Rising Fire Read online

  But Smoke wasn’t here, she reminded herself again. She was the lone Jensen, so it was up to her to uphold the family name. The Jensen brand was on her, just like it was on all those cattle roaming the lushly grassed meadows of the Sugarloaf.

  Without saying anything else, the leader turned and motioned for the men with him to go back up the steps. He trailed them, pausing at the top to cast one last hostile look over his shoulder at the man and woman on the landing. Then he was gone like the others, vanishing into the shadows.

  “Denise, I am so sorry. This . . . this is terrible—” Giovanni began.

  Denny lowered the gun slightly but didn’t put it away. “Maybe you should see if you can attract the attention of another gondolier. I don’t think I want to go back up there, and we need to get somewhere we can talk.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “I never meant for my difficulty to involve you, cara mia,” Giovanni said as he poured wine from a bottle into glasses on the sideboard in his apartment. “A signorina as beautiful as yourself should never have to trouble herself over something as ugly and sordid as gambling debts.”

  “That’s what you owe to this man Tomasi?” Denny asked. “Gambling debts?”

  “Salvatore Tomasi makes a business of buying debts from gambling houses and individuals alike. I had a run of terrible luck.” Giovanni shrugged. “I would have recouped my losses sooner or later, but Tomasi is not a patient man. He demands payment now.”

  “And you don’t have the money,” Denny guessed. It wasn’t really a question.

  “I have experienced . . . financial reverses. Much as it pains me to admit it, I lack the funds to satisfy Tomasi’s demands.”

  “Can’t you get your family in Sicily to advance some money to you?”

  Giovanni laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

  “I am, what do you call it, the black sheep of the Malatesta family. My family cannot strip me of my title, but neither are they inclined to share their riches with me. I have my own money, of course, but much of it is tied up in investments and is not actually available to me at present.”

  “You could borrow on it,” Denny suggested.

  “A well I have gone to before, on occasion, to live in the lifestyle to which I am accustomed,” Giovanni said with a slight grimace. “Not a viable alternative at the moment, unfortunately.”

  She finally took the glass of wine he held out to her and downed a healthy swallow. “There’s only one thing we can do,” she said. “How much do you need to get Tomasi to leave you alone?”

  “No! Take money from a woman, from my beloved? No, I say, a thousand times no!”

  With anybody else, she might have thought he was being too dramatic. But such flamboyance was just who Giovanni Malatesta was, Denny told herself.

  “There’s nothing wrong with letting someone who cares about you help you out of a problem,” she argued. “My grandparents are wealthy, and my father’s ranch is one of the biggest and most lucrative in Colorado. All I need to do is send a few telegrams, and I can have the money wired to a bank here in Venice. Just give me the details of where it should go and how much you need, and we can take care of this first thing in the morning.”

  Stubbornly, Giovanni shook his head and said, “I cannot do this. Bad enough that I had to hide behind your skirts . . . and your gun . . . when Tomasi’s men cornered us.”

  “They were threatening me, too, you know,” she reminded him. “And I’m sure they’ll continue to do so, now that they know I’m someone important to you. Men like that are no different than the outlaws my father has dealt with back home. They’ll use any leverage they have to get what they want.”

  “This is true,” Giovanni admitted. “Salvatore Tomasi and the men who work for him are ruthless.”

  “So it’s in my interest to help you with this, too,” Denny said. “Please, Giovanni, let me help. Tell me how much you need.”

  For a long moment, he stood there, glaring, then he abruptly lifted his glass and drank down all the wine in it.

  “All right. I don’t like it. This still seems wrong. But I will pay you back, every bit.” He named an amount that sounded enormous to Denny and must have seen the look of surprise on her face, because he added hastily, “That is in lire. In American money, a bit more than ten thousand of your dollars.”

  That was still an awful lot of money, Denny thought, especially to have lost it gambling. But she said, “I can get that much. My grandparents may not be happy about it, but when I tell them it’s important, they’ll do it.”

  “They are in London?”

  “They have an estate not far from there where they spend time every year, but their home is in America, like mine.” She had explained to him about Louis’s medical condition and why they had spent so much time in Europe, as well as mentioning that she considered herself an American and that her true home was in Colorado, where her parents lived. “Right now they’re in Boston, but I’ll wire their bank in London as well as sending them a telegram directly. It may take a few days to arrange everything, but you’ll get the money to settle your debt with Tomasi. Will he wait that long?”

  “Sì, I believe so, once he knows the funds will be forthcoming.” Giovanni put his hands on her shoulders. “You must promise me that once the debt between the two of us is settled, we will never speak of this matter again. It is too humiliating to contemplate.”

  Denny smiled. “There’s no need for you to feel like that, Giovanni. I’m glad to help . . . when it’s someone I care deeply about.”

  A moment later, they were wrapped up in each other’s arms again, and Denny didn’t think anymore about gambling debts.

  For a while, anyway.

  * * *

  Louis was opposed to the idea when she told him about it, but Denny expected that. And she didn’t really blame him, either. He didn’t know Giovanni as well as she did. She didn’t believe he would ever allow himself to get tangled up in such a situation again.

  She spent all the next day burning up the telegraph wires between Venice, London, and Boston, and by the time she was finished, she had overcome her grandparents’ reluctance to wire the money to the bank in Venice. She met Giovanni in the Hotel Metropole’s lounge that evening to give him the good news.

  “The money will be in your account sometime tomorrow,” she told him over glasses of wine. “I’d like to know one thing, Giovanni.”

  “Ask me anything, my dear,” he said. “My life, like my heart, is completely open to you.”

  “Those men who attacked us that night on the Bridge of Roses . . . were they working for Tomasi?”

  He shook his head. “No, they were thieves, plain and simple, just as we thought at the time.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course. I’m not acquainted with all of Tomasi’s men, but I know none of them would have attacked us like that unless they were working under Gian-Carlo’s orders. He would have been with them.”

  “Gian-Carlo is that hard-faced man who approached us in the restaurant?”

  “That’s right. He is Tomasi’s second-in-command and takes a personal interest in all such matters. I believe he . . . enjoys . . . hurting people. Since he was not there on the bridge that night, we can be sure that Tomasi had nothing to do with that attempt on our lives.”

  Denny nodded and said, “All right.” She wasn’t completely convinced, but she supposed Giovanni knew a lot more about what was going on than she did. “Where are we going to eat dinner this evening?”

  Giovanni made a face. “To my everlasting regret, cara mia, we cannot dine together tonight.”

  Denny was surprised. They had been together almost every night for the past two weeks. “Why not?”

  “I received an unexpected message a short time before I came here to see you. My grandfather has sent an emissary to Venice, and I must meet with him.”

  “Your grandfather,” Denny repeated.

  “Sì. As I told you, I have been . . . estranged .
. . from my family for some time. But now, it seems that my grandfather wishes to explore the idea of restoring friendly relations. So he asked one of his associates who was going to be coming to Venezia anyway to look me up and broach the subject. The old man wishes to have dinner with me tonight.” Giovanni shrugged. “While I wish there was some other way to do it, if I am restored to my grandfather’s good graces, it will ensure that unpleasant situations such as the one with Salvatore Tomasi never again trouble us.”

  “You can avoid that yourself,” Denny told him. “Just don’t pile up any more big gambling debts.”

  “Of course, of course. That is my intention, I assure you. But life is uncertain. Problems arise. They are much easier to deal with when one has ample resources at one’s command. Besides . . .” He smiled. “It will be good to be welcomed back into the bosom of my family, if such a thing is possible.”

  When he said that, Denny felt a little ashamed of herself for doubting him. He just wanted his family to forgive him for his black sheep ways and take him back. She could understand that. Her family had never shunned her, but at the same time, she knew she hadn’t turned out exactly like they had expected. She had her own wild streak and often gave in to her impulsive nature.

  She took Giovanni’s hand and smiled across the table at him. “I understand,” she said. “You go ahead and do whatever you need to do this evening.”

  He returned the smile. “I will be thinking of you the entire time! That will help me endure what I am sure will be a tiresome evening with the old gentleman. Then, tomorrow morning I will go to the bank and take care of the final obstacle standing between us and happiness!”

  “Would you like for me to come with you?”

  Giovanni shook his head emphatically. “No, I don’t want you anywhere near Tomasi, Gian-Carlo, or any of those other louts! You must stay here at the Metropole with your brother, where you will be safe, and then, when all is concluded, I will call for you tomorrow evening. We will have a special celebration! And soon, if all goes well with my grandfather’s emissary, I will be able to pay you back for your oh-so-generous assistance.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” she told him. “There’s no hurry.”

  “Actually . . .” He picked up his glass of wine. “The hurry is now. I must prepare for this evening’s meeting. Wish me luck.”

  Denny clinked her glass against his. “Good luck, Giovanni . . . always.”

  They drank, then stood up. Giovanni hugged her, planted a brief kiss on her forehead, and left the lounge. As Denny watched him go, an idea stirred to life in her head.

  He might not have wanted her to come with him to this meeting with his grandfather’s emissary . . . but he might enjoy it if she were to surprise him at his apartment afterward. In fact, Denny mused, she was confident she could see to it that they both enjoyed that little surprise.

  CHAPTER 10

  Denny didn’t tell Louis where she was going that evening. She had dinner with him and then, knowing that he had a habit of turning in early, waited until he had gone into his bedroom in the hotel suite and closed the door. She had said she was going to bed, too, but instead she dressed in simple clothes so she wouldn’t stand out on the street, then lingered a little longer just to make sure before she left the hotel.

  She knew the way to Giovanni’s apartment, of course, and she didn’t have to take a gondola to get there. The two of them had walked all over Venice, and Denny had a keen, instinctive sense of direction. She followed the dark, narrow, winding streets, keeping her hand in her bag. Her fingers were wrapped around the butt of the Smith & Wesson. She didn’t expect to run into trouble, but if she did, she would be prepared.

  The canals were still busy at this hour, the streets and bridges less so. Denny was wary when passing groups of rough-looking men, but other than calling out to her in Italian, they didn’t bother her. She didn’t know all the words they said, but it wasn’t difficult to get the general idea of their comments. They probably thought she was a prostitute.

  She didn’t let them bother her. She had been hearing the same sort of thing from men for a number of years now, especially whenever she and Louis visited France. The Italian men weren’t quite as aggressive verbally—although they were more likely to pinch a girl’s rear end if she got within reach of them.

  When she reached the street that ran in front of the palazzo where Giovanni’s apartment was, she paused to look up at the building. Most of the windows were already dark, but light still glowed in some of them.

  Including, Denny realized as a frown creased her forehead, Giovanni’s bedroom window.

  Maybe he had left a lamp burning, although that wasn’t very likely. She hadn’t expected him to be back from the meeting with his grandfather’s friend yet, but she supposed that was possible. The meeting might not have gone as well as Giovanni had hoped it would.

  Denny hoped that wasn’t the case. She wanted Giovanni to be on good terms with his family again, and not just because of the financial advantages that would give him. Family was important. No one needed to be cut off from the ones who were supposed to love them the most.

  The best way for her to find out what had happened was to go on up there, she told herself. Giovanni would be surprised to see her, but she hoped he would be pleased, too.

  She went in and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Cooking odors from that night’s supper lingered in the air in the stairwell, a heady mixture of garlic and other spices. When she reached the second-floor hallway, she walked along it to the door of Giovanni’s apartment. Her hand lifted, poised to rap on the panel.

  The shrill, strident laughter of a woman came from inside the apartment before Denny’s knuckles could fall.

  She caught her breath and stepped back sharply as if she had just been slapped across the face. A deeper laugh with the rumble of a man’s voice in it came to her ears. She knew that sound, knew it all too well. She had heard it often during the past few weeks. And the laugh held a tone of intimacy that Denny recognized, too.

  Her heart slugged painfully hard in her chest. Giovanni was in there with a woman . . . laughing . . . and Denny’s mind whirled desperately, searching for something that would explain what she had just heard.

  Maybe . . . maybe the emissary sent by Giovanni’s grandfather had brought along some members of Giovanni’s family. That might be his sister laughing in there, or his mother or aunt. That was possible, wasn’t it?

  No, Denny told herself as the woman giggled. No, it wasn’t. That wasn’t the sort of sound a woman made when she was visiting with a long-absent relative. There was passion in it, and excitement, and . . . and . . .

  With her pulse hammering in her head, Denny leaned closer to the door and carefully pressed her ear against the panel.

  “. . . villa on the Mediterranean.” That was Giovanni’s voice. “The most beautiful place you have ever seen, and it will be just the two of us, cara mia.”

  Denny caught her breath again, the air hissing between tightly clenched teeth. This time she felt like she’d been punched in the gut, and it was all she could do not to let out a groan.

  She held it in, because she didn’t want the two people in the apartment to hear it and realize someone was out here.

  The woman spoke then, low enough that Denny couldn’t make out the words at first, but she caught the final part of the question the woman asked.

  “. . . afford that?”

  She had an English accent. Giovanni seemed to like women who had spent time in England, Denny thought wildly.

  He chuckled and said, “Don’t worry about that. With the money the American girl is having wired to my bank, we can live in luxury for months. And she will have no idea where to look for us, so you need not concern yourself with that, cara mia.”

  Denny wished he would stop calling her that. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears that wanted to well out.

  She could still hear, though, even if she couldn’t see at the moment.
The Englishwoman said, more clearly now, “It took you long enough to get that money out of her. And I’ll wager you enjoyed every second of it, you scoundrel!”

  “She was quite a pleasing companion,” Giovanni agreed. “But not half so beautiful and exciting as you.”

  “What about that Tomasi fellow? From what you told me, he sounds rather dangerous.”

  “He has given me until tomorrow evening to meet him and settle accounts, and we will be long departed from Venice by then. Tomasi will not be able to find us, either,” Giovanni said.

  So at least he had been telling the truth about the money he owed to Salvatore Tomasi. That hadn’t been yet another lie, part of the big act he had put on to convince Denny to part with ten thousand dollars—and more.

  “I tell you, Vanessa, I have thought of everything. Soon we will be living the life that we deserve.”

  No, Denny thought, what he deserved was for her to kick this door open and go in there shooting with the Smith & Wesson in her bag. She realized that she was still gripping it, so tightly that her hand was starting to go numb.

  But that would be cold-blooded murder, she told herself, and Jensens didn’t do such things. Giving Giovanni a thorough beating, up one way and down the other, would be all right, but she lacked the physical ability to do that and so did Louis.

  Anyway, she would never tell her brother about this. It was too humiliating. Louis didn’t need to know how badly she had been fooled by that . . . that snake!

  There was something else she could do, she realized. As the idea took shape in her mind, her face settled into cold, hard lines. That mask threatened to crack when she heard new noises coming from inside the apartment, noises that left no doubt what Giovanni and his Englishwoman were doing, without even having the decency to go into the bedroom.

  Denny’s resolve hardened even more. She straightened, taking her ear away from the door. She didn’t need to hear what was going on in there. She had heard plenty already.