Free Undercover Nightingale by Wendy Rosnau Page A

me her profile, but it’s full of holes. He’s covering something up and I want to know what it is.”
     

    Allegra checked on Filip again. Toriago had been gone over two hours and she moved quietly into the room. He was still sleeping, and she walked to the bed and sat down beside him. She slowly pulled back the sheet. He stirred, moaned, but didn’t wake up.
    The wound looked horrible, charred flesh and blackened blood. It needed to be cleaned, then bandaged. She could have done it if she hadn’t left her bag at the bar.
    She left the bedroom. She was getting tired of not knowing the reason she was in Budapest. She didn’t trust Filip. Not like she had Yurii. She should call Cyrus and tell him that Filip had been shot. Surely he would either give her a reason to stay, or tell her to fly back to Athens.
    She knew who Casso Salavich was. Knew he was a powerful man in the criminal world in Europe. Perhaps they were there to take him down?
    She didn’t like being kept in the dark, and she didn’t like the situation of owing a stranger for his hospitality—a stranger who was into nasty business.
    The direction of her thoughts took a sudden turn, and Allegra touched her lips. Toriago wasn’t all talk and smooth moves. He knew how to kiss a woman and make her remember it. Make her want more. She couldn’t blame him entirely for what had happened. She had kissed him back downstairs, and she had played the game perfectly.
    But that game wouldn’t have been necessary if she knew why the hell she was in Budapest. The bottom line was she was going to call Cyrus and demand a few answers. And the sooner the better, while Filip was still on his back.
    She took a shower. Toriago hadn’t said where he was going, but she suspected he’d gone looking for the mystery man in the trench coat. Out of the shower, she dried her hair, then found Toriago’s shaving kit and rummaged through it. He’d been telling the truth about an antibiotic for her cut. She used it, along with his toothbrush—after all, he had offered it to her.
    She left the bathroom wearing the white robe she’d found behind the door—compliments of the hotel.
    Toriago still wasn’t back when she strolled into the living room. She found wine and gin behind the small half-circle bar. He must have had some sent up while she was in the lobby. She poured a glass of wine and stepped out on the balcony.
    The moon was out and the cool air made her shiver. She tugged the ends of the white robe together, pulled up the collar. Sipped the wine.
    The city lights sent a golden glow over the street below. Budapest was beautiful at night, a place she would enjoy if she were on her own time. She could see the shadow of the Buda Hills in the distance, Parliament, and the Danube at its narrowest as it passed through the city.
    It was by luck that she was on the balcony when Toriago exited the alley. She watched him cross the street and head back to the hotel. His lazy sauntering gait was back.
    Yes, she’d noticed his confident stride, just like she’d noticed everything else, from his nice ass and powerhouse shoulders to his hard abdomen. Scars and all, he had the complete package.
    But he was about more than a great body, a handsome face, and excellent taste in hotel suites. He had spent time in prison, and was about to climb into bed with Casso Salavich.
    She was caught up in watching Toriago when another man exited the same alley. She studied the second man. He didn’t cross the street. Instead he flagged a taxi.
    She was still standing on the balcony, wrapped in a white robe fifteen minutes later when Toriago came through the front door carrying the bag he’d insisted she leave behind in the bar. She came back into the living room sliding the balcony door shut.
    “Do you have a death wish?”
    “Meaning?”
    “I’d just as soon not everyone know we’re on the eighth floor. Someone blew up your car, and a few hours ago you were followed. Standing out there wearing