Water streamed from her breasts and thighs, cooling her skin. She shivered. Surely Teresa and Irena hadn’t taken all the clean clothing with them?
To her relief she caught sight of a pile of clothes on a large rock. Everything was there, including her own dirty garments. She put the rifle down within easy reach. With trembling fingers she rapidly dried herself as best she could on the sheet Teresa had held as a screen. Forcing down the wave of revulsion that rose in her throat at the thought of Giovanni’s hands on her she scrubbed at her breasts and her lips as if she could remove all trace of his caresses.
Then her eyes still on him, praying he wouldn’t move, she shook out a clean skirt and tunic and fumbled her way into them, all the time half expecting to see an enraged Giovanni emerge from the water. Feeling warmer, she picked up the rifle.
Giovanni hadn’t moved.
She’d done some hunting in Scotland and knew better than to take anything for granted, so she held her breath, remaining motionless to encourage him to stir if he thought she had gone. This time he would be seeking revenge for her playacting, and she was ready to shoot if he came after her.
A bird flew overhead with a mocking cackle.
She thought of the way he’d boasted about his police connections.
Marco’s enemies.
She judged she had waited about five minutes, thinking hard. Giovanni still lay motionless. It wasn’t really long enough to be sure, but she had little choice. She had the rifle. She was no more than twenty minutes away from the caves. If she could get back there quickly she could warn Marco there was a traitor in his midst. She paused. Why should she do that after what he had done to her? Because he had said his people were in danger. She might not care if he rescued his title deeds and the money, but she did care about him finishing up in a filthy prison somewhere. And his followers deserved a chance to get away. Despite their hostility toward her, she would never forgive herself if those women and children died, or were carried away to rot in jail.
Enough hesitation. It was as if the events of the past two days had piled up until they’d eaten away her capacity to make decisions. Her mind made up, she tucked the stock of the gun under one arm, took a last look around and moved toward the path that would lead her back to Marco.
Chapter Seven
Giovanni lay prone in the warm water, his eyes closed, barely breathing, cursing the woman for a lying, cock-teasing whore. The rock was hard under his cheek, and a dull ache throbbed from the spot on the back of his head where she’d hit him. She had led him on, humiliated him, and now she had the rifle. His rifle.
His straining ears caught the faint sounds of her movements as she dried herself and dressed. The temptation was great, but he daren’t look at her. He imagined her smooth legs as she stepped into the skirt, hiding her cunt, the cheeks of her perfect ass. When she raised her arms to put on the tunic, her breasts would lift and tremble. He stifled a groan as his cock hardened and swelled.
He tensed all his muscles to refrain from leaping up, bending her over one of the rocks, and thrusting inside her. Time yet to make her scream for mercy. All that talk of going with him had been a sham. Diablo! Marco had enjoyed her and he meant to have her too, if he had to beat her black and blue.
The sounds had stopped. Had she finished dressing, waiting for him to move, the rifle pointed at him? He could wait.
He had to hand it to her. She was hard to intimidate, and it looked as if she knew how to handle a gun. He damned his own carelessness for leaving the weapon on the ground, blinded by her wiles. The gun in her hands was the only thing stopping him from jumping on her now. He had to find a way to get it away from her, so he could make her his prisoner again. Tie her up, keep her somewhere she couldn’t escape until she understood there was no alternative but to stay with him. He licked his lips in anticipation.
He would have liked to see Marco beat her with the cane in front of all the people. Of course the capo had hesitated, as usual, until it was too late. Marco had agreed reluctantly to only two beatings since they’d been in the caves. One was a woman. She was too friendly with a man in one of the police patrols and although she protested her innocence, she received ten lashes on her bare back. She screamed and wept and begged them to stop. Giovanni felt the blood surge in his groin at the memory.
If he could be sure of one thing, it was that the Englishwoman’s pride wouldn’t let her go back to the cave. He’d told his story well and she’d believed it all. She wouldn’t go near Marco again and she would be easy to follow.
He thought of all the tracks that were visible from this vantage point, radiating out in different directions, all made by people over the decades. Some of the distances were great, but she would set off and eventually reach one of the villages. He knew the area well, and there were plenty of places where he could get ahead of her and lie in wait.
After a long silence he heard the sound of a rock bouncing down the slope on the other side of the pool and a muffled exclamation. Gravel crunched. She was on the move!
He hauled himself from the water in a swift movement and took cover behind a rock.
No sign of her.
His clothing dripped around him and began quickly to cool. Dio! Add that discomfort to the list of things for which he would make her pay.
He heard another cascade of stones from the path leading back to the caves. To make sure, he scrambled to the highest point above the pool and scanned the other trails. They were empty.
Inferno! She was on her way back to Marco! Once again she’d tricked him and caught him unawares. He had to stop her.
Even though his sodden clothes clung to him uncomfortably, he padded after her and soon had her in sight. She walked quickly, although limping slightly. She held the gun at the ready and she was nervous, darting glances around her, stopping once to look back. Of course she saw nothing except the empty track. It wasn’t hard to creep closer over the rocks as she picked her way down. He’d lived all his life amongst these mountains and could leap along the trails like a mountain goat.
Then she came to a more difficult section and had to keep her eyes on the ground. The right hand side of the track dropped off into a steep ravine, thick with bushes and underbrush. He narrowed the gap between them.
She stumbled on a loose rock, and the barrel of the gun dipped downward. He seized his chance, covering the space between them in two strides, clasping her in a bear hug from behind and clamping one hand over her mouth.
She fought and struggled like a mad thing, kicking and swearing. He lifted her off her feet, ready to throw her to the ground, but she managed to twist her head and sink her teeth into his ear. A red cloud of anger and pain misted his eyes and brain. He yelled in fury and, in instinctive reaction, hurled her away from him, over the edge of the cliff.
One hand over his torn ear, he watched her roll over into the gully, her arms flailing as she let go of the rifle and tried to clutch at bushes to slow her descent. Her body bounced against an outcrop of rock and he heard her cry out. Small stones slithered and clattered after her until she lay face down, almost at the bottom. He stood panting on the rim, flexing his shoulder muscles, letting the rage subside. It hadn’t been part of his plan to dispose of her so soon and he considered the wisdom of going down to finish her off, but knew he would waste precious time clambering back up the steep sides. Above the thick bushes they were covered with loose shale that slid underfoot at every step. The rifle had tumbled lower and was completely buried in the undergrowth. He knew this terrain. It would require a long and difficult search to locate the weapon, if it could be found. He had to take the risk that the woman was too badly hurt to make a search, even if she could get back on her feet.