Revenge at Bella Terra (32 page)

Agreeable? No, he was merely tired—and still so damned handsome, with a quiet charisma that made her want to forget his betrayal and live with him forever . . . or until he betrayed her again.

No, she couldn’t stay with him. But at least she could look at him and enjoy the view.

The truck reached the paved area, the ride smoothed out, and she looked out at the vineyard and in horror asked, “Eli! What happened to your grapes?”

He glanced out where twenty trellised rows had been knocked over, ground into the dirt and destroyed. “I had fire trucks and police cars and the ambulance here last night. Somebody was blocked in and they wanted out.”

“I hope you plan to sue them!” She’d been hanging around Eli long enough to mourn the destruction of his beloved vines.

“Shit happens.”

Obviously the last twenty-four hours had made Eli run mad. The Eli she knew would never so casually dismiss the death of so many aged vines.

They reached the parking area, and the cottage—or lack of it—came into view.

Chloë gasped. “Oh, no. Oh, no.” The blast had dug a blackened crater deep in the ground, burned the lawn around it, and thrown debris into the vineyard, the bushes, and onto the house. “I know you said . . . but I didn’t expect . . . It looks like an F-five tornado wiped out the cottage.”

“I know.” He stopped the truck and looked at the destruction. “But at least I didn’t lose what is important to me—” Stopping midsentence, he gestured toward the two vehicles parked by the house. “Do you recognize the cars?”

“No. But I don’t like the looks of that one.” She pointed at the Mercedes CL600.

Eli looked at her as if she were crazy. “It’s a great car.”

“It’s a car my father would drive.”

Eli’s enthusiasm died. “That would explain the very bodyguard-looking guy lingering beside the door.”

Chloë noted the motionless stranger standing up on the deck watching them. “You’re right. That’s Arvid Dijkstra. He’s my father’s main bodyguard.” She waved at him.

He raised a hand back.

“Now I wonder if the other car isn’t”—Chloë took a breath—“my mother.”

Eli turned to her in concern. “Do you think they were notified that you were killed?”

“Oh, God.” Chloë was out of the car and running toward the house, injuries forgotten in the rush to reassure her parents.

Eli followed close on her heels.

They stampeded up the outside stairs.

Eli used his key to open the door.

As they stood in the doorway unnoticed, a blast of shouting blew past their heads.

“Did he kill her?” Her mother, tall, slim, and strong, faced off with Tamosso Conte.

Tamosso, short, stocky, defiant, and more than her match, stood toe-to-toe with her. “Don’t be ridiculous, woman! He didn’t kill her.”

“You saw the cottage where you so cleverly said she should stay.” Lauren Robinson’s eyes filled with tears, and her voice wobbled. “If Chloë has died . . .”

“No, Lauren. No. Eli is a good man. He would never allow Chloë to be hurt.” Papa stepped forward to stand beside her mother. He put his arm around her and said, “Trust me,
cara
; Chloë is fine.”

Chloë stepped forward. “Papa. Mom.” She opened her arms. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

For the space of three heartbeats, her parents looked at her in awe.

Rushing at her, they embraced her, holding her in a way that made her realize how very worried they both had been.

Chloë winced as they hugged a little too tightly, and laughed when Lauren said, “Your . . . hair!”

“I cut it.”

“You certainly did!”

“Ti sta bene il nuovo taglio di capelli!”
Her father beamed, and ruffled her hair.

“Grazie
, Papa,” Chloë said.

“It’s very pretty, dear. Very . . . impish.” Lauren studied her, and her voice gentled. “Your face concerns me, though. What happened? I thought that you . . .” Her eyes filled with tears.

“It’s okay, Mom.” Chloë pulled her back and hugged her gingerly. “I wasn’t here for the explosion, and Eli has protected me from the trouble.”

“What trouble?” Tamosso gestured toward the cottage. “What trouble are you having?”

“We’re getting it figured out,” Eli said, “and I’ll fill you in when we have more time. I have to ask—how did you get in?”

Chloë hadn’t thought of that, and she looked between her parents, startled and wary.

“I called your grandmother and she came down to let us in. A lovely woman.” Tamosso kissed his fingertips.
“La più gentile.”

“She welcomed us very kindly,” Lauren said primly.

Chloë found herself swaying a little.

Eli’s gaze zeroed in on her. “As you can see, Chloë wrecked her car. She’s suffered a trying ordeal, and she needs her rest.”

Tamosso caressed her chin.
“
Cara, I’ll call my personal physician in from San Francisco.”

“Really, Papa. It’s not necessary.” Now that Chloë’s initial alarm had eased, she yawned mightily.

Eli pulled her close. “She’s been up all night. I brought her back to the house so she could sleep. If you’ll excuse us . . .”

Lauren got her stubborn look. “I came here because, after I heard about this highly irregular wedding, I knew my daughter needed me.”

“I came because
you
went insane about the marriage,” Tamosso said to her.

Suddenly, for Chloë, it was all too much: Eli’s betrayal, the drive up the treacherous road at night, the terrible crash, the terrifying descent down the mountain, the hunger, the cold, the pain, the knowledge that someone was trying to kill her . . . the knowledge that the man she loved could have been killed in her place.... “I’m glad to see you both, but I’m going to bed.” Chloë leaned into Eli’s supportive arms. “As Eli said, I need to sleep.”

Both parents sprang forward.

Eli swept her into his arms.

“What’s wrong with her?” Tamosso trembled as he stared at Chloë’s limp body.

“Exhaustion and shock,” Eli told him patiently. “She was almost killed last night. She needs rest.”

“If you’ll carry her into the bedroom, I’ll take care of her.” Lauren Robinson was a vibrant woman with an air of command that all too clearly told Eli she was used to being obeyed.

She would not command him. Not in this matter. Looking her in the eyes, he said, “Chloë is my wife. I’ll care for her.”

Lauren stepped back, offended.

Without opening her eyes, Chloë mumbled, “I’m okay, Mom; I swear. Let me get a nap and I’ll be my old self.”

“As you wish, darling.” Lauren caressed Chloë’s hair off her forehead, then pressed a kiss there, and smoothed her hair again.

Eli relaxed infinitesimally. Chloë had told him she and her mother had a good relationship, but he had needed to see the evidence. He needed to know Chloë was safe in her mother ’s love.

He told her parents, “The spare bedrooms are downstairs. If you’d like to wait, I’ll show you where they are, but, please, I hope you’ll both make yourselves comfortable in our home.” He projected a little sarcasm, since Chloë’s parents were already relaxed enough to be fighting.

Lauren understood.

Tamosso was oblivious. “Ah. Good.” He picked up the two suitcases sitting by the door. “I’ve been living in a hotel in San Francisco, waiting for your reports. It’s good to stay with family instead. Come, Lauren. Now that you know Chloë’s alive, let’s leave the children alone.”

Lauren hesitated.

Tamosso’s voice snapped like a whip. “Come, Lauren.” He started for the stairs.

Lauren followed.

Chloë peeked from beneath her eyelids. “No one bosses my mom around. I had no idea he could pull that off.”

Eli started toward their bedroom. “He started with nothing and made a fortune. It’s no accident he can make himself heard.”

“I suppose. But I never see that side of him, and believe me, I’ve never seen a man call my mother to heel.”

Eli placed her on the bed.

She moaned. “Feels so good.”

He leaned over her. “Did you fake that collapse out there?”

She peeked at him through lowered lashes. “Maybe a little.”

“Good strategy,” he said. “Now rest. I’ll take care of you. You’re safe here.”

“I know.” She snuggled into the pillows.

Yeah.
Because she trusted him with her body, but not her heart.
A condemnation that left him both flattered and broken.

He gave her more painkillers, removed her clothes, slid one of his shirts around her shoulders, and tucked her in, fighting the urge to climb in bed with her, hold her while she slept, be with her when she woke, and make love to her again. He wanted to show her he could be trusted in every way, that the man who stood here now was not the man she’d so blindly married.

But she was sound asleep, exhausted by yesterday’s events and her ordeal last night.

And he had things to do. His politically incorrect biological imperative commanded that he keep his woman safe, and that took priority over his needs.

Leaning over her, he stroked the bruise on her cheek, and his cold rush of anger felt strong and familiar. When he found the bastard who had tried to kill her and finished with him, then Chloë would discover the kind of good, kind,
persistent
man Eli could be.

He looked at her . . . and looked at her. Driven by an invincible compulsion, he straightened and went to his jewelry box. There, a dangerous pink diamond bordered by two white diamonds blinked brightly, and a platinum wedding band set with white diamonds separated by platinum crosses shone with more subdued elegance.

Taking the wedding band, he went to his unconscious wife and slipped it on her finger.

He wasn’t that good a man.

Now . . . to get the bastard who had hurt his wife.

Chapter 45

P
ulling the bedroom door shut behind him, Eli walked toward the stairway that led down to the bottom level to check on his new in-laws.

Another round of shouting echoed along the corridor downstairs.

On second thought, he wasn’t getting involved in
that
.

Turning away, he headed for the phone, dialed, and when Rafe answered, he said, “I’m okay. Chloë’s okay.”

“You’re an ass, Eli.” Rafe’s shout blasted across the airwaves. “You couldn’t answer your phone?”

“I turned it off. I didn’t want to risk the GPS locators finding me while I went after Chloë. And I did find her.”

A pause. A sigh of relief. “Good. All right,” Rafe said. “I figured it was something like that. Nonna said you were both alive.”

“One of her gut feelings?” Eli asked.

“No. When I told her you’d driven through the vineyard and crushed the vines, she said you were going after Chloë. Brooke agreed. Who am I to argue with those two women?”

Eli cackled and walked to the window to look out over Bella Valley, his view obstructed only by Arvid Dijkstra’s tall figure and broad shoulders. Tamosso’s bodyguard was a giant.

“What the hell happened?” Rafe asked.

“Have you been up here?”

“Last night after you got out.”

“Then you tell
me
what happened. You’re the security expert.” In fact, thank God Rafe was on Eli’s team.

“Someone who really knows his way around explosives turned your cottage to kindling.”

“That’s stating the obvious.” Eli watched Dijkstra slowly pace the length of the deck. “How did he know Chloë had moved out there? Everyone in town had heard we’d gotten married. She should have been inside with me.”

“You two have a fight?” Rafe asked laconically.

“More of a battle. She won. She left.”

“When you fight, you have to do what I do. Admit you’re wrong even when you know you’re right.” Manly advice from a guy who’d been married barely more than a month.

“I did admit I was wrong,” Eli said in irritation. “She didn’t care.”

“She must have found out about the dowry you received?”

Eli hissed in annoyance. “Who told you? Noah or Nonna?”

“Neither one,” Rafe said smugly. “When you popped up married, Brooke speculated something like that had happened, and I checked into it. You’re an
idiot
to think you could get away with such a stupid scheme.”

“I know that now.” Trust Rafe to figure it out.

“But I’m impressed you managed to seduce her in such a short time period.” Rafe laughed. “You must have hidden talents.”

“My hidden talents are none of your business.” Eli reined in his irritation. “Can we get back to the matter at hand? I’ve got this sense of a ticking clock. . . .”

Rafe sobered. “Okay. First—you’re sure the explosion was aimed at killing Chloë?”

“Someone ran her off Browena Road last night.”

“She has definitely pissed someone off.” Rafe sighed. “We have some possibilities here. Maybe the explosive was set before the news of your marriage got around.”

“The cottage has a security system, and when Chloë went in, she activated it. It was only by the grace of God and her damned temper that she left before the whole place blew sky-high.” Thinking about how close it had been, Eli broke into a cold sweat.

“Look, Eli. Your standard home security system is adequate to keep your run-of-the-mill break-and-enter burglar from getting your stuff. But it’s no match for someone who knows the business. I could break into your house in less than a minute.”

Eli wheeled around, looked over his living room. Nothing felt safe anymore. Nothing. “Should we be checking for a bomb here?”

“I did last night. It’s clean, and I spruced up your security. It’s not perfect, but it’s better, and it’ll do until I get one of my real experts out to you.”

“Thank you.” Eli’s relief was profound.

“The thing is, the bomb in the cottage was placed by a professional, and without examining the debris, my guess is . . . the timer was activated by the security system. As in, when the security system was set, that’s what started the timer for the bomb.”