Fatal Cover-Up. Lisa Harris

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СКАЧАТЬ that Thomas wasn’t the person she’d known all those years.

      Inside the one-bedroom apartment, the space was a small, open layout with a cozy terrace and views of the neighboring rooftops and monuments in the distance. But it wasn’t the familiar layout of home that caught her attention as she stepped into the room. Someone had been here. Talia felt a sick feeling wash over her, along with a wave of panic. Books had been pulled down from their shelves, red couch cushions and half a dozen throw pillows lay scattered across the hardwood floor, while her artwork had been ripped from the walls. She picked up the shattered glass frame holding the photo of her with her parents and little sister that had been taken before her mom and dad had been killed in a car wreck.

      Who had done this?

      Wind blew through the open terrace door, causing the white sheer curtains she’d picked up at a local flea market to flutter in the breeze. Something clattered against the floor in the bedroom. She froze beside the kitchen counter. Whoever had trashed her house was still here. Without thinking, she set down the photo, grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen counter and started for her bedroom.

      When she stepped through the doorway, he was going through her dresser—the same man who’d grabbed her bag outside the Colosseum. Her intrusion into the room seemed to startle him for a second, then he pulled a gun out of its holster and pointed it at her.

      “You should have shown up with the paintings,” he said in English with a thick Italian accent. “Toss me your bag.”

      She hesitated, then threw it at him, still holding the knife. But the blade would be useless against a man with a loaded gun. He dumped the contents on her bed, scattering them across the dark blue bedspread.

      She gripped the handle of the knife between her fingers.

      “They’re not here,” he said, rummaging through her things. “The paintings. Where are they?”

      “I don’t have them.” Talia fought to keep her voice steady. “I never did.”

      He shook his head as if trying to figure out his next move. Light streamed in from the bedroom window. The man was in his mid-to-late twenties. Brown eyes. Dark hair with a streak of blond across his bangs.

      He took a step forward. “I was told you’d say that. You knew you couldn’t fence the art right after your husband’s death, so you decided to be patient and wait to sell them.”

      She shook her head. “Who told you that?”

      “It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that I wouldn’t cross the person I work for. They were involved in the death of your husband, they’ll kill again if they have to.”

      “Over a piece of art?” She pressed her lips together, trying to fight the panic. But that wasn’t the only thing that sent a chill through her. He knew who’d killed her husband.

      The intruder didn’t answer her question. But he didn’t have to.

      “I don’t have them,” she repeated.

      “And I said I don’t believe you. They were in your husband’s personal items, which were later given to you by the police.”

      As he moved to the smaller bedside table, his gun still pointed in her direction, another memory surfaced. A few weeks after Thomas had died someone had broken into their house while she’d been out visiting with a friend. The only things that had been taken were a few pieces of her jewelry. At the time, she’d thought it was nothing more than a random break-in, but now... What if there was another explanation? What if the thief had been looking for something specific, like three valuable paintings?

      But she didn’t have them. Or did she? Her mind raced. The days after Thomas’s death were still a blur, but she’d told Joe the truth. She’d given most of her husband’s personal things to her mother-in-law in an attempt to get rid of the memories. And while the paintings Joe had shown her seemed vaguely familiar, she wasn’t sure what she might have done with them. Could they really be there?

      She eyed the gun that still pointed at her as the attacker continued searching. She needed to get someone’s attention. The balcony door to her bedroom was open. She could scream. Mrs. Lamberti from downstairs wouldn’t hear her—the woman was almost deaf—but someone else might catch her cry for help.

      She started toward the door, but the man shifted at the movement and aimed his gun at her heart. “I want you to drop the knife and don’t even think about making a sound.”

      She hesitated as her options vanished, then let the knife fall against the wood flooring.

      Show me what to do, God. Please...

      “Here’s the deal. If you’re lying to me, they will come after you. And in the meantime, I was told you might need some motivation.” He pulled an envelope from his back pocket and dropped it on the bed beside him. “I understand that you and your sister are close.”

      She picked up the envelope and pulled out a handful of black-and-white surveillance photos of her sister. She stared at the shots of Shelby getting into her car at work, pumping gas at the local station, walking her Maltese poodle after school...

      No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

      The room began to spin. She couldn’t breathe. “You can’t do this.”

      “Except I can.” His cocky smile sent a chill down her spine. “And if you really don’t have the paintings, you’ve got seventy-two hours to find them.”

       THREE

      Joe found Talia’s name and number on the entry phone next to the doorway of the apartment block. He hesitated, wondering if he should buzz her, then changed his mind as an older woman with an armful of groceries opened the locked lobby building door. He slipped in behind her, then ran up the stairs to the fifth floor.

      He paused at an open door on the landing—Talia’s door—and his senses automatically shifted to high alert. He’d seen Talia slip into the building ahead of him, which meant she was here. But something wasn’t right. He stepped inside. The living room had been trashed, leaving couch cushions, books and photos scattered across the floor.

      “Talia?” He crossed the empty room, wishing that the Italian government allowed him to be armed. “Talia?”

      A man bolted out of an adjoining room and shoved past Joe, knocking him into the wall. Five foot ten, dark hair with a streak of blond... It was the man from the Colosseum!

      He pointed a Glock at Joe as he headed toward the door. “Don’t even try and follow me.”

      Joe shouted again for Talia. He needed to go after the man, but if she was hurt... “Talia? Are you okay?”

      She stepped into the doorway of the living room, her face ashen, and nodded.

      “Then I’ll be back.”

      Ignoring the man’s warning, Joe spun around and strode after him. They needed to get this guy and find out who he was and who he was working with.

      God, I need some help here. Both for Talia’s sake and СКАЧАТЬ