She tried to speak to him, but her muscles wouldn’t respond.

“Don’t talk,” he ordered, frowning. “Rest.”

She finally got words out, letting them ride on the outbreath. “Did I thank you for saving my life?”

A smile softened the grim cast of his face. “Not too recently,” he admitted. “Not in the last thirty-six hours, at least.”

“Ah. Well.” She squeezed his hand. “For the record.”

There was so much to say to him, it was bottlenecked inside her. Then, suddenly her memories coalesced. And with them, a clutch of fear. “Elsie?” she asked. “And Wesley?”

“They’re okay,” he assured her. “Elsie was treated for shock and contusions, your sisters told me, but she’s already getting off on being a local celebrity. She’s in hog heaven, giving interviews to the local paper from her hospital bed. Wesley’s pretty bad, but he’s in stable condition now. Bullet to the shoulder, lost a lot of blood. But he should be okay.”

“Thank God,” she murmured. Her eyes drifted closed again. She felt like a radio, tuning in and out of the frequency of consciousness, but Duncan was always there, like a rock coming in and out of view in the mist. So comforting. Another factoid popped to the top of her mind.

“They’re looking for sketches,” she said.

He frowned. “Huh? Who is looking for what?”

“John and Haupt. The bad guys. Lucia’s treasure. They’re after sketches of some kind. Haupt told me his name and a bunch of other stuff, just for the fun of it. To taunt me. Hah. Funny, isn’t it?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t know if funny’s the word I’d use.”

“The Conte deLuca, Lucia’s father, hid these sketches from the Nazis during the Second World War,” she went on. “And they’re still hidden. Wild stuff. How did you know to come after me?”

“Found a bug in your laptop. Followed the GPS in your cell.”

“No way,” she whispered. “Saved by a cell phone. The irony of it.”

He pressed his face to her hand. “I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

She stroked his jaw. “You’re cold,” she fretted softly. “Why are you cold? You’re usually so hot.”

“I’m scared shitless,” he blurted out.

Her eyes widened, shocked. “Huh? You? Why?”

“I thought I’d lost you.” The words rushed out as if they were under pressure. “Nothing’s worth shit without you, Nell. If they hurt you, that would be it for me. I’d be finished. Dead meat. Worm food.”

She petted his cheek, trying to soothe him. “Duncan. Don’t—”

“I have to have you in my life,” he said. “Have to. I don’t give a shit anymore about all that crap we argued about. You want me to make a formal declaration of love, fine. I’ll do it. You want me to memorize poetry and recite it to you naked and standing on my head, I’ll do it. Any fucking song or dance routine you want—”

“No,” she said softly.

He cut off the stream of words, alarmed. “Uh, no in what sense?”

“No in the sense of no, it’s not necessary. You don’t have to stand on your head or do any routine. You don’t even have to tell me that you love me. Because you already did.”

He blinked. “I did? How do you figure? When?”

“Just now,” she told him, smiling. “And not only that. You get big points for being really poetic and original about it.”

His face cleared, but he still looked perplexed. “Great,” he said doubtfully. “Hold on, here. Points? What’s this I hear about points? I thought points pissed you off.”

She laughed, softly, petting his cheek again. She couldn’t bear to stop. “There’s something about staring death in the face that helps a girl get over her pet peeves.”

“Ah. Well, hell, I didn’t even know I was being poetic,” he said. “Don’t I have to tell you your eyes are like stars and your skin like lily petals? And your ass is like a ripe, juicy peach?”

She shook her head. “Stars, lilies, peaches, pah. Overdone. Having a guy charge in to save you from a horrible death at the hands of psychopathic sadists? Now, that’s poetry.”

He lay his head on her chest. His shoulders shook. She petted them and ran her fingers through his hair, again and again. She didn’t want to break their physical contact for a single second. She wanted to cling to him. Just stay eternally fused.

“So we’re getting married?” His muffled voice had a challenging tone. “Soon? Like, now?”

She smiled up at the ceiling, euphoric. She was going to float up there, get stuck on the ceiling. “As soon as you like,” she said.

He raised his head and fixed her with a narrow gaze, as if daring her to contradict him. “And we’re having our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Sounds amazing,” she said.

He hugged her tighter. “You are so beautiful,” he muttered. “And by the way. Your ass really is like a ripe, juicy peach.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “That’s a lovely sentiment.”

“I know I’m stubborn,” he went on. “And resistant to change, and I always order the same thing in restaurants. But the flip side is, I know what I like. Once I make up my mind, I don’t change it. I’m talking about to the end of time, Nell.”

“That’s wonderful,” she whispered. “To the ends of being, and ideal grace. Lovely. I’m melting. Keep going.”

He looked worried. “Keep going? Oh, God. This is the hard part, right? I have to keep being poetic? For the rest of my life? Fuck me!”

She giggled. “So the part that came before was easy, for you, then? The gunfights and the car chases and the mortal combat?”

“Oh, that stuff’s more or less straightforward,” he said gruffly. “You either get killed or you don’t. But love, man. That shit’s complicated. I don’t understand why it works now, but it didn’t before.”

She traced his mouth with a fascinated finger. “Because we met halfway,” she said softly. “You’re so beautiful, Duncan.”

“Uh, thanks,” he said. “So this is the halfway point, then?”

She pulled his face down, kissed him. “Yeah. Nice, isn’t it?”

“I love our halfway point.” He touched his lips to hers, as gently as if she were a newly opened flower. “Let’s live there forever.”

“Sounds great to me,” she replied.

Ready or Not

Chapter

1

The van was stuck in the mud. Nothing could be served by denying that fact any longer. She had to face it. And eat it.

Vivi D’Onofrio killed the engine, shoved her hair back behind her ears, and pounded the steering wheel. The world outside the windshield was a wavering blur of green. Lightning flashed, and she braced herself for the crash. Edna yelped, and scrambled into her lap. Vivi petted the quivering dog. “Easy girl,” she crooned. “It’ll be over soon.”

It had seemed like a good idea late last night, just push on, rain and all.

The real truth was, she’d been scared to stop, with all the weird shit that had been happening. It was hard to argue with stomach-turning fear when she was all alone, with no one to act tough for. She hadn’t been able to face a roadside motel with a single door lock against the night, which was all she could afford. She was the only D’Onofrio chick without a big, vigilant, protective guy giving the hairy eyeball to everyone within shouting range of his new lady. The obvious soft target.