Strictly Confidential. Terri Reed
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conveyed her irritation.
“Miss Sainsbury, I may have a potential buyer for one of the paintings. Could we discuss it?” Alessandro asked.
One side of Dahlia’s red lips curled. Her eyes were cold as she gave Colleen a final glance before taking his offered arm. “Indeed.”
They walked away leaving Colleen to stare after them. So much for questioning Dahlia or Alessandro any further. Anger boiled in her blood.
To be made a spectacle of and then to be so easily abandoned did not sit well. Oh, yes. She was definitely going to uncover that man’s secrets, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
THREE
A lessandro thought fast and spoke just as quickly, coming up with a cover story of an unnamed buyer wanting to have one of the exhibition’s paintings at an astronomical price. He could see Dahlia was taking in the story at face value. There was no buyer, but he’d fork out the money himself if he needed to.
Anything to keep Dahlia from whatever mischief she had intended for Colleen.
Alessandro had seen Dahlia slip into her office while Neil O’Brien had drawn everyone’s attention. As soon as Alessandro could, he’d left Colleen’s side to spy on Dahlia.
Through the partially open doorway of her office, he’d heard her on the phone telling someone that, yes, it would be done, just give her a few minutes. And then she’d hung up and taken a small vial from her desk drawer and poured the contents into a glass of punch. He’d hidden in the shadows when she’d left. He’d slowly followed, wondering what she was up to.
His heart had nearly stopped when he saw her hand the glass to Colleen. He’d known he had to stop Colleen from drinking the tainted punch and the only feasible way to do so without giving up his own cover was to knock the glass from her hand.
He’d hate for anything bad to happen to Colleen. He liked her—more than he had any woman in a very long time.
Not since Paola. His heart squeezed at the thought of the woman who’d broken his heart so many years ago.
He welcomed the pain as a reminder that no matter how much he liked and admired Colleen Montgomery, she was off-limits.
He wasn’t looking for a relationship.
Only for justice.
Colleen made excuses to her family that she needed to go home and clean the punch off herself, but really she wanted to get started researching Donato and Sainsbury.
She left the museum, hailed a cab and was soon home in the house she’d grown up in. Once inside the two-story ranch built in the 1940s, Colleen stepped out of her shoes, left them by the front door and then vaulted up the stairs to the guest room in the back where she’d taken up residence ever since she’d given up her downtown apartment and moved back in with her parents to save money.
It was only a temporary arrangement, but she couldn’t bring herself to stay in her old bedroom with its purple walls and posters catering to her childhood whims. Living in a shrine to her youth would be too weird. She’d planned to redecorate her old room, but hadn’t as of yet found time.
Once in the guest room, she changed into lightweight stretch pants and a T-shirt, pulled her hair up into a ponytail and then fired up her laptop computer.
With the marvel of modern technology, she’d have access to all sorts of information on Donato. And luckily she knew several reporters in Europe who would be willing to do a little footwork for her.
She settled in and started digging into the life of Alessandro Donato.
Alessandro was glad to see Colleen leave, but he hated that he had the urge to follow her home to make sure she arrived safely.
As it was, he’d watched her get in the cab without harm and that would have to do for now. Without the distraction of Colleen’s presence, he could concentrate on initiating Dahlia’s trust.
Dahlia had led him to an alcove near the swinging doors that closed off the caterers from the party. “Tell me, Mr. Donato, would your buyer be willing to come to Colorado Springs and meet with me?”
“ Sì , that could be arranged.”
Out of habit he moved to stand with his back toward the wall so he could see any approaching threats.
Dahlia laid a hand on his arm. “Good. You’ll get back to me with a time?”
“ Sì , yes.” Alessandro would contact his boss and have someone arrange to pose as an art buyer.
A piercing scream split the air.
The noise came from behind the swinging doors.
“Stay put,” Alessandro said to Dahlia, as he left her to charge through the doors.
A sobbing waitress was trying to explain to another waiter what had made her scream. Alessandro took her hands. “Shh. Breathe, signorina . Slowly, now. What has caused your tears?”
Behind him, the swinging doors banged open as Sam Vance stormed in, followed closely by the Montgomery brothers and Al Crane.
“I heard a scream. Is someone hurt?” Sam demanded.
The girl hanging on to Alessandro’s hands hiccupped and then pointed out the back door. “I think…he’s dead.”
Alessandro beat Sam out the door. Seeing Neil O’Brien face down on the ground, Alessandro hung back as Sam bent to check the pulse of the man lying prone in the alleyway, a dark stain spreading across his back.
“He’s dead,” Sam confirmed.
Sam secured the crime scene and placed a call for forensics. The burly doorman ushered all the bystanders back inside, where they were instructed to wait because the police would need to ask questions since they were all potential witnesses.
Alessandro observed Dahlia’s less-than-horrified expression as she assured those around her that the museum would be open for visiting as soon as the next day.
As the CSI techs and medical examiner arrived, Alessandro stayed on the fringes of the activity. After combing the scene for clues, the CSI team released the victim. They rolled Neil over and placed his body in a black bag before loading him onto a gurney and taking him away.
Alessandro watched Sam bend down and with the end of a pencil pick something up. A large lump formed in Alessandro’s chest when he realized the object of Sam’s inspection was the blue scarf Colleen had been wearing when she’d first walked into the museum.
Colleen stayed up all night, tapping her resources for information on the mysterious Alessandro Donato. She’d e-mailed a friend at immigration asking for information on Alessandro’s visa, because knowing where the visa originated and when it expired could be helpful.
The information supplied had led her to Fabriano, Italy.
She contacted a former classmate who lived in Rome and had her check hospital records in the small town in the center of the country.
A few hours later, the information she received back stunned her. Not only had Alessandro been born in that small Italian community, but so had his child. A little girl.
The knowledge hit her like a physical blow. It was one thing to think of Alessandro as a playboy but another to know that there was a woman in his life.
“A daughter,” she muttered as she typed in the information in the spreadsheet she used as a tool for gathering notes for her articles.
She could picture a raven-haired feminine version of Alessandro running around with mischief in her dark eyes and a grin on her face.
The image tightened something unfamiliar in her chest. She frowned.
Children were for other people, not her. She didn’t have time in her life for the ties of an immediate family.