“Akiko is fine,” Naomi assured her. “I saw her on my way here. But Wolfie is still there,” she warned us.
“We’ll take care of him,” Helen promised.
Naomi hadn’t put the painting away yet. The morning sun fell across the canvas, illuminating it. “Raphael painted her in oils more than five hundred years ago,” Naomi said quietly. “And she still looks like she could talk to you if she wanted.” The four of us stood next to Naomi, looking atLedaas she looked back at us. I knew we’d probably never seeLedaagain. She’d be sent to the family that had lost her and they would hang her on their walls or stick her in a vault somewhere. They might even auction her off—anyone would be at least tempted by the kind of moneyLedawould bring in. She had once hung on the walls of a king’s palace; maybe her next home would be an apartment in Stockholm or a penthouse in Shanghai. Wherever she ended up, I hoped she would be with people who loved her. She deserved it.
As Naomi zipped up the backpack, the rider who had beencarrying Nat pillion lowered the kickstand of his bike and dismounted, pulling off his helmet. He set it on his seat and came to me. My broken ribs ached and every square inch of my body felt bruised and lacerated, but a gleaming sun was coming up over the mountain. Another day was dawning and I was there to see it. He opened his arms and I went into them, resting my head in the crook of his neck.
“You good?” His voice rumbled in his chest and I nodded, thinking of the day I’d left Greece, the day he’d promised me that when the job was finished, he’d be there. Well, the job was done, Naomi had been briefed, and here he was.
“You’ve got good timing, English.”
He tipped his head. “Do I?”
I looked at his bike and grinned as I raised my face for him to kiss me.
“Yeah. I think maybe I needed a little rescuing this time.”
I couldn’t lift my arms high enough to hug him back, but he did the job well enough for both of us. When he’d finished, he strapped a spare helmet on me and helped me onto the bike. The others were all settled behind the rest of the riders Taverner and Naomi had brought—Museum contacts from around the Balkans, I found out later.
I leaned back and Taverner climbed onto the bike, shielding me with his body. I looped a few fingers through his belt loop and rested my head on his back.
“Ready?” he shouted.
“Take me home, English.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
We stopped in Podgorica fora bit of medical treatment, food, and rest. Naomi got us a hotel suite and a doctor who made house calls. Once he’d patched us up—mostly cleaning and taping things and setting a few stitches—Naomi ordered two of everything on the room service menu and found us some new clothes. After that, we napped and ate again, and then boarded a plane for Venice. We touched down near midnight, coming in over the waters of the lagoon that rippled black as a widow’s skirt. The moon rose, a little lopsided now, with a sliver pared off the edge. Taverner held my hand as we climbed into a private launch. We rode it as near as we could get to the Campo Santa Margherita where the house with the rose-colored walls waited for us.
And it wasn’t just the house that waited. The door was flung open before Taverner even punched in the first number on the code. Akiko threw herself at Mary Alice while Minkalooked me over to assess the damage and Wolfie gave Taverner a hearty hug.
“You are all okay?” Wolfie asked anxiously as we gathered in the salon. There were snacks and drinks laid out, but nobody touched anything. There were stories to tell, questions to answer, and a few secrets to keep. They didn’t need to knoweverything. But still the talking went on for hours. It was nearly dawn before anybody moved towards bed.
“So, what now?” Wolfie asked.
“You’re free to go back to your apartment,” Helen told him. “You can start rehearsing again at La Fenice, go out in public. Galina is gone, Wolfie. Nobody is going to come after you.”
His shoulders sagged a bit. He seemed relieved and deflated, and I wasn’t sure which emotion was stronger. “This has been an interesting time,” he said slowly. “I do not know what to think about it all.”
Mary Alice jotted a number on a card. “Call if you like.”
He looked touched. “This is your number?”
“No. It’s a psychologist our organization keeps on retainer for dealing with post-traumatic stress. Free of charge, but you might want to speak with a professional,” she said kindly.
He nodded. “I think this is good.”
“And you can come visit us in Greece,” Taverner said. I resisted the urge to kick him. Taverner was always inviting people to come stay and I was always finding reasons not to let them.
“Maybe when your time at La Fenice is over,” I suggested. A lot could happen between then and June.
There was no reason for him to linger after that. He shookhands awkwardly, hugged Taverner again, and left with a box of Malvestio pastries tucked under his arm.
“I think I’m going to miss that kid,” Helen said as she closed the door behind him. We sat quietly for a while, listening to the sounds of the campo stirring to life outside. Eventually, Helen turned to the rest of us. “What now? Sleep?”
“I’m too restless,” Mary Alice said. Akiko had curled herself into a corner of the sofa with one of the cats and was snoring gently. The other cat was using Minka for a cushion as they dozed together on the floor. Taverner was in an armchair, legs stretched out on an ottoman, face relaxed in sleep.
“I have an idea,” I said. I grabbed a bottle of champagne from the fridge and jotted a note to Taverner, tucking it in his shirt so he’d find it when he woke up.