Free Learning to Trust by Lynne Connolly Page B

more , he thought with a surge of anger. Something had driven her in those years. Sure now that she didn’t have the addict’s personality, one writ large in Byron, he knew something else must have driven her to chase oblivion.
    She’d grown up. Time to face whatever it was but not alone. Not now.
    He straightened when he saw her exchange a smile with a fellow student and wave goodbye as she sighted him. Strolling toward him she smiled, a light sparkling in her eyes, and he loved knowing he’d put it there.
    What should have been a mournful journey of discovery had become a mutedly happy one instead. He’d said goodbye to Byron years ago, recognizing the downward spiral his brother would inevitably take. That hadn’t stopped him doing everything in his power to halt it, but after Byron went to Italy, they’d lost him. For good. So this visit established the formality before they could put the unhappy soul to rest. So far he’d felt hollow, a curious absence of feeling where Byron was concerned. He had to assume that meant his emotions were wrung out, gone.
    Now he bent and gave her a kiss, which she responded to in a way that swept warm feelings through him. Not even sexual, not yet. He looked forward to sharing a meal with her, maybe treat them to a bottle of wine. Talk and laugh together.
    Shit, this was bad. Worse, it felt good, natural. That worried him most. He had to persuade her to come home with him, but he’d never known her so settled, so happy. He was seriously considering relocating.
    They walked hand in hand back through the narrow streets to the café, chatting about her classes and what they’d have to eat when they got back. She was on nights again this week. He enjoyed sitting at the tables with the locals, watching her as she worked, fended off advances, laughed with the regulars. He was even beginning to pick up a little Neapolitan.
    The dim streetlights and the light flooding from the windows made the run-down café look almost cheerful with its faded and peeling blue paint. The dusty and litter-strewn street was a chunk of the Old World. It could almost be romantic. In fact, Jon realized with a shock, probably the most romantic moment of his life. So far. Maybe there’d be more to come.
    Until a missile zipped past his ear and embedded itself in the plasterwork behind him with a ping.
    No cars were passing, no people nearby, but much as he’d like to ignore it, Jon knew exactly what it was. Without conscious thought, he bundled Lina to the ground and covered her with his body. She fought back, but he overwhelmed her and forced her back down. “Stay there.”
    Immediately she subsided, but her heart hammered against his. She’d landed on her back, so if they needed to run he’d better drag her up fast. “Wait for a minute.”
    He counted slowly until three minutes had passed with nothing further happening. They couldn’t stay here all night. “When I say go, get up and run straight inside the café. I’ll cover you.”
    “What if it’s not me they’re after? What if it’s you?”
    He’d hoped she wouldn’t think of that. “If you run fast, so will I. It’s our only chance. Otherwise whoever it is will pick us off when he’s refocused.”
    “Or she.”
    “Yeah.” This so wasn’t the time for political correctness, but yeah, women could shoot just as well as men. “On my mark. Ready?” She nodded. “One, two, three, go! ”
    As one, they stood and ran. He reached past her to shove open the door of the now ominously lit café. They stumbled inside, and fell to the neatly black-and-white-tiled floor.
    Several heads turned in query, a few smiling as if they’d done something funny. Perhaps they had, but they were still alive.
    Franco hurried up to them as they got to their feet, keeping close to the wall for any kind of protection. Jon wanted to get Lina upstairs and out of sight, so the delay annoyed him, but Franco stood in front of them, his bulky body partially concealing