C oncussion. That’s the word that swam into Grant’s mind as he was driven across Naples. He’d experienced one before when a wrestling move went wrong and a chair hit the back of his head. With effort, he focused on recalling the symptoms. Fuzziness: check- squinting helped a little. Nausea: if he’d had a bigger dinner, the backseat would be a mess. Lack of concentration: had he already thought of that? Loss of memory: that was a tough one.
He remembered some of the fight in the galleria, but he didn’t know how he ended up in the car. He tried to focus on the two men on either side of him. One was massaging his knee and the other was holding his stomach. Only the driver and Sal in the front passenger seat looked unharmed. Grant knew there were more guys, but they would be in even worse shape. As far as he could recall, he’d kicked the crap out of five of them. Not bad, but not good enough.
The car was waved through an iron gate and up the driveway to the gaudiest mansion he’d ever seen. Eggshell color, pillars dominating the front, ornate decorations curling around the windows and doors, cherubs adorning the eaves. It looked like the White House redecorated by Liberace.
Two new guys yanked Grant out of the car and hauled him up the steps into the house. He was taken through the foyer and to an outdoor patio that was situated on a cliff a hundred feet above the sea.
He’d only gotten a glimpse of Gia Cavano when she’d hopped into the sports car outside the Boerst building in Munich, but the woman sitting in front of him was unmistakable. Her voluptuous form was squeezed into a tight black T-shirt and black jeans. Her long dark hair was wrapped on top of her head in a sexy updo. She looked sleek and curvy all at the same time. If Grant had been in a bar, he would have sidled up to her by now and offered to buy her a drink.
“Welcome to my home, Mr. Westfield,” Cavano said.
The fuzziness was fading, but Grant had to hold himself steady to keep from falling over. “If you want to invite me over to tea, an engraved invitation would be appreciated next time.”
“You’re a tough man to bring down, I hear.”
“Give me one of those batons and I’ll really show you what I can do. You know, I’m kind of parched.” He nodded at Sal, one of the three men hovering around them, guns at the ready. “Could you ask your girlfriend to get me an ice water? And a Scotch chaser. Neat.”
Sal glared at Grant. Apparently his English was good enough to get the insult.
“Get Mr. Westfield his drinks,” Cavano said.
Sal left, and Grant took a seat without asking.
“You’ve got your tentacles into everything if you could get the police to intercept my men,” he said. “Where are they?”
“Oh, they’ll be fine. A night in jail and then they’ll be free in the morning. Long enough for my purposes.”
“Which are?”
“Jordan Orr. You know where he is?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I would have known precisely where he is if your meatheads hadn’t interrupted the party.”
Sal returned with the drinks.
“Thanks, Sallie.” Grant took them, chugged the Scotch, and pressed the cold glass of water to his temple.
“Can you find him?” Cavano said.
“Why should I?”
“Because if you don’t, I will have my men throw you off the patio.”
Grant took a sip of water and looked at the long drop to the Mediterranean below. “That is a darn good reason. I’ll have to call Tyler Locke to find out.”
“Tell me his number.”
Grant thought about it for a second and decided it couldn’t hurt to try. He gave her the number and she dialed. She listened for a few moments, then hung up.
“Straight to voice mail.”
That can’t be good, Grant thought. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t be answering.”
“I have a possible reason. I received an anonymous call ten minutes ago telling me that he’s with Jordan. Where are they going?”
Grant’s heart sank. He was hoping that Tyler had gone to ground when he lost contact with the security team, but this must have been Orr’s plan all along. Orr was the only one who could have tipped Cavano off about the tracker. He must have cornered Tyler and Stacy virtually simultaneously, although Grant didn’t know how that was possible. If Tyler wasn’t dead or free, that meant Orr was taking him to find the treasure.
“I have an idea where,” Grant said.
“Show me.”
“First, I want some guarantees.”
“The only guarantee I’ll make is that you’ll die slowly if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
“That is magnanimous of you, but I need something more. I know you mafia types are people of your word.” Grant didn’t believe that for a second. Criminals were criminals. But he couldn’t just acquiesce to her demands without negotiating. They preyed on weakness, and he wasn’t going to show her any. His words hit their target.
Cavano’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” Grant knew that she hungered for the treasure and her vengeance on Orr too much to kill him if he could lead her to them.
“I want a promise on your mother’s grave that you will let me, Tyler, and Stacy go once you have Orr and the treasure.”
“My mother’s still alive. She’s upstairs right now.”
“Okay, swear on your dear departed husband’s soul.”
“You’re working with Jordan. How do I know you weren’t sent here to lure me into a trap?”
“We were forced to work with Orr. We’re just pawns to him.”
“Can you prove it?”
Good question, Grant thought. What would be irrefutable proof?
Proof. He had just the thing.
“Do you have a computer?” Grant asked. “I need to show you an email.”
Sal brought a laptop, but he wouldn’t let Grant touch it. He gave it to Cavano.
“Tell me what to type,” she said.
He gave her the login and password for his email and told her to click on one of the emails that Tyler had forwarded to him with the video of Sherman Locke.
She watched it twice and closed the laptop.
“Okay, I believe that Jordan is forcing you to work for him,” she said. “But if we do find the treasure, and I agree to free you, how do I know you won’t talk about it to anyone?”
“Who would believe us? You won’t let us get away with any evidence.”
Cavano thought about that. “All right. I swear on my husband’s soul that I will not kill you, Tyler, or Stacy if you fulfill your part of the bargain.” She made the sign of the cross.
“No, promise that we will be safe. I don’t want an ‘accident’ to befall us on the way to the airport.”
She sighed. “Yes, you will be safe. I swear it on my husband’s soul.”
Grant stood. “Then we have a deal.” He knew the deal was a sham, but the longer he stayed alive, the longer he had to work out some kind of scheme to find Tyler and get out of this mess.
“Where are we going?” Cavano said as she stood.
“To some place called Piazza San Gaetano. We’re going to church.”