The Rules in Rome Page 3

  “I don’t like working with strangers.”

  Ambrose looked from Ley to Gracie. “You have the evening to become better acquainted. And I can fill you in on the important things. As I already mentioned, she’s the best radio operator I’ve ever seen.”

  “But does she have any experience?”

  Gracie did her best to meet Ley’s eyes as he evaluated her. “This is my first assignment, Captain Ley, but I can promise you I’m ready.”

  “Oh? And what makes you think you’re ready, Miss Begni?”

  “I’ve had the normal training, of course.”

  Ley’s eyes seemed to laugh at her. “Field work is different from training.”

  “Her OSS instructors gave her high marks, Captain. And don’t underestimate her intelligence. She was second in her class at Brigham Young University,” Ambrose said.

  “And what did you study there, Miss Begni? Home economics? Fashion?”

  “Mathematics.” Gracie noted a bit of surprise in Ley’s eyes as she responded and maybe a touch of respect. Good. She was tired of his hints that he didn’t want or need her. She’d worked hard for her degree and even harder to follow her father’s suggestion that she score higher than any classmate who doubted a woman could succeed in a male-dominated field.

  “At least she has a college degree,” Vaughn-Harris said.

  The muscles in Ley’s jaw hardened. “I’d have a college degree too if the National Guard hadn’t asked me to return to duty. Or do you think I should have asked my father to use his influence so I could sit out the war while I completed my education?”

  Vaughn-Harris glared at Ley, but then his eyes relaxed and his lips turned into a smirk. “At least I have a father. What happened to yours again? Captured by the Gestapo and slaughtered like an animal?”

  Ley flinched.

  Gracie held back a gasp, surprised that Vaughn-Harris would say something so cruel. She understood a little of Ley’s pain. “What were you studying, Captain Ley?” she blurted out, hoping to distract him. His left hand was balled into a fist, and Vaughn-Harris’s arrogant grin was practically begging for a few jabs.

  Ley turned to her, a confused look on his face, but his hand slowly relaxed. “Architecture.” He paused, his eyes downcast. “Miss Begni, you no doubt have a knack for mathematics and codes, and you’ve just shown yourself capable of diffusing tense situations, but how do you plan on surviving in Fascist Italy?”

  “I was born in Italy. I lived there until I was eleven.”

  “Where?”

  “Nettuno.”

  Captain Ley’s foot began to bounce up and down rapidly while he considered her answer. “And after you left Italy, where did you settle?”

  “Salt Lake City, Utah.”

  One corner of his lips pulled down. “And then you attended BYU?”

  “Yes.”

  Ley pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were in pain. “What on earth is a good little Mormon girl like you doing in Switzerland with a trio of OSS officers? Go back to Utah, Miss Begni.”

  Gracie felt her mouth hang open. Had Ley really just ordered her home? And wasn’t it a bit presumptuous of him to assume she was a good little Mormon girl? He was right, but she didn’t like that he’d jumped to that conclusion based on her answers to two questions. She forced her lips together and inhaled deeply before speaking, her words clipped and precise with anger. “There’s a war on, Captain Ley. I’m in Europe because I want to help end it. And I’m in Switzerland because you’re going to take me to Italy so I can make sure your information gets to the right people without any mixed-up security checks.”

  His jaw hardened when she mentioned the security check, but she didn’t care. It may have been an easy mistake, but it was one she wouldn’t make, and he obviously needed help, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “What makes you think you can survive in Italy if you can’t even get in by yourself?” Ley asked.

  Gracie wasn’t sure how to reply, but Ambrose spoke up again. “This isn’t just about your information. The Gestapo arrested some of our people in Rome recently, including a radio operator. There are still two members of the cell gathering information. When you arrive in Rome, Agent Begni will find them and turn in their reports as well as yours.”

  “Why do I have to smuggle her in? Can’t you drop her off by parachute?” Ley sat back in his chair and folded his arms, still tapping his foot so quickly that it was almost a vibration.

  “Are you saying you’re incapable of smuggling her in?” Vaughn-Harris returned to his seat, a smug smile on his face.

  “More brave words from an armchair warrior?”

  Vaughn-Harris stood and took a few threatening steps toward Ley. Gracie didn’t even try to distract them—she had no idea what to say, and she now thought both of them deserved a good blow to the face.

  “Captain Vaughn-Harris,” Colonel Ambrose said. “Perhaps it’s time for a few drinks.”

  Vaughn-Harris gave Ley a final glare before walking over to the bar. He poured something for Ambrose and turned to Ley. “Something to drink?”

  “No.”

  “Take it,” Ambrose ordered.

  Vaughn-Harris filled a shot glass with amber liquid and placed it on the small table next to Ley, but Ley didn’t touch it, Gracie assumed out of spite. Vaughn-Harris handed her a bottle of soda, then poured something significantly stronger for himself.

  “Even if I manage to get Miss Begni and myself back into Italy without blowing our cover, how am I supposed to explain my sudden, frequent contact with an Italian civilian?”

  “She can pose as your mistress,” Vaughn-Harris said.

  Ley’s foot stopped moving. “You plan to have a good little Mormon girl play a woman of loose morals? I think that’s a bit of a stretch.”

  Ambrose sighed as if weary of arguing. “Mistress, girlfriend—I don’t care how you define it or how serious you make it appear, but a romantic relationship is a simple, believable solution.” The colonel waved toward the stairs. “Go ahead and show him the wardrobe we picked out for you.”

  Gracie stood and walked past the two captains and up the stairs to her room in the loft. She tried to shake off the sting Ley’s words had left. He didn’t want her. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised; no one ever wanted her. No one except her father and Michael and a few OSS men—but the OSS recruiter and Colonel Ambrose didn’t really count. They didn’t want her, just her talents.

  She slipped out of the sapphire-blue dress cut to emphasize her chest instead of her hips, frowning as she remembered all the effort her elegant, refined mother had spent trying to make Gracie look more like her petite older sisters. This dress will help camouflage those hips, Graziella. Don’t pull your hair back, Graziella. It makes your birthmark stand out. She had always been too tall and too curvy, but maybe here, away from the other women in her family, Gracie wouldn’t seem so far from graceful.

  She dug through her luggage, glad her mother was on the other side of the world, where she’d never see the bland black rags OSS had provided to help Gracie look like an impoverished Italian civilian desperate enough to become a German officer’s consort.

  Her old boyfriend had described her mother and sisters as fragile wraiths. She smiled, remembering his feigned surprise that they hadn’t blown away with the napkins during a picnic with her family. Michael was the only person who’d ever made her feel beautiful, and she missed him. She blinked away a tear as she rearranged her hair. The last thing she needed was to get all weepy and give Ley or the other men the impression that she’d been upstairs crying.

  She pulled on her least favorite outfit, deciding she might as well get used to it. If Ley thought she looked too wholesome to date a Nazi, the dress’s neckline would prove him wrong. It’s not that low, she told herself as she glanced in the mirror. But she still wished the OSS officer in charge of her wardrobe hadn’t laughed at her when she’d suggested altering it.

  Ambrose and Ley were talking about the weather forecast as she came down the stairs. She almost laughed that they were discussing such a trivial subject until she realized how relevant it was.

  “If you can’t get us in by air, which looks like the case, we’ll have to take the train,” Ley said. “I’d prefer to travel at night.”

  “Why?” Vaughn-Harris asked.

  Ley jerked his head toward Gracie, who was descending the final half of the stairs. “She’s not exactly nondescript, is she? Tall, gorgeous, dynamite legs, and a birthmark that looks like a thumbprint on her right check? There can’t be many women who meet that description, and I don’t want someone reporting her departure from Switzerland and linking it to her arrival in Rome.”

  Gracie paused, one foot on the bottom step. She would have been flattered by Ley’s description if his tone hadn’t been so condescending. When he said dynamite legs, he probably meant tubular and shaped like a stick of TNT.

  “Do you ski, Miss Begni?” Ley asked.

  Gracie returned to her spot on the sofa before answering. “Not as well as you do, I imagine. I’ve done some downhill skiing but not much cross-country.” She straightened the neckline of her dress but pulled the fabric in so it wouldn’t slip off her shoulders and hang lower in the front. She hated the dress and was beginning to regret wearing it just to prove a point to Ley.

  “That leaves us with the train or a car. Or a combination.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure out something by tomorrow evening,” Ambrose said.

  Ley frowned but didn’t disagree.

  The men all seemed more relaxed now—Gracie wondered if the alcohol had done the trick, but Ley’s glass still looked untouched. She adjusted her dress again.

  “Miss Begni, may I give you a few tips?” Ley asked.

  Gracie nodded.
/>
  “More lipstick and more fabric.”

  Gracie wasn’t sure what Ley meant, but Vaughn-Harris asked for clarification before she had to. “What’s wrong with her dress? Have conditions in Italy improved so dramatically over the past few months? Do all the women have new clothes now?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the dress or its well-worn appearance. The problem is her in that dress. She hasn’t stopped fiddling with the neckline since she sat down. It’s obviously cut lower than she’s comfortable with, and if I can tell, a Gestapo agent would notice too. Get her some different clothes. Have her smear on an extra layer of makeup if you want her to look the part.”

  Gracie felt a strange mix of gratitude that she might not have to wear such skimpy clothing and embarrassment that her discomfort had been so obvious.

  “Or better yet, I can go back alone. She may be smart, but I don’t think she’s up to playing the role.”

  The gratitude vanished. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, her hands flying up in her anger. “You need help, and I’m willing to help you, and you’re acting like I’m some ball and chain instead of an asset. Those men on the beach need information, and I can make sure that information is delivered accurately.” She forced her hands back to her lap, even though she really wanted to adjust her neckline again.

  Ley leaned forward. “Miss Begni, I am reluctant to bring you with me because despite your talk of assets, you still seem more of a liability. You may be able to operate a radio, but I’ve yet to see evidence that you can act. If you’re arrested as a spy and I’m associated with you, I’ll have a very difficult time not joining you in front of the firing squad.”

  “I can act. And I’ll stop playing with my dress since that has you so worried.”

  Ley huffed. “Fiddling with that dress is the least of your problems. Everything about you screams wholesome religious American. Have you even been kissed before?”

  Gracie ran her left thumb along the inside of her ring finger. There wasn’t a ring there, not anymore. “Yes, I’ve been kissed before, Captain Ley. But I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  Ley stood and walked over to her, holding a hand out. She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Let me guess. Something like this?” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers for a few brief moments.

  When he pulled away, she could still feel the imprint of his mouth. Surprised but remembering his question, she nodded. Ley’s kiss had been a lot like Michael’s: soft, sweet, and affectionate.

  “In Italy, if you’re pretending to be my girlfriend, I’ll be kissing you often but not like that. Like this.”

  He slipped one hand to the back of her neck, the other to her waist, and pulled her close for another kiss. She was startled at first but soon realized she didn’t want to resist. His lips were insistent and inviting, making her heart race. She was glad when Ley’s hand moved from her waist to the center of her back, because her legs were starting to feel unstable. She wanted to fall into him, into his kiss. The way he maneuvered his mouth over hers was making her lose all sense of place and time, and she found herself wishing he’d never stop. When he began to pull away, she wanted to lean her head on his chest and catch her breath, but then she remembered she’d just met Ley and wasn’t even sure she liked him.

  She took a step back, staring at him, wondering what had just happened.

  “You see, that won’t do at all,” Ley said. “The Gestapo will be all over you. You’re acting like you’ve never been kissed before.”

  Gracie sat on the sofa, her eyes still fixed on Ley. She hadn’t ever been kissed like that.

  “I thought it was convincing,” Ambrose said. “You have your orders, Captain Ley. As long as Agent Begni is willing to go, you are required to take her.”

  Chapter Three

  Bastien paced the floor of his room in the cabin. It was over Captain Vaughn-Harris’s, so he didn’t bother avoiding the squeaky board in the center as he analyzed the day’s events.

  He wished he had thought up an excuse to postpone the meeting and stay in Italy. I could refuse to go back. There had been that SD man tailing him—sufficient reason to assume his cover was shaky. Two and a half months was a good enough run, wasn’t it?

  Bastien thought of his little brother. Lukas would finish high school in a few months, and after graduation, he wanted to join the Air Corps and become a pilot. More than anything, Bastien wanted the war to end before Lukas finished his training, and there were few ways Bastien could contribute more usefully to the war effort than by going back to his life as Hauptmann Dietrich. Bastien was just one man, and he had no illusions that his work would dramatically turn the course of the war, but the military intelligence he gathered and the tips he passed to the partisans were significant. He was more effective and influential as Hauptmann Dietrich than he could ever be as Captain Ley. Bastien had said countless prayers pleading for a way to help his brother. He couldn’t very well walk away now that God had given him this chance.

  He didn’t want to take Miss Begni with him. He trusted Ambrose’s assessment of her intellect and radio skills. He’d tested her Italian that evening, and she sounded like a native, but even if she managed to play a convincing Italian civilian—in love with him, of all people—he still didn’t want her.

  In his high-stakes world, Bastien had to be ruthless. If Marcello or Roberto or Giovanni were ever arrested and there was no realistic chance of helping them, Bastien wouldn’t hesitate to act the part of a Nazi soldier in their execution. And he knew Marcello would do the same—both would maintain their cover or their freedom at any cost, even if it meant turning on a friend who could no longer be saved.

  Bastien didn’t want to take a woman into that world. There were female partisans, of course, but that was different. Their country had been taken over by Fascists—first by Mussolini, then by Hitler. Bastien suspected Miss Begni didn’t have a clue what she was volunteering for or what sacrifices she’d be forced to make as she lived a lie. Why is she so insistent on coming? He tried to shrug off the other thing that was bothering him: the way Miss Begni reminded him of Julie.

  Your first chance in four months to sleep without worrying about the Gestapo, and you’re worrying about women instead? Bastien sighed and walked to the bed. When he pulled back the covers, he realized there was only one thin blanket. Logs were piled in the fireplace and matches lay on the mantel, but a roaring fire wouldn’t help him sleep.

  He quietly opened his bedroom door. The other men had been sitting in the main room when Bastien excused himself a few hours ago, but the room was empty now. Ambrose and Vaughn-Harris had the two larger bedrooms on the main level, and Bastien had been assigned the middle of the three rooms in the loft. He assumed Miss Begni was in the far room, with the guards sharing the room at the top of the stairs. Perhaps the guards had spare blankets.

  Bastien knocked softly on the door, expecting one of the off-duty men to answer. He waited for perhaps half a minute, and then the door opened, revealing Miss Begni wrapped in a robe, with her black hair falling loose across her shoulders.

  He took a step back. “I’m sorry. I thought you were in another room.”

  “If you’re looking for Captain Vaughn-Harris, his room is down there.” She waved her hand toward the stairs.

  “Why would I be looking for him?”

  She folded her arms and shrugged. “I thought you might want to finish your argument in private. It was fairly obvious the two of you wanted to take a few swings at each other this afternoon. What happened between you two?”

  Bastien ignored her question. “I think it would show poor sportsmanship on my part if I were to slug an inebriated man half a head shorter than me. I was actually planning to ask the guards if they had any spare blankets. Sorry to disturb you, Miss Begni.”

  “I have extra blankets.” She left the door open and walked back into her room. She pulled several blankets from a wooden chest pushed beneath the window and brought them to him.

  “Thank you for the blankets, Miss Begni.”

  “Most people call me Gracie.”

  “Gracie, then.”

  She seemed to be waiting for something. “What’s your given name, Captain Ley?” she finally asked.

  “In Italy, I’ll be Hauptmann Dietrich. I suppose we’ll soon pretend we’re on good enough terms that you’ll usually call me Adalard.”