and they’d drop behind only to gain again. After fifteen minutes they reached the section of Naples called Vomero, an elevated area filled with views in all directions where they kept up the crazy cat and mouse in a heavily commercial area with all sorts of offices and pedestrians.
They sat waiting at a red light, the Daimler only a block ahead. “Hang on,” Marko called to her.
He gunned the bike and they blasted straight through the cross traffic, barely avoiding a truck.
The light turned green for the Daimler; it moved ahead. Marko skimmed the outside of their lane and then swung into oncoming traffic to go around two trucks blocking their way. She looked forward over his shoulder, right into the grill of an oncoming van whose driver was frantically honking his horn. She sucked in her breath as they zipped back into their own lane. She could hear the van’s driver cursing.
They were within a limousine’s length of the Daimler. “I’m going to stop their car,” Marko yelled, and she sensed he’d drawn his gun.
“It’s too dangerous for pedes—”
She heard the shot. The Daimler’s left rear tire blew, and the car jerked left and then back to the right. Normal traffic parted to flow around it. The driver pulled the Daimler to the curb and everyone bailed out, including the old man.
The three thieves ran into the cross street. Marko stopped the bike. Lindsey jumped off. Together they dogged the three men who suddenly veered left. The men ran past the ticket booth to the Via Toledo Funicular, and shoved their way into a car. Lindsey watched in horror as the door closed behind the three men, and the funicular began to descend. Another cable car would not arrive and then begin the steep descent, she knew, for at least ten minutes. All three men grinned back at her. One held up one of the tubes.
We’re going to lose them! I’m going to lose the Artemisia!
Her stomach twisted.
“Shit!” Marko said.
Lindsey scanned their surroundings, fighting disappointment, and saw that a long flight of stairs descended alongside the funicular. She pointed.
“The bike,” Marco exclaimed.
They ran back to the bike, and Marko drove them to the head of the sidewalk. “Hold on tight,” he said, stating the obvious.
They bumped their way down the stairs, which thankfully had few people coming up. Almost all the foot traffic was heading down and Marko stayed well to the left, yelling in Italian for them to clear out of the way.
She ignored the shocked stares of the people they passed. She accidentally bit her tongue, tasted salty blood. Too soon they had to detour to a side street, then an alley, but they didn’t lose sight of the funicular. Finally they caught up and as they passed the cable car, she took perverse pleasure in the amazed looks on the faces of the three men. She prepared herself for one hell of a fight.
“No gun,” she said to Marko, thinking of the hordes of people who would be waiting at the bottom to board.
Marko nodded.
When the three thugs entered the street, Lindsey and Marko sprang after them. The old man didn’t even try to run. She singled out the smaller thug, and Marko headed for the larger one. They were, apparently, woefully out of shape. Her man turned and charged her. She landed a forward kick to his diaphragm and he went down with the follow-up chop to the back of his neck. She kicked him over onto his side and, as he gasped for air, she grabbed the tube he carried, and took his gun.
Marko dispatched the man with the other tube, apparently with the same ease. He mounted the bike. Panting, laughing and flushed with a sense of triumph, Lindsey hopped on behind, clutched both tubes fiercely, and they took off. Hot damn, she’d done it again.
“Ooo-rah!” she whooped as they passed a row of plump elderly women in black dresses waiting in line at the funicular.
Given all the havoc they had left in their path, perhaps including a dead body in the park, witnesses might be describing a woman in black leather and red hair and a man also in black and looking like a criminal. The authorities might very well be watching all transport stations, so they ruled out getting onto a plane dressed as they were. She had used a fake ID and paid cash for the Fiat so she left it to the police to return it. She and Marko picked out a small, no-name store that sold men’s and women’s Levi’s jeans and sweatshirts. At another store they bought new clothes and duffel bags for their leather ones. She bought a cheap black wig and black eyebrow pencil and he bought reading glasses. At 4:30 p.m. they caught a flight back to Florence.
On the plane, with her treasure secure in the bin overhead, Lindsey ordered that Chianti she’d missed with her pizza, and Marko joined her. She explained what she had intended to do in case of trouble—threaten to incinerate the painting if the old Nazi and his gang thought they could take it from her, and offer them more money instead. “It’s worked for me before.”
“Tell you what. I apologize. I acted from the gut when I saw the gun.”
“Well, I admit that you saved my client any extra money.” She smiled. She liked a man who felt strong enough in his masculinity to actually apologize. She sipped the wine, thinking that Marko was earning points rapidly. He’d shown himself to be bold. Smart. Courageous. And a damn good fighter.
“Your dad told me you were tough,” he said and then laughed, that beautiful baritone. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that karate kick.”
She shrugged with a smile. Like K-bar, he was impressed with her daring.
“I’d like to see you again, Lindsey. Would you like to go skydiving tomorrow? I have a buddy, a hotdog instructor.”
Her hand froze in midair. She slowly lowered the wineglass. She’d never been skydiving. The idea was…pretty intimidating. She felt her chest tightening, a sure sign her body didn’t really like the idea. Why had he picked skydiving, for heaven’s sake?
“According to K-bar you’re a real risk-taker,” Marko added. “Ever been skydiving?”
She shook her head. Of course, her father would describe her as a risk-taker. Wasn’t that the image she always projected to him? Part of what he admired about her?
“Okay. Skydiving sounds fine. Let’s do it.”
Marko explained what she ought to wear and that he’d pick her up at 10:00. For the rest of the trip, they talked about his joining the French Foreign Legion, the action he’d seen in Afghanistan, the Ivory Coast and Kosovo.
“Why did you join?”
“Oh…” His jaws flexed, as if gritting his teeth. “My family background is a little on the shady side. I…wanted to break away.” He smiled with a hint of mischief. “And I wanted to see the world.”
And he wants to keep things vague, she thought as the plane began its descent, so she asked no more questions, and he didn’t offer any more information about himself. He’d left his car, a very sexy black Maserati GranSport Spyder with a red-and-black interior, at the airport in a high security lot. Whatever he did for K-bar must pay very well, or else he’d lied about separating himself from his family background. You didn’t make that kind of money in the FFL.
Lindsey used a motorbike or taxis
