Part 9 (1/2)
”But you've angered the contessa.”
”You know, I really don't give a d.a.m.n.”
”You should.”
”I'm an American. We don't grovel before European n.o.bility.” He was swinging her out to the music; it might be the perfect moment to simply slip from his hold and keep going.
But there was no such thing as slipping from his hold. His hands were large, his fingers long. They held a startling strength, so much so that he seemed oblivious to the fact that she had meant to escape. She wondered when the song would end. Of course, she could be really rude and just stop dancing. Then he'd be forced to let her go.
”I was given the impression you disliked the contessa,” she said. ”But I suppose her opinion matters to you as much as it does to others.”
”Not in the least.”
”Then . ..”
”You should simply go home. You may have put yourself in danger.”
”Why? Is the contessa some kind of a master criminal?”
”In my opinion? Yes.”
”I'm sure I'm perfectly safe. As you noted, the police do seem to be where I am.”
”I'm not at all sure you want to rely on the police.”
”Are you saying that the police are criminals, too?”
”I would never say such a thing.”
”Then just what are you saying?”
”That you're in danger; go home!”
”Why would I be in danger-”
”Because you are fragile.”
She did stop dancing. She firmly stood her ground, not trying to pull away, but not moving. ”I'm not tall, granted, and I haven't a great deal of weight, but I a.s.sure you, I am far from fragile.”
”It's my understanding that you are suffering from a recent loss-”
”Which has not unhinged my mind, sir. I was engaged to a cop, a good man, killed by flesh-and-blood criminals-people for whom he had empathy and regard. If he'd been a little less concerned for the value of any life, he wouldn't be dead now. He was a cop, not a seer, or a mystic. He was murdered. Therefore, I do know that very bad people do exist, that human beings can be monsters. I think that they are far too lax here, that there should be a far greater investigation into the contessa's entertainments than what I have seen.
That does not make me fragile!”
”Your insistence that something has happened is what puts you in danger,” he told her.
”So if something did really happen, I should just forget it?”
”You should just go home, on the first possible plane. You should let those who know what they're doing deal with matters here.”
”So there are matters with which to be dealt?” she demanded.
He sighed deeply with aggravation, a sound that was almost a growl. ”There is nothing that should concern you.”
”Excuse me-”
”There is nothing you can do.”
”Is there something you can do?” she queried.
”Trust me, Miss Riley, it would be best if you went home. You have lost someone recently-”
”It's been a year. I am not insane with grief.”
”Perhaps you are susceptible to fears and nightmares.”
”I am not!” Or was she?
The mannequin had stared at her through Steven's eyes . . .
”Just go home!” He said angrily. ”You are causing a greater danger-”
”For whom?”
”Go home!”
She didn't need to pull away from him. The music had stopped. He dropped her hands and walked away without another word. Stunned-and furious with herself for staying with him on the dance floor as long as she had-she hurried back to the table where she and her party had been sitting.
She waited there for a minute as the master of ceremonies announced the last dance of the evening in several languages. She searched the dance floor from where she stood, but saw no sign of Jared or Cindy. She sat for a moment. Jared and Cindy would never just leave her. She drummed her fingers on the table. The sound of the last slow dance faded away.
Conversation and soft laughter could still be heard in the tent, but the band had stopped playing and even the die-hards were tiredly making for the exit. Jordan realized that Jared and Cindy must have thought that she had left, probably with the group from the Arte della Anna Maria shop, when they had seen that her mask had been picked up from the table. She was on her own.
She stood up, looking around for Tiff or Roberto, but the table where they had been sitting was empty as well.
Oh, well, she had walked here. She could walk back.
She joined the exciting crowd. Knowing the general direction from which they had come, she started that way, glad to see that most people seemed to be headed in the same direction. A knight in armor nearly plowed into her. He apologized profusely, nearly stumbling. She helped straighten him, reeling at the scent of whiskey on his breath.
”Wanna join us for a nightcap?” he slurred to her.
”Thanks, but no thanks-early morning,” she lied. And hurried ahead. Going beneath an archway between two fifteenth-century buildings, she quickened her pace until she could no longer hear the knight clanking along.
She came to a fork in the pathway, one walk leading over a bridge to another island, the other leading back inland. She paused, trying to remember how they had come, what landmarks she had seen.
Venice was historic, wonderful, beautiful. To the un.o.bservant visitor, however, come the deep darkness, it all looked alike.
”s.h.i.+t!” she swore aloud.
Something fluttered by her ear; not a bug, something bigger. She was aware of the flapping of wings.