Widow - Anne Stuart [73]
There was no missing the undertone of menace in Gia’s soft voice, and Charlie could have kicked herself. Not that she truly believed anyone would want to hurt her, apart from Gia’s focused malice. But still, one of the great joys of climbing up to the ruined church was knowing that she’d be completely alone, that no one would wander up to join her. Now they all knew, though she doubted anyone would care enough to make the trek.
Of course, Maguire had already done just that, and it hadn’t ruined the place for her. She allowed herself a casual glance in his direction, then frowned. He was surreptitiously moving toward the edge of the terrace, for all the world as if he was about to make a run for it.
“Signore Maguire.”
The rest of the police had emerged from the dining room, accompanied by a particularly smug-looking Henry. Considering Henry’s occupation the last time she’d been anywhere near him, Charlie wasn’t particularly pleased to see that expression on his patrician features.
Maguire halted, like a deer frozen in the headlights. “Yeah?”
“Mr. Richmond informs me that you’re here under false pretenses.” The stern-looking poliziotto in the fancy uniform said, clearly the man in charge. “You told the ladies you were working as an insurance adjuster, when in fact you’re a paparazzo.”
Maguire had the gall to look offended. “I’m a reporter.”
“For the sleaziest tabloid on the international scene,” Henry broke in ruthlessly. “You took advantage of the innocent trust of my fiancée, wormed your way in here just to write an exposé of Pompasse and his sex life. The police tell me I can’t have you charged with anything, but I can beat you within an inch of your life.”
Maguire strolled right up to him, and Henry took a nervous step backward. “You and what army, mate?” Maguire demanded.
“Oh, my,” Olivia breathed, fascinated. “I should have guessed you weren’t a bureaucrat.”
“It would be best if you left, Signore Maguire,” the policeman said solemnly. “But we’ll be wanting to talk with you shortly, and we’ll be confiscating your notes and photographs.”
“Photographs?” Charlie said faintly, the first words she’d been able to utter.
“You won’t be confiscating a goddamned thing,” Maguire said. “For that matter, there’s nothing to confiscate. I haven’t been taking any notes.”
“His laptop,” Charlie said in a strained voice. “You should check his laptop.”
“Unfortunately they’ll need to get a court order to do that,” Maguire said, turning to look at her. There was no apology, no remorse in his face. “And the Starlight has the best lawyers in the business.”
“The Starlight?” Charlie echoed in horror. She’d managed to avoid tabloids whenever possible, but the Starlight was notorious enough for even her to be aware of.
“He’s top of the food chain when it comes to rats,” Henry said. “But you forget you’re dealing with a damn fine lawyer already.”
“Please leave,” Charlie said, breaking through. “Please.” Her voice was calm, steady. She’d wrapped her serenity back around her like a cloak, and nothing could get through.
Without a word Maguire turned and bounded across the terrace, through the maze of cars to his rusty-looking Fiat. He paused as he climbed in the driver’s seat, and his eyes met Charlie’s for a long, thoughtful moment. And then he was gone.
“Marco, Adolfo, make sure Signore Maguire leaves the premises,” the chief policeman ordered. “And Signora Pompasse, if you would be so good as to come this way, we have a few questions for you.”
She allowed herself one last glance at the Fiat as it sped down the road. He drove like a bat out of hell, she thought. Maybe he’d even crash before he reached the bottom of the driveway. One could only hope.
She turned to the policeman, a calm, ready smile on her face. “Of course,” she said. And followed him into the dining room.
By the time Maguire reached Geppi he’d managed to lose his police escort. There’d been no need to—it had been pure cussedness on his part, but he took great pleasure in the