spoon at the most vulnerable spot of his body, given my position—his eyes.

  He shouted and released Nonna, trying to buck me off. Muscle Guy tried to grab me, but my poking was causing his comrade to stagger all over the kitchen, and he couldn’t get a good grip. I was pretty sure I scored
a hit at least once in the eyes because he roared in pain and slammed me hard between his body and the wall, trying to loosen my grip around his neck. A picture of Jesus and some decorative plates fell, but I held on tight.

  Muscle Guy finally managed to grab my arm, when a ten-pound gray missile abruptly shot onto the back of his neck, scratching and biting.

  Muscle Guy immediately let go of me, clutching his neck and screaming.

  “Get him, Principessa,” I shouted as all hell broke loose.

  Nonna shrieked at the top of her lungs and started throwing dishes, glasses and whatever was handy at both men. Principessa got her claws tangled in the guy’s shirt, so she was slashing at him fiercely to get free, and scratching the hell out of him in the process. Apparently Muscle Guy was allergic or deathly afraid of cats, because he was so panicked he staggered around the kitchen shouting and bumping into everything he could, trying to get her off. I was still hanging on tight around the other guy’s neck when we swerved near the stove. I dropped the spoon and grabbed the pot of hot milk, saying a small prayer of thanks that my bandages actually worked as kind of a pot holder. I dumped the milk over his head and jumped off his back.

  He screamed as the scalding liquid splashed over him. As he swiped at his face trying to see, I snatched the iron skillet from the stove. It was filled with something that smelled delicious, probably our lunch, so I felt sincere regret when I brained Muscle Guy as he was trying to smash Principessa against the wall. Hot food splattered across him and most of the kitchen. The cat miraculously freed her claws from his clothes and streaked into the living room. Muscle Guy went down like a sack of potatoes, hitting his head on the corner of the kitchen table on the way to the floor.

  He stayed down.

  I was panting with exertion and adrenaline when the other intruder stalked toward me. His face was burned and raw, his expression murderous. He smelled like cinnamon, tomato sauce and Italian sausage. Taking a step back, I held up the skillet and wielded it like I was at bat.

  “Don’t do it,” I warned, hoping I looked like a badass instead of a scared geek.

  Scowling, he pulled out a gun from beneath his shirt. Totally not fair.

  Another step backward and my rear end hit the wall. I was trapped. I held the skillet out in front of me like a shield. I tried to calculate the odds I could accurately deflect a bullet with the skillet at this close range. The odds were so inestimably low, I gave up.

  He is going to shoot me dead in Nonna’s kitchen.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Lexi

  I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the shot. A thud, crack and loud thump sounded, but I didn’t feel any pain. When I opened my eyes, I saw the guy lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  Nonna stood behind him, wielding her oxygen tank and looking supremely pissed off.

  “Holy crap!” I gasped, my eyes widening. “You flattened him, Nonna.”

  She dropped the oxygen tank and said one word, “Chierchetto!”

  Little altar boy. I got the message loud and clear. They were after Slash, and he was in danger.

  I grabbed the guy’s gun from the floor and stuck it in the waistband of my jeans. Then I patted down the guy I’d clocked with the skillet. Not surprisingly, he had a gun, too. I handed that one to Nonna and pointed it at the guys on the floor. She understood. Snatching my phone off the table, I punched in Slash’s number. After three rings he picked up.

  “Cara?”

  “Slash!” I shouted. “You’re in danger. Two men were here at the house looking for you. Nonna and I took them out, but there might be more out there trying to find you.”

  There was a long silence before he spoke. “Two men at the house? You and Nonna...took them out?”

  “Yes. It’s a long story. Where are you? I can come—”

  “I’ve got to go, cara,” he said suddenly. “I’ve got company.” His phone clicked off.

  By this time, Nonna was in the backyard, yelling something at the top of her lungs. I presumed she was alerting the entire neighborhood of our situation. In under a minute, her kitchen was full of neighbors talking at a decibel level higher than a rock concert. Two large guys were checking out our prone intruders, making sure they wouldn’t wake and make a run for it. Nonna was front and center, talking in rapid-fire Italian, her hand with the gun waving all over the place. Deciding it would be safer, I took it from her and set it on the kitchen table. A man in the corner of the kitchen was talking loudly on his cell phone. I hoped to God he was talking to the police.

  I hated to be rude, but I needed to get everyone’s attention. I stood on a kitchen chair and, putting my fingers together in my mouth, whistled loudly. The room fell quiet as everyone stared.

  “Nonna, which way to the market?” I yelled. My heart pounded so hard I could barely breathe. “Slash. Mercato? Dov’è?”

  I tried to keep my voice calm, but I was pretty sure I was seconds from losing it. Our eyes met for a worried moment, then she pointed west.

  While the neighbors watched openmouthed, I launched off the chair like Wonder Woman and dashed for the front door, tore it open then flew down the driveway. Our rental car was still there, so Slash had apparently gone to the market on foot. I briefly considered taking the car, but if he were on foot, he might have taken a shortcut and I might miss him. After calculating the approximate distance to the market on both foot and car and figuring it was a difference of only five minutes, I decided by foot would be the best solution.

  I ran along the road, panting and sweating, while looking for footpaths that might represent a shortcut to the market. Panic gripped my throat as I bolted past a small meadow and heard shouting coming from a small grove of trees ahead. Veering right, I dashed down a small incline toward the trees to check it out. I screeched to a stop in the shadow of one of the trees, spotting Slash in the middle of a clearing taking on four guys with nothing but his fists. One was already down and unmoving, but the other four were advancing on him, two of them with knives.

  Five against one was not a fair fight.

  I removed the gun from my waistband and held it in front of me like an actor in a bad movie. I wanted to rush toward Slash and start shooting everyone in sight, but I had to calm myself down and do this properly. If I rushed in and lost the gun, or shot Slash by accident, I wouldn’t be helping either one of us.

  I could hear Slash’s voice in my head. Operational and situational awareness is key.

  A visual sweep of the area didn’t reveal anyone else lurking around or a nearby vehicle parked by the side of the road. My best guess would be they’d followed him on foot from the market and that was who the guy in our house had been calling.

  A plan came to me, and I yanked the phone out of my back pocket, pushed some buttons, then replaced it.

  I looked up as Slash hit one guy hard, bringing him down. Unfortunately, two others got him from behind and wrestled him to the ground hard, hitting him.

  Time to act.

  I pulled out the gun, made sure the safety was off and ran out from behind the shadow of the tree with a determined stride.

  “Hey, jerkwads!” I yelled.

  The guys looked up and stepped back from Slash when they saw I had a gun pointed at them.

  “Move away.” I waved the gun to the side in case they didn’t understand. They hesitated, then the sound of sirens wailed and they abruptly took off running, two of them hooking an arm under the armpits of their unconscious buddy and dragging him along.

  The second they were out of sight, I ran to Slash, skidding to my knees on the grass beside him. “Slash, are you okay?”

  He gently pushed the gun away from his chest and took it from me, struggling to a sitting position. “Good timing.” His bottom lip was split and bleeding, his left jaw bruised. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “You
called the police?”

  “No.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and turned off the siren. “I pulled up a European siren on my phone and put it on a timer. I didn’t know the Italian version of 9-1-1 and even if I did, I had no way of explaining what was happening or where I was. So, I improvised.”

  He came to his knees, then winced. “A siren on a cell phone. Clever thinking, cara.”

  “More desperate than clever. I’ll be honest, Slash, I was kind of afraid I’d shoot you by accident if they forced me into it. You know my aim isn’t great when I’m nervous. Are you bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No.” He touched my arm. “They weren’t trying to kill me. They only wanted a souvenir.” He rubbed his scalp.

  “A souvenir?” It took me a minute to get there. “Wait. They took some of your hair?” I let out an angry hiss. “For DNA?”

  “Apparently Lazo has reached the desperation stage.”

  “They sent five guys to take you down?”

  “Five well-trained guys. What happened back at the house? Is Nonna okay?”

  “Nonna is fine. Slash, you should know she’s a complete Italian badass. If we ever get into a fight again, I want her on my side. Two guys strolled into the house from the back door, looking for you. She clocked one guy with her oxygen tank when he was about to shoot me. Took him out completely. I bashed the other guy with an iron skillet off the stove. One small downside about the skillet thing—our lunch was still inside.”

  He looked at me as if he weren’t comprehending what I was saying. “You and Nonna took out two guys?”

  “Yes,” I said a bit impatiently. “Principessa attacked one of them. Now I owe that stupid cat for saving me.”

  Slash looked at me in disbelief. “The cat?”

  “Yes.” I threw up my hands. “The cat. Don’t start with me on the cat again.”