When I left the next morning to drive to Florence, I was filled with anxiety. I didn’t track of the number of missions I’d been involved in over the course of my career, but there was one thing I knew to be true of every one of them. I hadn’t been anxiety-ridden. There were many times I’d acknowledged going in, that I may not live through it. There’d been times, like the plane crash, when I knew I wouldn’t. Anxiety, though, was not a feeling I was accustomed to.
I thought about calling Tackle, but felt like too much of a pussy to go through with it. Besides, to my knowledge, he’d never been on a mission where the asset, target, whomever, was someone he was personally involved with.
Several of the other K19 guys had been, including all four of the founding partners. No way in hell I’d talk to any of them about it.
While Tara and I still hadn’t had sex, last night, she’d clung to me, both awake and asleep. I didn’t press, trusting that when she was ready, she’d talk to me.
Before I left, I gave her a kiss so hard that I tasted the metallic tang of blood. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, but Tara pulled me back in for more.
Finally, knowing that if I didn’t leave then, I wouldn’t leave at all, I’d pulled her arms from around my neck and taken a step back. “I’ll be gone four hours tops. You’re safe here, Tara. I wouldn’t leave if I doubted that for a minute.”
The look in her eyes haunted me still. She was truly afraid, and I hated leaving her feeling that way. I knew, though, that once I did and came back, each time I had to leave after this, would be easier for her.
22
Tara
I wasn’t certain what Knox knew about my past. Probably more than I’d want him to. But how much did he know about the kidnapping? I shuddered like I did every time I thought about it. I’d never been so afraid in my life. I didn’t doubt he’d faced worse. I mean, he told me he’d almost died in a plane crash, for God’s sake.
He’d said that facing certain death made him want to reach out and grab every happiness he could.
My ordeal didn’t have the same effect on me. Instead of reaching out to grab anything, I turned inward. I almost never went anywhere alone. It was sheer adrenaline that got me from the States here alone, and then kept me going until I arrived at Valentini. I suppose knowing I had no choice was really what drove me.
I grabbed my burner phone and went out to the terrazza, wondering if I’d be heard more outside or less. Would Knox or someone else have bugged the farmhouse? Were the people “protecting” me also listening to every word I said?
It didn’t surprise me Brand’s phone played a message that the number was invalid. He must’ve gotten a new burner phone after I sent him the text messages saying my identity had been discovered and I would not leave Italy.
I went upstairs, grabbed the bags of art supplies I’d purchased, and brought them downstairs to organize.
After dividing everything into two sets—one for watercolor and one for when I painted oils—I put the latter back into the bags. Today, I’d start with watercolor since it would be far less complicated to clean up.
I pulled out my sketchbook and thumbed through the pages, trying to decide what to paint first. Finally, after changing my mind several times, I decided on the view of the Giardino della Gherardesca I’d drawn from the balcony of the hotel. While my sketch was in black and white, I could recall the variances between the deep and lighter green hues so vividly. Not a lot of other colors had popped out at me, given the time of year, but one sculpture had.
It was a dark bronze of a naked woman. The shape of her body was so much like my own, with small breasts and a slight frame, unlike most of the sculpture I’d seen of women in this part of Italy. I flipped the page until I came to it and then set about marrying the images together. While I’d normally start with a smaller study, with this painting, I went straight to a quarter-sheet.
The trick with watercolor was to never overwork the image. With oils, I could paint over anything I didn’t think looked just right. With the water-based medium, once I over-corrected, I could paint on the other side of the sheet once it dried, or dump the whole thing in the garbage.
Since I was embellishing anyway, I took the liberty of changing the hair on the sculpture. It was shoulder-length, but I extended it to her waist—more like mine.
I forced myself to step away and went out to the terrazza to enjoy the afternoon sun. I hadn’t seen a soul, but had no doubt they were nearby.
“There she is,” I heard Knox say. I opened and then shielded my eyes from the sun.
“You’re back.”
“I am. You’ve been busy. I’ll confess to peeking.”
“You could hardly do otherwise since I left it on the easel.”
He sat in the chair beside me and rested his forearms on the table. “It’s really beautiful, Tara.”
The reverence I heard in his voice filled me with more pride than if I’d sold several cases of Valentini wine. “Thank you. It’s a gift for you, Knox.”
He sat back and put his hand on his heart. “I didn’t dare hope.” There was no playfulness in his voice, no sarcasm, just sincerity. “Can I go look at it again?”
I smiled and pushed my chair back to join him.
“Can I touch it?”