"Then out of the line of fire of those men." He tilted his head toward the two thugs standing behind Radich. "It's not like she can go anywhere."

"Mrs. Cornaro may stand on the opposite wall," Radich said. "Away from the bar entrance. Hands up where they're visible."

Rocco flashed a look at Justine. "Go."

"Rocco-"

"Go."

Radich's eyes tracked Justine as she moved across the alley. With an inward prayer that Karpovsky was doing the same, Rocco flew backward, driving his elbow toward the man's gun.

He hoped the drunk and his friend were paying attention.

In one instant, Justine was backing toward the alley wall opposite the bar, her attention squared on Viktor Radich. She fumbled for the words that would convince him not to hurt Rocco, all the while hoping that someone would look down from the windows above and call the police. The designs could not fall into Radich's hands.

Before she could formulate an argument, Karpovsky grunted, Rocco yelled for her to get down, and the drunk rugby fans flew at Radich's men.

On instinct, Justine ducked. Her back slammed into the stone wall of the building, knocking the breath out of her and sending a shot of pain through her lower leg as she braced herself in a futile attempt to keep from falling. She scrabbled against the cobblestones to recover, her brain warring between the fear Radich would come for her and the need to help Rocco. He couldn't fight Karpovsky by himself, unarmed, let alone while wearing the backpack.

If she could somehow get the bag, it'd free Rocco from the weight, giving them a chance to save the designs and possibly their lives.

Radich barked out orders in Russian as he ran toward Rocco and Karpovsky. Behind him, his two men were losing their fight with the drunks...men she now realized were large, well-muscled, and stone-cold sober. Behind them, three more men entered the alley, all armed.

Pushing to her feet despite the pain lancing her calf and shin, she raced to beat Radich across the alley. The backpack dangled from one of Rocco's shoulders as he perched on top of Karpovsky, pummeling the larger man in the face. Karpovsky seemed impervious to the blows as he gripped Rocco's throat with one hand and punched Rocco's kidneys with the other. A grimace of pain twisted Rocco's features, but he didn't relent, smashing his fists into Karpovsky's nose and cheeks.

Unmistakable clicks reverberated through the alley. Guns were being c.o.c.ked. Bullets were about to fly. In such a tight s.p.a.ce, she had no hope of escaping a shot.

"Everyone freeze!"

The command rent the night air at the very moment Justine dove for Karpovsky and Rocco. She landed beside the grappling men, knocking her shoulder into Karpovsky's head and the cobblestones. She swiveled her gaze toward the voice. The man in the black hoodie stood behind Radich, his forearm wrapped around the lean Russian's neck while he held a gun flush to the side of Radich's skull.

Shock stilled Justine. On her hands and knees, she croaked, "Kos?"

"Release Mr. Cornaro. Now." Venom filled the Croat's voice as he glared at Karpovsky, the tone so deep and threatening even Justine jerked backward at the sound.

Behind Kos, the two men who'd accompanied Radich sat with their backs against the alley wall, hands on their heads, their chests dead-center in the sights of the heavily-armed men who'd entered the alley after the apparent drunks. Karpovsky turned his scarred, bloodied face enough to see his compatriots immobilized, but kept his hand at Rocco's throat, prompting Kos to add, "If you do not let go, Mr. Radich's brains will decorate the street. Yours will follow. Then your friends'. I have the authority to shoot at my own discretion and I will not ask again."

The tall, dark-haired man who'd pretended to be drunk a few minutes earlier advanced on Karpovsky, whose wild-eyed gaze went from Rocco, to the erstwhile drunk, then back to Rocco. The Russian knew he was trapped, but like an angry animal with prey in his teeth, he refused to let go.

Kos's accomplice picked up Karpovsky's gun from where it lay against one of the pub's trash barrels, handed it to Justine, then crouched to press his own angry-looking handgun to Karpovsky's head. "Remove. Your. Hands."

Slowly, Karpovsky released Rocco's throat, then raised his arms out to the sides. Rocco climbed off him, pain etching his features as he took a deep, choked breath. Kos's accomplice quickly rolled Karpovsky to his stomach, secured the huge Russian's hands with a zip tie, then searched him for more weapons while Justine moved to Rocco.

"Are you all right?" he gasped.

"I was going to ask you the same thing." The cut on his head was bleeding again, and he was holding his one hand tight to his body, as if his knuckles ached. She slid a palm over his cheek. "I think you need a doctor."

"I'm fine...or I will be. I'm just glad you're okay." He stood, using his uninjured hand to help Justine. Turning to Kos, who still held his gun to Radich's temple, he said, "Thank you."

"Watch Karpovsky while Umberto secures Radich, and we'll get you and Mrs. Cornaro out of here, sir."

Rocco took Karpovsky's gun from Justine, then trained it on the soldier while the dark-haired man-the one Kos referred to as Umberto-used another zip tie to secure Radich's hands behind his back. As he was doing so, three more armed men, all dressed like the two who'd entered the alley behind Kos and Umberto, approached. They moved to the side of the alley to talk in hushed tones with Umberto, who seemed to be directing the entire group. One of the men stepped aside and spoke into a small device attached to his shoulder. Less than thirty seconds later, a windowless black van rounded the corner.

"Who are these people?" Justine asked Kos.

Kos looked at Rocco, apparently unsure how to answer. "Friends."

"Surely not your personal friends." Not running around Rome with lethal weapons. She felt her eyes go wide as the back doors of the van flew open to reveal more armed men. They leapt out, then a.s.sisted Umberto in loading Radich, Karpovsky, and their two accomplices. Another thought occurred to her and she turned to Rocco. "Are we going to have the Italian police after us for this?"

Rocco leveled a look at Kos. "They're government men, aren't they?"

Kos glanced at Justine before nodding in the affirmative to Rocco, who uttered an oath before saying, "Fabrizia. This is her doing."

For perhaps the first time in his life, the ever-stoic Kos exhibited genuine surprise. "Yes, sir. Umberto is the royal family's head of security. He called in the DIA, the Italian anti-mafia investigative forces. They're working on this as a joint mission."

Justine could see the wheels of Rocco's brain spinning. He had to wonder how Fabrizia knew what was happening in Rome...and what the king and queen revealed to the Italians in order to pull off such an operation. "How did you get involved?"

"I knew it was Queen Fabrizia who visited after your mother's funeral. Even with her hair under a scarf, she's easy to recognize." Kos hesitated, his grim expression foreshadowing bad news. "I went back to the villa yesterday morning to pick up my overcoat and found that the library and master bedroom had been ransacked. Your safe had been blown open and your desk was overturned. Queen Fabrizia's card was lying on the rug underneath the desk." Kos proffered the card, which Rocco slipped into the back pocket of his jeans without a look.

Justine put a hand on Rocco's lower back and felt the tension there at the mention of the queen's name.

"When I saw the condition of the villa, I called your cell number and got nowhere. I also tried your apartment, Mrs. Cornaro, and received no answer. I'd seen the news of possible gunfire outside your building, and combined with the break-in, I was deeply concerned. Given the queen's unusual visit that afternoon and that she arrived with her hair and eyes covered" -Kos shrugged- "I doubted the timing was coincidental. Whoever got into the villa managed to circ.u.mvent your security. The alarms never went off, so the police weren't alerted. When I couldn't reach either of you, I decided to call the number on the card to see what I could learn before I reported the break-in. I was stunned when the queen herself answered. You know it's her private cell phone?"

At Rocco's nod, Kos continued, "She told me she knew Teresa Cornaro and had visited the villa first to offer her condolences, and second because she thought Mr. Cornaro was being pursued by people who wished to steal his work. She told me she believed you were headed to Rome, then asked me to come here to meet with Umberto. She said she would make some calls in the meantime in order to ensure your safety. I flew here this afternoon."

"On your vacation."

"I told you, sir, I don't require a vacation."

"When this is over, you're getting one whether you want it or not. If you don't go, your wife will force you to quit, and I can't have that." Rocco angled his head to study the queen's head of security more closely. Umberto was talking with the man behind the wheel of the black van. "He was the queen's driver in Dubrovnik, wasn't he?"

"Yes." Umberto saw Justine, Kos, and Rocco watching him and gave the group a curt nod before rounding the van to jump into the pa.s.senger seat. The rest of the men working with Umberto climbed in the back, keeping guard over the Russians.

"Umberto said that King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia have spoken privately with their contacts in the Italian government to ensure the men are prosecuted to the fullest extent of Italian law. The Russian government will also be notified about their activities in Italy and in Croatia. Radich is an American citizen, so the Russians may not be able to reach him, but Karpovsky is bound to be sent back there."

"Thank you," he told Kos as the van exited the alley. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"I'm sure you'd manage, sir."

Justine smiled at Kos. "Maybe, maybe not. But we both appreciate it."

Whoops and cheers echoed from the direction of the square. "Sounds like a match just ended," she told the men. "Sooner or later, some real rugby fans will find their way back here. We should leave."

"I've been asked to a.s.sist with that, Mrs. Cornaro."

Rocco turned to Kos. "What do you mean?"

"The king and queen happen to be in Rome on a diplomatic mission. They're here for four days, meeting with the Pope and several Italian officials. King Carlo's private jet is available to take you wherever you wish to go during that time, so long as it's back here when the king and queen need to return to Sarcaccia. Queen Fabrizia suggested it'd be safer for you to leave the country until it's confirmed that no one else is after your work."

"Happen to be in Rome?" Rocco's lips thinned. "Seems awfully coincidental."

"The Barralis visit Italy several times a year. It's my understanding that the Italian and Sarcaccian governments partner on many projects, given the island's proximity to the Italian coast."

"Well, use of their plane isn't necessary." Rocco told Kos about the flight he'd already booked to the States and his plan to deliver his designs to Johns Hopkins.

Kos considered it. "You're wise to go to Baltimore, but given that it's available, I recommend taking the royal jet. It allows you to leave the country sooner and without going through public airports, which could be dangerous if the Russians have anyone else after the designs." At Rocco's hesitation, Kos added, "I hope I didn't overstep my bounds, sir, either in contacting the queen or with my recommendation."

Rocco placed a hand on Kos's broad shoulder. "I hired you for your brains and your loyalty more than your muscle, though that's come in awfully handy tonight. It was a good decision to call Queen Fabrizia when you couldn't reach me. It probably saved our lives. If it's fine with Justine, we'll go with your suggestion."

It surprised Justine that Rocco had permitted a visit from Queen Fabrizia after Teresa's funeral, but accepting the use of King Carlo's jet was even more shocking. Then again, perhaps it was a necessary step on Rocco's path to healing the wounds of his past.

She looked from Kos to Rocco. "I'll do whatever is safest. The sooner we have this behind us, the better. And the sooner patients who need it will be able to take advantage of that pump."

"The plane is fueled and waiting," Kos told them. "I'll notify the pilot. I should have you on board within the hour."

Chapter Thirteen.

Rocco appeared, finally, to be at peace. Justine decided it was a cla.s.sic case of appearances being deceiving.

She pushed the lever to recline her chair, which was made of sumptuous leather and sported an ergonomic footrest. Across from her, Rocco dozed in his own leather chair. The lines of worry that etched his forehead from the moment he stepped foot in her Dubrovnik apartment had disappeared, replaced by the soft expression of sleep. But there was more. The cut across Rocco's forehead, once again wiped clean of blood, showed the beginnings of a fresh bruise around its circ.u.mference. On Rocco's throat, red circles the size of Karpovsky's meaty fingers marked the location of bruises to come, and more than once since they'd boarded, he'd shifted uncomfortably in response to his aching back. She suspected his knuckles didn't feel much better.

Karpovsky might be cooling his heels in an Italian jail, but he'd done plenty of damage.

Justine sighed, then stretched to nab the water bottle at her side. After muttering that Fabrizia must have spies everywhere, Rocco had been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive to the airport. He'd made small talk with the pilot after Kos dropped them off on the tarmac, but only enough for the sake of politeness until the pilot began his safety demonstration. Once the pilot showed Rocco and Justine the location of food, drinks, blankets, and pillows, and he went to the c.o.c.kpit to join the copilot for the flight across the Atlantic, Rocco had lapsed into silence. There'd been a tired smile on Rocco's face as he strapped into his seat, but he was ill at ease on the aircraft, despite the fact it was the height of luxury and the two of them had it to themselves.

It didn't take the brains of a rocket scientist-or a top biomedical engineer-to figure out why. Not only did Rocco now feel indebted to a man and woman he detested, he was surrounded by the trappings of their wealth and fame. King Carlo and Queen Fabrizia had designed the interior of the jet to their personal specifications. They'd selected the carpeting, the seats, the plush towels in the larger-than-normal bathroom, perhaps even the toilet paper. The entire aircraft oozed a life lived at the height of comfort. A life Teresa had told Rocco should've been his birthright as a king's firstborn son. A life from which he'd been rejected.

It wasn't that Rocco had been raised in atrocious circ.u.mstances. On the contrary, in Teresa and in Jack Cornaro, Rocco had parents who'd taught him right from wrong, the importance of caring for his fellow man, and the value of hard work in the pursuit of his dreams. But Teresa had also driven her personal love/hate for King Carlo deep into Rocco's psyche.

Justine wished she could wipe away the loathing as easily as she'd cleaned the blood from Rocco's temple.

Straightening in her seat, Justine reached for her calf and adjusted the ice pack she'd made using a baggie and what she could gather from the airplane's ice drawer. The swelling had gone down enough that she felt comfortable stretching and flexing her toes, loosening up the muscles that'd suffered over the last few days. Her rehab docs would be stunned at how much she'd run. It'd hurt, but she'd done it.

Softly, so as not to disturb Rocco, she took the melting bag of ice and dumped it in the bathroom sink. It'd be another eight hours before they landed in Baltimore. She'd find a way to write a thank you note to Queen Fabrizia and hand it off to the pilot while Rocco slept. It was the right thing to do, though she had no idea what Rocco would think.

She exited the bathroom to see Rocco sitting upright, staring out the window at the black night.

"You're awake." Dumb, obvious statement. She wished she could take it back. It only made the atmosphere in the jet more awkward.

Rocco didn't seem to notice. After a long moment, he said, "There's a lightning storm off in the distance. Fascinating to see from the air."

Taking it as an invitation, she slid into the seat opposite his so she could watch. Spikes of electricity split the sky, illuminating the billowing clouds to their north. She sucked in a breath at the sight.

"Nature's own fireworks display."

"And thankfully far away. We're perfectly safe here." A note in his voice drew her gaze.

"Are you saying it for my benefit or yours?"

That teased a wry smile from him, and he ran a hand over the trim beard covering his cheeks and chin. She still hadn't gotten used to seeing him with it. "You always did know how to read me better than I could read myself."

"You were afraid back there."

"d.a.m.n straight. You should've been, too. I don't know if Radich had the spine to shoot us, but Karpovsky killed his wife. Probably killed his wife's sister. He would've killed us if that's what it took to get the designs."

"But he didn't." She bridged the s.p.a.ce between them to settle her hand above his knee. Through his jeans, she could feel his quad muscles strung tight as an archer's bow. "That was brave of you back there, getting me out of the way so you could try to knock out Karpovsky and save the designs."

"It wasn't brave at all." He gave an exasperated grunt. "I wouldn't have done it if not for Kos. When he spoke, I recognized his voice and knew he was there to help."

She didn't believe that for a minute. "You know that pump is going to make a world of difference for thousands of people. Imagine if you had a two- or three-year old child with Type I diabetes. If the pump works the way you think it will, it could keep that child's hormone levels stabilized and keep them out of the hospital. It could prevent damage to their internal organs, maybe even save that child's life. If it were your child, it'd be worth any risk. You've spent your life doing this. Kos or not, you would've found a way out-"

"Sometimes there isn't a way out." At long last, he dragged his focus away from the window and faced her. The intense emotion in his dark gaze tore at Justine's soul. "Justine, I could have lost you. If it was a choice between saving you and saving the pump design, I'd have saved you. But I doubt I'd have even had a choice."

"Don't say that. You don't know-"

"I do know." His hand came down on hers, his strong fingers lacing through hers. "I can create another pump. It'd take time, but I could do it. If we'd been alone in that alley another minute, I'd have handed it over without blinking. I can't create another you. I wasn't being brave. I was being selfish."

She heard the truth in his voice, saw the sincerity in his gaze. He believed he would've saved her, despite the steep price. He believed wrong. If it'd come down to it, she knew he'd have done the logical thing and tried to save thousands rather than one, even if he hated it. "You call it what you want and I'll call it what I want."

His eyes flashed at that. "If anything, you were the brave one to try to save the designs, diving across the alley while Radich held a gun and Karpovsky was choking the living daylights out of me. Stupid, but brave." When she opened her mouth to argue, a flirtatious grin spread across his face. "You call it what you want and I'll call it what I want."

She felt herself returning his smile. Maybe it was stupid to have believed she could grab the backpack, help Rocco, and somehow escape that alley, but it warmed her to know Rocco appreciated her determination. Better still was the heated way he looked at her now, as if he imagined kissing her. And more.

Acutely aware that the pilots could step into the pa.s.senger cabin at any time, Justine closed the distance between them and gave Rocco a quick, sweet kiss, one that promised more to come when they were alone. "None of it matters now, does it? We're safe. Your work is safe. And soon, there will be a group at Johns Hopkins working to develop that pump and get it through testing and on the market."

"I'll feel better when we're finished in Baltimore and on our way back home."

"Or to Rome."

"Now you're talking." He gave her hand a squeeze, then leaned back in his chair. "It'll be the honeymoon we never had. Think of what it'll be like to enjoy each other's company without the demands of your career or mine." Optimism punctuated his response. "We'll go first cla.s.s all the way. Hotel, dinners, custom tours, whatever you want. You deserve some pampering after being driven from your home, shot at, and chased by those two goons. Not to mention the fact your husband fell down on the job." His tone turned serious. "I'm sorry for that, Justine. I'm sorry we lost the last year together because of my stubbornness."

She ran her thumb along the outside of his hand. "I thought you weren't apologizing."

"I am and I'm not." She saw the abrupt shift within him as he said it, the regret in the set of his shoulders and the solemnity clouding his expression. "I know you said I was forgiven without an apology, but you're owed one...at least for the way I treated you. It still believe it was right to keep my word to my mother-it was her secret, not mine-but how I handled it wasn't fair to you. I should've found another way." Deep lines formed across his brow as he spoke. "For that, and for all you went through because of me, I'm sorry. It just took me a while to realize it."

Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She'd never been a crier, but the sincerity in his words touched her heart, even if she still thought he was wrong about keeping his mother's secret.

She swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. "A day or two after your mother's funeral isn't 'a while,' especially given the nature of your relationship. But thank you." It hadn't been easy for her to forgive Rocco, but she'd known it was the best course for both of them. She suspected it was equally difficult for Rocco to ask her for forgiveness now, even partial forgiveness. In a tone meant to lighten the mood, she said, "So...Rome and a private jet to take us there. I can't wait."

They'd use the time in Rome to rediscover each other. To hold hands as they strolled the ancient streets in the moonlight, to sit side-by-side on the gra.s.s in the Villa Borghese gardens, stealing kisses while they people-watched. To browse the antique stores and the museums, to enjoy the lively nightlife of Trastevere. To spend the wee hours in each other's arms. Then, when she and Rocco returned to Croatia, they could talk over her employment options and what his next project might be. How they could chase their dreams together, support each other through good times and bad. To pursue everything they both wanted from their marriage in the first place.