“Ingredients list lies? Any value in hiring a chemist?” Jax led her down to his motorcycle.

  “Not that I’m aware, although, as I have noted, the lady is not honest and probably wasn’t even pleasant when she was alive. There may be myriad folks who would have liked to off her.” She climbed on the Harley and hugged him from behind.

  When they arrived at his sister’s cottage, R&R were already there in their technologically enhanced utility van. They’d helped Jax bring about this outcome, so they deserved to hear his news too.

  Ariel emerged from her cave. His neurodivergent sister usually immersed herself in her computers at this hour, but she was learning to adapt. Living with rowdy Roark, adaptation was pretty much a requirement. The Cajun was good for her.

  “News!” Evie demanded, climbing off and settling cross-legged on a bench—not easy in a dress and pumps.

  Jax tore his gaze from her flouncy skirt and back to Ariel. “The court decided in our favor. Dad’s patents and royalties are ours.”

  R&R hooted and pumped their fists. The women waited—because yes, there were consequences. Winning was not the ultimate goal.

  Jax was a lawyer. He knew how to manipulate words. He didn’t want to manipulate friends and family, so he kept it simple. “We have been offered a choice. Accountants are calculating the amount DVM Electronics owes us for usurping Dad’s patented microchips and circuit board design. DVM is facing mega lawsuits over their fraudulent voting machines. They’re in the process of replacing the faulty ones, but it could be years before they see a profit again.”

  “Ballpark—how much?” Reuben shouted rudely, getting down to the nitty-gritty. It had been his professional engineering report that had convinced the FBI and the courts that DVM and its stockholders were in breach of more laws than Jax wanted to count.

  “The company’s stock is privately held, so the value is in the assets. We could be looking at thirty to fifty percent of their holdings based on growth over our father’s original ownership.” Jax gave them time to process and question. No one did. “After the liabilities for all the lawsuits, their net assets would only be in the range of a quarter to half a million dollars. We’re not zillionaires.”

  Roark whistled and glanced at Ariel, who was feeding her pet turtle. Jax wasn’t fooled. His sister had the mind of a cash register.

  “You’re thinking of not taking it?” Roark finally asked, when no one else did.

  “With that money, Ariel could buy this cottage from Loretta’s trust and do anything she likes. I can actually hire staff and restart my retirement accounts. I can’t ignore the cash,” Jax warned. The temptation was great to take the money and run.

  “Unicorn option!” Evie shouted, watching expectantly.

  Everyone else snickered but Jax understood. She knew him too well—or read his aura.

  “We take the proceeds in stock, making us a majority owner.” He waited. His friends were computer geniuses. DVM was essentially a technology company producing electronic voting machines. They could work it out.

  “Losing proposition,” Ariel said without expression.

  “Probably,” Jax agreed. “But until now, profit hasn’t been their only motive. They survived the last court battle and kept on making dishonest machines. If we’re not involved. . .”

  Reuben was the first to whistle in understanding. “Quality control. You need someone honest in there making certain they don’t pull no more ringers, disrupt no more elections.”

  Ariel pointed at R&R. Jax nodded. Evie grinned.

  “Us?” Roark asked in astonishment. “You’d forget the money, keep the stock, and leave it to us to keep the company honest?”

  Given what they’d sacrificed trying to keep the military honest, Jax had no doubt they could do it. “Who knows? That stock might be worth millions one day. Except we have to share the board with ambitious, wealthy politicians. We’d be walking a treacherous tightrope.”

  Evie’s big grin disappeared. Watching her expression had given Jax the courage to suggest this mad scheme. Now his antenna for trouble rose. “What?”

  “What kind of corporation runs La Bella Gente? Would Kit-Kat have been on the board? Would it be like DVM where major stockholders could demand quality control?”

  Shit. Ariel vanished inside. R&R climbed back into their utility van. And Jax kicked himself three ways from Sunday.

  Evie had said her ghost had complained of fraud. Motive with a capital M.

  Twelve: Pris

  Italy

  * * *

  The twins were Lucia’s!

  Pris processed that bombshell as Leo led her on a tour of the underground cellars where they stored barrels of oil and crates of bottled wine. Leo informed her that they sent the grapes elsewhere for wine production, but they stored bottles under their own label.

  What if the twins weren’t Dante’s? Maybe that’s why he avoided them. Now she really wanted to meet this Lucia. She had so many questions. . .

  Retreating to her usual nonchalance, blocking any mental interference, she glanced around at the cavern. High enough for even Dante to stand upright, wide as a warehouse, it was pretty impressive. “Back home, they’d open a rathskellar and have beer parties in here. How far back does it go?”

  “The original tunnels were probably dug by the Etruscans.” Dante had followed them on his crutch. “There’s more than one reason the Romans and our medieval ancestors built fortresses on top of inaccessible hills. Besides the defensive location, the Etruscans had settled there first. They’d already dug wells in the volcanic tuff, dug out the caverns to store their food, keep their cattle, and as shelter against invading barbarians. Entire medieval towns grew out of those ancient farms. This particular hill just wasn’t close enough to trading routes to need a fortress.”

  Mansplaining, but interesting. Pris regarded the rough stone walls with new appreciation.

  Leo shrugged, unimpressed. “Most of our tunnels collapsed long ago. Since we’re not fighting the Visigoths, we’ve not dug out more than we need for storage.” Leo checked the labels on his oil barrels. “This is the new batch. If Lucia doesn’t offer a new contract. . .”

  “She doesn’t ever come home?” Pris had hoped this might be the link they needed to Katherine’s elusive half-sister. “Even if her parents are dead, surely she’d want to see the twins? And her farm?”

  Dante snorted rudely. “All I’ve received is their passports and a packet of paperwork signing away her rights, making it clear the twins are solely my responsibility. My mother would probably shoot her if Lucia came within a mile of us.”

  Looking harassed, Leo ran his hand over his hair. “She’s not been back since then. She incorporated her products, started making fortunes, leaving me to deal with her business people these days. I text and email but seldom get a personal reply. She has secretaries.” He kicked a barrel.

  If it had been Lucia instead of Kit-Kat who’d died, Pris would understand the need to murder. Maybe the two were a lot alike? But no, Kit-Kat had an entourage surrounding her. Lucia apparently preferred hermit-hood. Maybe she lived in a cave.

  Now that he was out of the cart, Dante lurched over the uneven ground toward the back of the cavern. “I wonder. . . we’d need a topographical survey. I seem to remember Lucia teasing me with tales of the side tunnels we couldn’t excavate. Her father blocked off the back of this section so we couldn’t go into them, but it looks like you’ve expanded. If one might take us down to the lower tunnel. . .”

  “Don’t you think one of my starving ancestors would have sold any artifacts he found? There’s no treasure trove. My luck doesn’t run that way.” Leo rolled his eyes and headed back out.

  Treasure? One more new angle to ponder. Did Italy have pirates?

  Never show she cared. . . Digging her hands into her back pockets, Pris swung around to study the high walls and said casually, “Any treasure trove would belong to Lucia, right? It might bring her back here.”

  Leo scowled. “Then she can pay the expense of digging. I can’t.”

  Dante limped his way back to the entrance. “My students need a project. Give them a chance to follow that lower tunnel. If nothing else, you can turn it into a rathskellar.” He threw a defiant glance over his shoulder, almost in her direction.

  Pris ignored the flutter in her midsection. “You have students?”

  “I work with a local university. They usually have to volunteer in Rome. This gives them something different to explore. The Etruscans were savvy traders, but we’ve learned they were also accomplished artisans. Centuries before Roman rule they were making exquisite jewelry, pottery, bronze work. . . You name it, they made it.”

  Leo looked mildly interested. “We plow up pottery shards all the time. Could we sell pottery or bronze? Surely the government wouldn’t have any interest in junk. They have more than enough already.”

  “You can’t sell history, no. Although your ancestors may have, and that’s why you haven’t found anything. You need to go into this in the interest of knowledge, not profit.”

  Pris didn’t even need to open her mind to know what Leo thought about that. But the idea of buried treasure was far more entertaining than hunting poisoners or whatever in heck she was doing here. Instead of following the men out, she walked deeper into the cavern. “What’s this huge stone round thing? Did the first cave man invent the wheel here?”

  Leo reluctantly turned back. “Victorian oil mill, probably the same essential method as the Etruscans—back breaking labor or mule driven.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Looks unsanitary to me, especially if mules were involved.” Not concerned with being rude, she wandered deeper into the cave and shuddered. “Is it just me, or is there a cold air current back here?”

  Leo grunted skeptically and walked out.

  “It’s just you. We spent a lot of time chasing drafts when we were kids and found nothing. Let’s move on. I want to see what’s happening at the other entrance.” Instead of leaving, Dante clumped impatiently on her heels, using the rocky wall for balance.

  Pris was pretty certain it wasn’t just her. “We need Evie to explore. Maybe the ghosts of ancient slaves haunt this place and could tell us where the treasure is.” She turned back, keeping her eye open for other tunnel entrances. She didn’t know what she could do if she found one, but it didn’t hurt to look.

  In the dim light, Dante gave her a weird glare, but she was used to that. What she wasn’t used to was his mental shiver—one that suggested he might feel the ghosts too.

  But he would never admit it. He silently swung his crutch back toward the entrance.

  An icy chill ran down Pris’s spine as she followed him out.

  “There’s an open tunnel in the back of that cave and Leo knows about it,” Witchy Woman announced while parking the car at the steps to his villa.

  Dante didn’t immediately climb out but frowned at the windshield. “Leo only visited in summers while we were growing up. How would he know more than Lucia?”

  “How well did you know Lucia?” she asked acidly, swinging out of the low seat.

  Apparently not as well as he’d believed, but they’d been young. He’d gone off to university. She’d stayed on the farm. In those rare times he’d been home, he’d been horny. She’d been willing. She didn’t mind being left behind while he roamed—or so he’d thought. He figured they’d marry once he established his career. She hadn’t waited.

  Devil Woman waited now—impatiently. The silver streaks in her wiry curls practically danced as she tapped her toe.

  Dante swung his stiff leg out of the car and glared. “How do you know Leo isn’t telling us everything?”

  She rolled her dramatic amber eyes. “I will accept that you’re a scientist and need proof. You’ll have to accept that the only proof I can offer is knowing things I haven’t been told. Let’s just go with that, okay?”

  He didn’t want to. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that’s preposterous. She rubbed him in all the wrong ways, and he wanted her out of the house and out of the life he’d built these last years.

  He needed to go back to what he knew best. But despite all attempts to deny it, there was a reason he was better than most at what he did—and it wasn’t normal.

  After today, he had to lift his head from the dirt and take a good long look at why Lucia had done what she’d done. Why hadn’t she told him she was pregnant? Why had she left and never reached out to him again? Sure, he’d been a neglectful lover and hadn’t exactly promised love, marriage, or even faithfulness. He’d kicked himself for years after she’d dumped the twins on him.

  But he’d had years to tamp down his fury. Logic finally prevailed.

  If an interfering Malcolm could help him reach Lucia—he should probably call on one of his meddling, too-perceptive cousins, not this veritable stranger.

  But Pris was right here at hand and had her own driving reasons to hunt Lucia.

  Which meant he had to admit that he knew things he shouldn’t know too.

  “If I tell you that you might be right about Leo, will you believe me?” He swung ungracefully up the villa’s steps. Damn good thing he wasn’t attempting to make an impression.

  “I’ll consider it,” she said warily, opening the door. “Why do you doubt him?”

  He inhaled and let it all out. “Because someone touched the rocks in the back of the cavern with fear or horror, far more recently than an ancient Etruscan.” He left her gaping in the doorway as he swung down the corridor to the kitchen. It felt good to one-up her. Besides, he was starving.

  His mother was making grilled cheese sandwiches for the twins. Wordlessly trailing him into the kitchen, Priscilla washed her hands and dived into slicing cheese, bread, and tomatoes. Typical, unlike other women, she didn’t immediately ask a thousand questions, but dived into cooking.

  “Basil? Oregano?” she inquired, reaching for the garlic cloves hanging by the window.

  Emma threw off her apron and hurried out to her beloved garden. Dante figured he should contribute something, but his leg throbbed, and he simply wanted to put it up. He dragged an ice bag out of the freezer. He wanted to be prepared in case her head exploded as she processed what he’d told her.

  “Alex, Nan, follow your grandmother and learn which herb is which. Ask if she has spinach.” Picking up a knife, he took his usual seat at the table and raised his injured leg on a chair. Might as well clear the room while he was at it. “Give me the garlic. Let me mince.”

  Pris halted in mid chop to study him, shrugged, and handed it over. “I’m just sprinkling it in the oil. I only need a clove.”

  He all but rolled his eyes. If she didn’t want to question, he would. “Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” he asked, smashing the clove to peel it.

  “Because Kit-Kat died, I don’t think it was natural, and I want to get ahead of the cops before they accuse me. Obvious, isn’t it?” She began assembling her ingredients.

  “No. Katherine Gladwell lived in London. She never visited Lucia that I know of. Coming here is not obvious.”

  “I told you, she knew you,” Pris insisted, flinging his chopped garlic into her simmering oil. “Her last thought was of you. She was looking at Jax at the time, and maybe she thought she saw you, but she still had to know you to make that connection. And she was terrified. My assumption was that you threatened her.”

  “I never met her that I’m aware of. Now, had that been Lucia. . . That’s another matter entirely.” He would gladly have twisted Lucia’s head off her shoulders for so callously abandoning her children, leaving their upbringing to a footloose father like him.

  The twins dashed in carrying garden trugs of herbs and spinach, proudly dumping the leaves all over the counter. His mother followed a little more slowly. She was nearing sixty. She shouldn’t have to keep up with five-year-olds.

  “Wash your hands,” Pris ordered, scooping the leaves into a colander. “Emma, what does everyone drink? Have a seat.”

  Had she heard him thinking that Emma needed to rest? Or was she just messing with his mind in a good, old-fashioned way? Trying to process how this woman thought might make him insane.

  “Bossy, isn’t she?” his mother murmured, almost with pleasure. Instead of sitting, she opened the refrigerator for water, wine, and milk.

  Dante had no problem with bossy if he got fed and his mother got to sit down—and the twins didn’t fling food at him. He still didn’t know whether to trust her. He watched as Pris held out the pan so the twins could decorate the tomatoes with chopped herbs.

  “Priscilla, do you have children?” His mother asked what he’d been thinking. So maybe women just did that naturally.

  “No, just a couple of nieces. But kids this age are simple to understand. Older ones, not so much.” She returned the pan to the stove, added the spinach he had requested, and layered on the last of the bread.

  Dante sipped his wine and thought about her understanding young children. She’d all but said that she read minds. Or vibrations. Or whatever. If the twins were simple—she was understanding that they wanted to be helpful?

  To be part of the family, like the adults.

  Anyone who paid attention to kids would probably know that, right?

  He had spent years pretending they didn’t exist. Maybe, if he applied himself. . .

  When would he ever have time to do that?

  She fed the twins first, adding a few herbs to their plates so they could taste the leaves separately and detect the flavors. Nan didn’t care. She gobbled half her sandwich, then climbed down and wandered off. Alex studiously tasted the leaves, wrinkled up his nose, and almost shoved his entire sandwich down so he could follow his sister.

  The women didn’t correct their manners, so Dante kept his mouth shut and tried to learn—while consuming the plate of sandwiches presented to him. Instead of sitting down, their guest ate while cleaning up.