Learning to Trust by Lynne Connolly

them, forcing him to pause. He kept a good hold of Lina, kept her to his left side, so his body blocked her, too.
    Franco jabbered a string of words he didn’t understand, but pointed at Jon and then waved his hands around. If Jon wasn’t sweating with tension, the display would have amused him. As it was, it annoyed him.
    “He says you must go.”
    That jibed with what he was thinking. “Tell him to come upstairs.”
    Lina answered and Franco nodded. At least Jon could understand that. After Franco gave the waitress serving at the bar some sharp orders, he gave a jerk of his head, indicating he was ready. Jon let Lina lead the way upstairs, keeping his body between hers and Franco. At this stage, he didn’t trust anybody.
    When they got into her apartment, he crossed to the window, intending to draw the drapes, but Franco became agitated, his “No!” easy to understand.
    “He says if you do that, they’ll know you’re up here. They could aim at the window blind.”
    Jon swung around, careful to keep away from the window. That made sense, but something else didn’t. “How did he know someone just shot at us? Ask him, Lina.”
    With Lina interpreting, he got the message clear enough. “The Colleghi paid me a visit this afternoon,” Franco told them, wringing his plump hands together. “They are not happy that a seller of fake goods has moved into their territory.”
    Shit, that had been Jon’s cover story. He’d seen the sellers down by the harbor, selling everything from handbags and belts to electrical equipment. The idea had come to him, and it seemed like a good cover for his being here, explained why he’d turned up that first day in designer gear.
    Fuck, he came from New York. He should have known someone owned the rights—someone working outside the law, or perhaps with its connivance.
    Franco continued to give them the bad news. “They want you gone. If you go, they say they will leave us alone. I pay my protection and I haven’t had any trouble in the last ten years. I want it to stay that way. You have to go.” Even without Lina interpreting, he would have understood that last remark from the glare Franco gave him. “What they did tonight was a warning. If they had wanted to hit you, you’d be bleeding on the pavement.” Lina stopped and Jon hauled her close, feeling her shiver.
    He sighed and leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “I’ll go. But I want you with me.”
    “Will you be safe?”
    He nodded, letting the silk of her hair caress him. “I gave a false name to the guys downstairs. I’ll go to a good hotel and give my real name, make use of the suit I’ve been hauling around. Make a fuss when I arrive. They won’t connect me with the American at the little café, if they inquire.”
    “They’ll follow you.”
    The answer came fast. “I can dump my luggage if I have to.”
    “But that’s Louis Vuitton!”
    Her gasped protest made him smile. She’d never have thought that way five years ago. “If it saves my life, it’ll have earned its money.”
    She began to translate for Franco, who grinned and nodded. Jon wasn’t too happy she’d told him, but at least he didn’t hear his own name. By his own admission, the café owner was in touch with the Colleghi. “No, Lina. Don’t tell him.”
    He spotted a spark in Franco’s eye. Suspicion rose in his mind. “You speak English, don’t you?”
    Franco sighed and glanced away. “A little. Not much.”
    “Why didn’t you say?”
    He paused before he answered. “It is useful. And I speak—bad. Not many—words.” His vocabulary was poor. But Jon wouldn’t assume that he wasn’t lying this time. The bastard could be fluent, could have been listening to everything he and Lina said.
    Franco spread his hands. “You go.”
    Jon nodded. “I go. But Lina comes with me.”
    He’d bet his company that the alarm he saw in Franco’s dark eyes wasn’t feigned. His eyes opened so wide Jon could see the whites above