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Renata walked down the wing of the house to her husband’s office. Along the way, she passed the family coat of arms, which stood out among family photos. The crest sported bright yellow and blue blocks inside a shield adorned with the common curlicues, tassels and flowers, all in yellow. She remembered the first time she’d seen it, when she’d come to meet his stern father, King Orazio Gentileschi. She smiled at the thought of the old man who, after she married his son, had warmed up to her immensely. Alessio looked like him. When she reached the open double doorway, she took a minute to scan the office. He’d inherited that from his father too, though he never would have chosen the ornate amenities. At one time, Alessio had been a simple man.

Now, he sat in his leather chair at his huge oak desk with the crest carved into the front, holding the phone in his hand, as if he’d just disconnected. His brow was furrowed and his shoulders, though not slumped, seemed weighty. An acute longing to go to him shot through Renata, the desire to lighten his burden as only she could do, but she resisted.

When he glanced up, his deep brown eyes were full of sadness, weakening her as the expression always had: when she wouldn’t marry him though she was pregnant out of wedlock, when she insisted on a prenuptial agreement because she didn’t trust him or his family, when he advised his eldest daughter to go back to her abusive husband and Renata had screamed and yelled at him.

Rising from the chair, he stood there a moment, then came around the desk to lean against it. Dressed casually in beige linen pants and a light shirt due to the heat, he focused intently on her. “ Buongiorno, la mia adorabile moglie.”

She said simply, “Alessio.” No endearment, like his to his spouse, though the distance she’d put between them was getting harder and harder to keep up. The remoteness would be much easier if she didn’t love this man so much. “Bad news?”

“Adolfo Vittorino is in the United States.” He held up the phone. “I was notified by U.S. Secret Service.”

Her mother’s heart clenched with thoughts of that awful man and his boss. She gripped the doorjamb. “My poor baby. What will happen to her, Alessio? If he finds Callandra...”

After a brief pause, he pushed away from the desk and crossed to her, drew her in and closed the door. She wanted him to hold her. As if he read her thoughts, he took her in his arms and she cuddled into his chest because she was frightened. Months had passed since he’d touched her. She relished the feel and scent of him.

“I have men everywhere. Lorenzo will be apprehended.”

“But what about his guard? Even if we find Lorenzo, we have no control over Vittorino.”

“I talked to the American president this morning. He assures me our girl is safe. He wouldn’t say where. Meanwhile, he has his people assigned to find Vittorino like we have ours looking for Bertocchi.” 

“Callandra hasn’t called us.”

“Shall we phone her?”

“No, let’s wait.” She stepped back, wiped her cheeks and stared up at him. “It’s foolish to cry.”

He brushed back her hair, scrubbed her face with his callused thumbs. “Not in this case. And for a moment, being close, was wonderful.”

“Alessio...”

A loud knock on the door. He gave her another sad smile then said, “Come in.”

The head of the Royal Guard entered the office. “We found Bertocchi, Your Highness. He’s residing at the villa of Katerina Affizzi.”

Alessio’s eyes widened. He was a man who believed in fidelity. “Cazzo! Ready the car, Grimaldi. I’m going with you to confront him.” When the man left, her husband took her hand. Kissed it. “I have to leave. I promise you, I broke this and I will fix it.”

Reaching out, she cradled his cheek. “Be careful, amore mio, I don’t want to lose you.”

“That is nice to hear.”

Despite Whitney’s assurances that the Secret Service would capture and question Vittorino if he was still in the U.S., Calla was frightened all day. She took a walk with Connor, but was unable to enjoy the scent of the earth springing up around them. She’d asked the agents to follow them. That night, she and Connor watched television and ate pizza for dinner that the Secret Service brought in. When she was fatigued enough to go to bed, Connor went to his room and changed into pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and then headed to Calla. He knocked on her door, and she opened it right away.

 She’d dressed in a deep purple satiny slip of a thing. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“I’m here. And I’ll hold you all night so you’re not scared anymore.”

As if they’d been doing this all their lives, he climbed into a real bed next to her, turned off the light, and drew her close. She knew he didn’t want this, but Connor was unselfish to a fault. And stronger than she was. So she settled in with him.

They awoke simultaneously. They always did when they slept together in Syria. Calla watched him as he greeted the world. Despite the horrors of their situation, he’d always come out of sleep with a smile. Now he didn’t. Instead a hooded expression claimed his face. He’d been through hell since she’d left him but the soldier’s death would be the most intolerable to him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. She was still in his arms, looking up at him.

“You don’t wake up smiling anymore.”

“No? I didn’t realize that. Life has been tough, I guess.”

“Do you want to tell me about the soldier?”

“God no. Let me get us coffee and we’ll talk about something safe.”

After he left, Calla sat against the headboard, blocking out their situation, blocking out the soldier. Blocking out everything but the scent of Connor, which lingered on the pillow she brought to her face.

When he returned, the pungent smell of coffee preceded him. His hair was mussed, she saw now, but his face was less sad. She propped herself up and took the steaming cup. He joined her, carrying his own mug. “You’re drinking my coffee.”

“Yeah. I like it, now, even if it is black as night.” He smiled. The first real one he gave her since she came back to the U.S. “Whitney couldn’t believe I could drink this. I always spiked mine with half sugar.”

Calla didn’t say anything. He said he didn’t want to talk about his family.

“She’s, um, had a rough time, starting when you met me in D.C.”

“I’m sorry. I must have compounded your troubles. I should never have fled to the States, Connor. You wouldn’t be in danger.”

“Calla, you couldn’t live with that man any longer. Though I hate your father for not protecting you.”

She didn’t respond.

“In a way, being there for Whitney helped me.” He explained about Max breaking their relationship off, Whitney’s devastation, her pregnancy and miscarriage.

“Oh, God, those poor people. Just when they think they’ve straightened everything out, fate steps in. I never knew how cruel life could be.”

“I hope she is pregnant. A child would be good for them both, now.”

“Then I hope so, too.”

Her phone rang.

“You have to answer that. We need as much information as we can get.”

Reluctantly, she slipped out of bed and crossed to the dresser where the new phone sat charging. Only Whitney, Gabriella and her mother had the number. The ID told her the caller was the latter. “Hello.”

“Callandra?”

Hmm, there was no video. “Mamá, your voice is shaking. What’s wrong?”

“Your father’s investigators have located Lorenzo. They are going after him.” Her tone held fear, a lot of fear, like it got when one of her children was hurt. “Your father went with them.”

Alarm shot through Calla. “What do you mean they’re going after him?”

“His people found Lorenzo in a villa on the other side of the capital. They alerted Papá and they went to arrest him a bit ago.”

“Why didn’t he let the royal guards or the policia do it?”

“He’s angry. He’s suffering greatly over the mistakes he made with you.”

Her father was in trouble. Despite what he’d done to her, or what he hadn’t, she couldn’t imagine him not there. She hesitated, not wanting to bring the bad news about Lorenzo’s henchman to her mother.

“I know Vittorino is in the U.S.,” Renata said as if reading her mind. “Their government notified us. I’m glad you’re safe.”

They spoke for a few more minutes, then her mother sighed. “I’ll hang up now. I wanted to hear your voice and give you an update.” Translated, she needed some comfort from her daughter.

“I’m sorry, Mamá. Call me any time. And I’ll pray Papá is safe. He can take care of himself but he won’t have to. His men adore him.”

“I will believe that, too. I’ll call you when he returns.”

“Please do. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” When she disconnected, she said to Connor, “They’ve found Lorenzo. Papá is in the party going after him.”

“I overheard.” He patted the side of the bed. “Come back here. We’ll snuggle in and talk about other things until we hear back.”

She crossed to the bed and climbed in. Each held coffee but he slid his arm around her. She felt better. They’d wait together.

Declan was worried as hell. Every time he went to work and his brother wasn’t there, his anxiety was exacerbated. He hadn’t worried this much about his Secret Service brothers and cousin. But Con had always been a peacemaker. To have him embroiled in this surrealistic situation was unfair. Deciding to take a break and go up to the roof, he got Connor’s untraceable number from Whitney and punched it in.

After four rings, he heard, “Hello.”

“Hey, Con. It’s Declan. We’re okay, buddy. No one’s hurt at home. I’m just thinking about you.”

“Glad to hear everyone is fine. We’re safe, Dec. As safe as we possibly could be.”

“We don’t know where you are.” But he thought maybe at the White House, where Isabelle, Nick’s wife, and the boys had gone when a dirty cop ring was stalking her.

“Keeping our location a secret is for the best.”

He hesitated. “And you’re with Calla?”

“Yes, this is about her. That’s all I can say.”

Poor Con. He couldn’t get away from that woman. “No more needed.”

“How’s Rocky?”

He looked down at the city of Rockford, spread out before him. Everybody was going about their daily routine. He wished his family had a routine but they all lived on the edge.

“Dec, I asked about Rocky.”

“Sorry. I was thinking about how different our family is from most.”

“Yeah, it might be nice to be normal for once.”

“Rocky got fired.” Herb Rockwell worked as an orderly and was an Iraq veteran with PTSD. Declan spent time with him frequently.

“Sorry to hear that. What did he do?”

“He had a flashback when somebody dropped a pan and the noise was louder than hell. I managed to restrain him, calm him down, get him back to reality, but the brass here insisted he be let go.”

“Poor Rocky.”

Dec leaned against the wall, propped himself up and stretched his legs. “Kelly Jenkins asked about you. You know the cute little redhead who always flirts with you.”

“Yeah, I know who Kelly is.”

“Well, keep her in mind if you ever...get away from Calla.”

“Speaking of the female sex, how are things with Lila?”

Declan snorted. “She’s coming home this week. She’s finished another contract in D.C. and is taking some time off.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Familiar anger welled inside of him. They’d been apart three years and he was still strongly affected by the woman. “I’m trying hard not to feel anything. She drives me nuts when she springs things like this on me and the girls.”

“It disrupts your routine.”

“It’s more than that. It disrupts my equilibrium.” He checked his watch. “My break’s over. I have to go. Stay safe, buddy. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Late afternoon in April had hit the eighties. Connor, dressed in shorts and a golf shirt, lifted the bow and positioned the arrow. It hissed through the air, but missed its target. No bull’s-eye. His concentration was off. But he’d come to the archery range to work off some steam. Worried about her father chasing down that monster, Calla was reading medical journals on the terrace to distract herself, which was about the only thing that could preoccupy her. They bored him to tears, and besides, the physical activity felt good, no matter how lousy his aim was.

He thought about the morning, and the night before. At first, he was dreading the closeness, knowing he’d get sucked in by her. But he’d slept like a log and so had she. During those nocturnal hours, their bodies had gravitated to each other’s and when he awoke he found himself lying on his back, with her plastered to his chest. If she noticed his erection, she hadn’t said anything. Was she turned on, too? Probably. His nearness had always had the same effect on her...

“I can hardly be around you now.”

“Why is that?”

“My skin prickles each time I see you. And that’s not all.”

“Come on, sweetheart, talk dirty to me.”

She’d blushed.

But by the time she left him, she was whispering things she wanted him to do to her in his ear...

Man, he had to stop these memories. So he stayed at the range another hour. Had she heard from her parents, she would have called him right away. He was worried about Alessio, too, a man he’d come to hate, but was nevertheless her father. Finally, he went back to the house and once inside, he found her on the phone. He sat beside her on the sofa.

“Yes, Mamá, I’m here... Oh, thank God... Yes, that’s wonderful news. Did Lorenzo say anything?” She waited. “Whose villa was he at?” Her eyes widened. “Seriously? I never suspected that. I guess the wife is always the last to know. Yes, Mamá, I won’t think about that. I’ll be glad Papá is safe. Yes, he can call me when he returns.” A pause. “Did Lorenzo say anything about sending people here?” Another pause. “All right.”

She disconnected and faced him. “Papá is safe.”

He squeezed her hand. “Thank God.”

“They arrested Lorenzo. Mamá said the authorities hadn’t talked to him yet.”

“What was the rest of that about?” Connor asked. “About the wife being the last to know.”

Her eyes flamed. “I am the stupidest person in the world. I left you, I left the love of my life, to fulfill a promise to my father, and to Lorenzo and, all the while, he had a mistress.” She fisted her hand, pounded it on her knee. “I wonder if he was getting it up for her. Probably. That’s why he was so mad at me.”

“Honey, his behavior is the least of your worries. Who cares what he does? Or did. He’ll be out of your life now.”

She let out a heavy breath. “I know. It makes me mad, though.”

“Me, too.”

Her gaze narrowed. “And who the hell is Kelly?”

He winced. She must have overheard him discuss her with Declan. “Kelly?”

“You said you weren’t seeing anyone. Dio mio, I’ve been suffering over what I did to you and you’re dating?”

“Calla, I’m not dating. A nurse at the hospital flirts with me. Dec thinks I should ask her out.”

She lay her head back and sighed. Finally she said, “I’m sorry for going on like this. You’ve been so kind to me. Taken care of me, when you loathe being with me.”

He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “I don’t loathe being with you. This is the happiest I’ve been in months, even though the circumstances are rotten.”

“Well, thank you anyway. I needed you and you were there for me.”

He wanted to tell her he’d always be there for her but restrained himself. They’d already crossed too many lines. Problem was, he wanted to erase all of them.

Since the immediate danger to her father was over, and even though Vittorino was still at large, they settled into a routine for the next two days. They didn’t separate, though. It was as if neither of them had the willpower to stay apart. They alternated cooking, played board games, and exercised till they were tired. And both nights, he’d stayed in her room.

On the third night when he joined her, she sighed contentedly. Though they both knew they were playing with fire every time he walked into her bedroom, she didn’t care and apparently neither did he. As he slipped into bed, Calla knew she could live the rest of her life with him even like this if she had to. Of course, she wanted more. But she’d take what she could get.

Syria, twelve months ago

The day had been brutal. Usually, the heat index in July hovered around eighty degrees, but as the hours passed, it became blisteringly hot.

More than that, they’d lost three little girls who had been rescued after being dropped off by the rebels. Their black and blue faces, and the blood between their legs told the whole story. The children died in hers and Connor’s care. They couldn’t even stop to mourn because other patients with a variety of illnesses arrived in a steady stream all day.

Now, Calla mourned. Now she wished she’d never come here. She was unable to sleep. She turned over in the cot, which was lumpy, though not any lumpier than it had been in nights past. Her foot caught in a hole in the netting which kept out bugs, but she didn’t feel bitten.

Except by need. She could barely withstand the feelings that swirled through her. A hyper-sensitivity that made her skin heat. An ache so deep it felt like a stone inside her. And she knew what was driving her. Calla had never had sexual intercourse before. She’d been allowed to have boyfriends, but they barely got to first base. When she was about twenty, her mother had taught her to take care of her own needs until she married. But tonight she recoiled from touching herself. She wanted to be touched, to be desired, to be...with Connor.

That, and the shelling in the distance, drove her out of her bed. She crossed the living quarters which were coed and self-contained, but not very private with their thin walls and light doors. Snoring came from several rooms, and one or two moans arose intermittently. Medical personnel were subject to nightmares, too. She reached Connor’s ten-by-ten space and stopped. She was on a precipice but she refused to consider the wisdom of what she was doing. Without knocking, she opened the door.

Connor bolted up to a seated position. “Calla? What’s wrong?”

“I want something.”

“What?”

“You.”

He slid out of bed. She could see his naked form silhouetted in the moonlight. He threw on cotton shorts, which wasn’t what she wanted, and came to her. “I’m here.” He gestured at what she held. “Why do you have the blanket?”

“Come with me.”

She led him by the hand to a private space past the outpost where she’d heard other workers say they’d gone to get laid. Apparently Connor recognized it. “Calla, no.”

He knew by now about her virginity, about her arranged marriage. And he was too good a man to violate any of that. “He’ll never accept you after this.”

“I don’t care. I want you, Connor, more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my life.” She put her head to his chest. “All those girls broken and battered. I can’t get them out of my mind. Make them go away, please.” Reaching up, she looped her arms around his neck. Pressed her body against his. And gave him a siren’s smile. “You want to.”

He practically choked out, “I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

“Then now,” she said, dropping down to spread the blanket.

He knelt on it. “I don’t have any protection.”

She produced a few from her pocket.

“From the medical supplies?”

“Yes. Now, kiss me.”

His mouth came down on hers gently. Too gently. She threw herself into the kiss she’d waited for all her life. His arms clamped around her.