Scott’s words watered her soul.
With all his education and credentials, he thought she had talent. He stepped closer and cupped her cheek. His touch turned her thoughts to jelly. She forced herself to step away.
“Will he help? Do you think Renaldo will understand?”
Scott shrugged. “If he’s half the man I knew, he’ll find a way.”
Rachel felt a tightness in her back relax. “When can we leave for Florence?”
“As soon as the army clears us and Tyler returns with the jeep. We have a lot to inventory while we wait.”
The next hours passed in a blur as Rachel tried to keep up with Scott. He was a man consumed by a mission, identifying each piece lining the walls of the great castle. Rachel tried to focus on the beauty surrounding her but found her thoughts adrift between uncertainty at being so close to the end of her journey and intrigued as she listened to Scott explain what made the different works meaningful. If only they had the time for him to properly introduce her to the paintings. She could imagine spending unhurried days wandering the halls of the world’s great museums with this man who saw beauty in the paint strokes and the stories of the artists.
Someday.
Her world was a collection of somedays and maybes.
By the time they finished inventorying the second floor, Scott had seen an abundance of art, most of it in good condition. Some frames were broken. A few removed from their frames, but at least no canvases had been slashed or otherwise damaged. Rachel had taken a few photos saying someday people would want the story about what happened to the rich artistic heritage of Italy. Now though, she yawned as she rubbed her back.
“Time for a break. We’ll finish the rest tomorrow.”
Once Tyler reappeared, Scott would take the jeep and drive to the castle at Poppiano and inventory the art there. If Tyler didn’t show up soon, Scott would walk. It couldn’t be more than a few kilometers since he could see Poppiano and its accompanying villa from Montegufoni. Maybe when he was done with that castle and villa, they’d receive the green light to travel to Florence. He should radio Lake Trasimeno where the division headquarters had set up, see what the other MFAA officers were hearing about their ETAs to the great city since the troops of the first battalion didn’t know more than he did.
Rachel stretched her lower back and moved to a long window. “The troops are ready to move.”
“All packed up?” Scott joined her.
“Even most of the tents are down.” She pointed to the emptying field. “Tyler’s back.”
“Really?”
“At least the jeep is down there.” She turned toward Scott. “Where has he been?”
“That’s one question I’ll ask.” Now, if only he could find the slippery man. He took Rachel’s hand, stroking her fingers. They were so delicate and smooth. “Let’s get you downstairs so you can eat before the cook closes the kitchen.”
A few minutes later Rachel sat at the table in the corner with a slice of warm bread and a bowl of vegetable soup. They had stopped by their rooms, but Tyler hadn’t been there. His bags looked like someone had rummaged through them. “I’ll find Tyler while you enjoy your supper.”
Rachel’s gaze studied him, warm with concern. “You should eat too.”
“Later. Hearing what Tyler’s been doing is more important.”
She could use the time to probe the cook about her brother, something Rachel could do more easily without him.
Where to locate Private Salmon? He’d start with the jeep. In the growing gloom of twilight, he walked to the jeep. The vehicle was covered with mud as if it had forded its share of streams, but otherwise it was in good shape. He couldn’t find anything that indicated where Tyler had disappeared.
Scott stepped back from the vehicle and scanned the horizon. About a hundred yards in front, a man slipped around the castle. Looked like an American uniform, so Scott headed that direction. When he turned the corner, he’d closed the distance and could tell it was Tyler.
Scott paused a moment, then decided to keep trailing, see what he could learn before alerting Tyler to his presence. When the man glanced around, Scott dropped behind a tree trunk. Tyler seemed satisfied he was alone because he approached the well house and pulled a key from his pocket. After he unlocked the door, he slipped into the building.
Why would the man go in there?
Scott couldn’t imagine any valid reason. Rachel had told him the small space was empty after she took the hatbox. Guess it was time to see for himself.
Scott approached the building. From inside he heard a grunt followed by creaking. Scott paused. Entering was the only way to know what was happening.
Scott took a breath, then eased around the side of the building. The door stood cracked to let the fading sunlight enter. He couldn’t see anything through the crack, placing Tyler behind it.
Releasing his breath in a trickle, Scott squared his shoulders, feeling a surge of alertness.
God, help me.
It was past time to confront the man. Tyler was up to something.
Scott eased toward the door. Tried to squeeze through the opening.
Instead, his shoulder brushed into the door, and the door groaned.
“What the . . . ?” Tyler’s startled words were followed by a growl. “Scott. Mr. Goody Two-shoes. Mr. I’m-Here-to-Save-the- Art-World.” The man pushed his weight into the door, squeezing Scott between the door and the frame.
Scott huffed and pushed back.
“I’m not letting you in.”
The man must not understand that throwing a challenge like that made Scott more determined to get inside. He shoved against the door.
Tyler grunted and the door shifted.
It wasn’t enough.
If he couldn’t force Tyler to move, Scott would never get in the room.
One.
Two.
Three.
He shoved against the door with everything in him.
The door shifted.
He thrust his full weight against the door.
The door flung open.
Tyler must have moved.
Scott lowered into a stance he’d seen boxers use when preparing to absorb blows.
In the middle of the floor, a trapdoor was pulled up revealing a gaping hole. Could that be a former well? The next moment Tyler launched at him. Scott fought to stay on his feet as Tyler’s head connected with his stomach. Air whooshed from Scott’s lungs.
His feet grappled across the floor, fighting for purchase, as Tyler pushed.
“I am tired of you and your superiority.” Tyler spit out the words through gritted teeth. “You’re not the only one with an art degree.”
Tyler pushed harder, and Scott felt himself falling. He had to stop this movement. But he couldn’t breathe. “What?”
“You underestimated me. I took a painting here. Another there.” The man grimaced as Scott swung an elbow into his gut.
“Why?”
“I’m not returning home without a retirement plan. If I have to be here, I can take care of myself.”
Scott’s heel caught on a dip and he lost his balance, falling to the ground.
The action threw Tyler off balance and he staggered. Scott thrust a foot out and tripped Tyler. The man landed with an ooff. He groaned as Scott struggled to his feet.
Scott’s gaze searched the room.
He had to find something to disable Tyler long enough to get help.
Nothing.
There was nothing he could use.
“Why here?” Scott panted as Tyler stood.
“Remember that summer of mine in Italy? I played in here. This was my place, one everyone else forgot. The cellar is the perfect place to hide things. No one else will find it. I’ll return after the war and collect my reward. As long as your girl doesn’t do more exploring.”
Red clouded Scott’s vision at the thought Tyler would harm Rachel.
Tyler moved, lumbering like a bear. An angry bear based on the fire in his eyes.
Scott pulled air into his shaky lungs and settled back into the boxer’s stance. It hadn’t worked so well before, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Tyler’s lips curled into a snarl, and he launched at Scott.
In the moment he had to respond, Scott threw himself to the side. He kicked out again. Tyler stumbled and fell into the upright door.
His head caught the corner, and he slumped to the floor.
Scott approached with caution. When Tyler didn’t move again, Scott leaned over him and felt for a pulse. He kept breathing but didn’t stir.
A soldier edged into the building. “What’s going on?”
“Do you have any military police here?”
“No, sir.”
Scott blew out a breath. “Then go get somebody to help. I need to see what’s down there.”
The soldier eyed him uncertainly. Scott struggled to stand as upright as he could with his screaming ribs.
“Private Salmon attacked me and told me he’s stolen and stashed something there. I need someone to make sure the private doesn’t escape.”
Rachel dipped the bread into the soup and felt warmed. The broth was rich, and she was grateful for something fresh that wasn’t army fare. As she ate, she could feel the cook’s gaze on her. The small woman had an intensity about her that drew Rachel’s attention.
She pushed the bowl back and smiled. “That was good. Grazie.”
The woman nodded. “You are her.”
The broken English surprised and delighted Rachel. “Her?”
“She stole heart.” The woman looked away and frowned. A moment later she seemed to find the word. “Beautiful.”
Rachel stared at the woman, mystified. “My mother?”
“Mel-a-nie.” Each syllable acquired a musical tone as she strung them out. “Renaldo.” She shrugged. “He change.”
“How?”
“He loved Mel-a-nie. More than others.”
“Momma loved him too. So much she never married.”
“Renaldo has wife.”
Rachel’s heart quivered at the thought. She’d imagined her father as in love with her momma as she adored him. It was impossible to think their love had been unrequited on both sides, but it had somehow made the separation bearable. Now she sat across the table from her aunt, a woman who knew her father and seemed willing to talk.
Slowly she pulled details from the cook. The man was an artist of growing fame. Occasionally he would speak of Melanie and their year together, but family pressure had dictated he marry a woman from the right Italian family. He had been content. Then the war came.
“All so difficult.”
In the struggle to survive, he’d taken a post with the government. Assistant art superintendent.
“Why bring his art here?”
“Safe. Protected.” The woman puckered her lips and rubbed her forehead. “Is okay.”
Rachel nodded. “Can you tell me where he is in Florence?”
The woman shrugged. “Always moving.” She gestured in the air as if writing. “Make list.”
“Thank you.” Rachel stood. Should she hug the woman? She didn’t feel like family really, but the woman had accepted Rachel wasn’t a spirit. That was an improvement.
In the end the woman decided for her by turning around and sticking her hands in dishwater. Rachel slipped into the courtyard, mind spinning. Her father worked with the German Kunstschutz in Florence. Maybe he had no choice, but the thought made her a little sick to her stomach. Yet he’d kept much of the art safe here.
Rachel glanced at the twilight settling over the courtyard’s activity. Scott hadn’t come back yet, which worried her. She’d expected him to return after he found Tyler.
The families had settled in, and she paused when a sweet Italian ballad reached her. The haunting melody sounded like a benediction over those assembled in their makeshift shelters under the sky. The last note of the song rose to the sky, and she stirred. She’d never find Scott standing here. She walked from the courtyard toward the area surrounding the castle. As the stars twinkled overhead, she imagined what it would be like to walk across the fields hand in hand with the man she loved. A line from her momma’s diary returned to her.
Tonight he took me to see the stars.
If the sky had been like this one, she could understand how her momma was swept away in the passion of the moment. Protect my heart, God. I don’t want to repeat my momma’s mistakes.
A muffled scuffle pulled her toward the well house. A subdued curse carried on the evening air; then she heard silence. That didn’t sound good. A soldier hurried away from the structure. What if Scott was in there? She couldn’t leave him.
The door stood open, and a form stretched across the front. A sound rustled beneath a hole that gaped in the floor. “Scott?”
The rustling stopped, but the form stirred and reached for a pistol stuck in the back of his pants. Tyler? There was only one person she could think of he would fight.
She couldn’t stand by and watch him shoot Scott.
She scanned the ground. She needed something she could use as a weapon. Something that would make Tyler believe she could hurt him.
“Come on.” The whispered words slipped out. She couldn’t see anything useful. A rock. A board. Anything would work. There had to be something.
Her limbs trembled at the thought she would lose someone she loved if something happened to Scott. In that moment she was confronted by the truth that she wanted more than friendship with Scott. Much, much more. She wanted him to be the man she could build the rest of her life with.
There!
She spied a rock. She hefted it in her hand, the weight heavy, but the heavier the better.
“I’ve had enough of your interference, Lindstrom.” Tyler stood to his feet, gun held unflinching in front of him.
“You don’t want to do anything drastic.” Scott’s voice sounded hollow as it rose from below. “If something happens to me, they’ll hunt you down.”
“No, they won’t. I’ll leave you there with the art. You’ll disappear, and they’ll assume you wandered off and got killed. Especially when I bring them the sob story about you taking the jeep and heading to Florence alone. Too bad a shell got you. Left nothing to collect and send home. Another man destroyed by this war.”
Rachel eased closer as he blabbered on. The man was so sure of himself, he never noticed. She cocked her arm and threw the rock at his head.
The rock bounced off. He growled and spun on her. “You.” He grabbed her arm. “You couldn’t leave this alone, could you?”
She whimpered against the pain.
“You just became my insurance.” He pointed the gun at her. “Come after me, Lindstrom, and I’ll kill her.”
Scott caught her eye and mouthed a message. I will find you. I won’t let him hurt you.
She struggled against Tyler, tried to find his face, scratched, twisted, kicked.
Tyler cursed yet pulled her toward the jeep.
Somebody had to help her. She screamed and thrashed, but the refugees slipped into the shadows. “Help me!”
Tears poured down her cheeks as she realized no one was coming unless Scott did. Still she fought.
She wouldn’t give up.
Not now.