Chapter 3

Peter alternately paced his office and stared out the window, wondering what else he could do. It had been four days since Neal had disappeared, and he was no closer to figuring out where the hell he was. He refused to believe that Neal had ran, his only reason for running was gone. This was more, he just couldn't figure out what was going on. A knock on the door startled him, and he turned to find Diana standing at the door.

"Interpol got a hit on the Aaron Stevenson alias." The look on her face told him it wasn't good. "Found his wallet along with several small caliber shell casings in an alley in Verona."

Peter nearly choked on his coffee. "Verona? Italy?"

Diana nodded and handed Peter the file. "You better sit down."

Peter did as she suggested, and took a deep breath as he opened the folder. The crime scene photos were on top; he saw the markers for five different shell casings among the red streaks on the pavement.

"They found four of those bullets embedded in the buildings," Diana continued.

His eyes flicked up to Diana's face. "Did they find a body?"

Diana shook her head. "No, they didn't."

"How in the hell did he end up in Italy?"

Diana shrugged. "No idea boss." She paused, then asked, "Are we going to Italy?"

Peter nodded solemnly. "If I can get clearance."

By the end of the week, Neal had made significant improvement. The wounds were healing nicely, and he was feeling stronger every day. He knew that it was directly attributable to the care Kyra had given him, and for that he was grateful. As he stood in the doorway leading out to the patio, he said a prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening.

Now, he just had to get his memory back. He'd begun having flashes, like scenes from a movie but none of them meant anything to him. Mostly places, and things he was sure should be familiar to him but weren't. There were other things also, that really meant nothing to him but for some reason made him uncomfortable.

He stepped out the door and the unfinished canvas sitting abandoned on the easel caught his eye so he walked over to it. Studying it, he realized that she was right, it was bad. A smile played at his lips as he picked up the palette and began selecting paints. Finally he picked up the brush. and the delicate brushstrokes seemed as natural to him as breathing. Soon he was completely lost in replicating the landscape in front of him.

Kyra stood in the living room, watching him out the window. The intensity on his face was mesmerizing as he effortlessly transformed her pitiful attempt into something of absolute beauty. The white button down shirt hung open, revealing flashes of his caramel colored skin, broken only by the denim of the jeans he'd pulled on.

She turned and went to retrieve her camera. Soundlessly, she stepped out the door and began shooting. The breeze blew his chestnut locks around while he was seemingly unaware of her presence. The final frame captured not only the painting, but the artist as well. His eyes slid towards her, a smile of pure satisfaction on his handsome features as the shutter closed.

"I hope you don't mind," he said as she lowered the camera.

"Not at all. It's beautiful Neal. I hope you don't mind." She indicated the camera in her hand.

"No, it's fine," he said softly as she moved to stand next to him, gazing at the painting.

"It really is beautiful." An idea dawned on her. "You know, I have all kinds of art supplies in the loft. Feel free to help yourself. Maybe it will help."

"But what about you?" he asked.

"I feel more comfortable with this," She said lifting the camera. "As a matter of fact, I'm going to download these to the laptop right now. Why don't you go up and check out the supplies?"

"You have a computer?"

"Just my laptop. I store my photo's on it. No internet connection out here."

"Oh."

She reached for his arm. "I'm sorry Neal. Maybe I should go into town, do some digging. You could stay here just to be safe."

He shook his head. "No, I don't think I'm ready yet." He was afraid of what she might find given some of the flashes he'd had.

"Okay, well if you change your mind just let me know," she murmured before turning to go inside.

Neal prowled around the loft, surprised to find just about every art medium one could want in front of him. He finally picked up a sketchbook and some charcoal pencils, and then made his way back down the staircase.

He found Kyra sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop in front of her. The image she had pulled up was the final one she had taken of him that morning. "That is stunning Kyra," he observed as he peered over her shoulder.

She looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face. "It helps to have a stunning subject, I doubt a bad photo of you exists."

It was his turn to blush. "Thanks," he said humbly. "I found these, do you mind?"

She shook her head. "Help yourself to whatever catches your fancy."

"Anything?" he murmured, his free hand settling on her shoulder.

She sat frozen under his touch, the skin tingling where his fingers made contact. The roughness of his voice spoke to the sexual tension that practically sizzled between them. "Almost anything," she finally managed.

He let his hand drop and he stepped away from her, quietly moving to the couch to sketch.

Once she'd finished with the photos she went to make a late breakfast for the two of them.

As she worked her eyes slid to where Neal sat on the couch, diligently sketching, smiling as she watched him chew on his lip as he worked.

The private jet touched down on the runway, the terminal of the Verona-Villafranca Airport looming in the distance. Peter Burke ran a hand through his hair tiredly. It had taken him three days to get through the red tape and gain approval for the team to travel to Italy to search for Neal. The transatlantic flight had taken over eight hours, and with the time difference it was nearing midnight in Italy. He glanced over to see Diana stretch and swat Jones on the arm to wake him up. They'd check into the hotel and get a good night's sleep, then early in the morning they'd start searching for Neal after checking in with the Italian Police.

The day had passed pleasantly enough. Neal had been buried in the sketchbook virtually all day, only stopping to eat lunch and dinner. Kyra had picked up the forgotten volume and tried, unsuccessfully, to lose herself in Poe's work. Every so often she stood and prowled around the house, quietly refilling their coffee cups as needed before trying to settle back down with the book. She'd finally given up and tossed the book aside in favor of just watching Neal, so engrossed in his work that he'd barely even noticed she was sitting there simply staring at him.

He glanced up and their gazes met, a smile spreading across the handsome face. He sat the sketchbook and pencil aside and rolled his shoulders, wincing as he did. Their eyes met again, a crooked little grin on his face and she felt herself weaken. Damn him for being so sexy.

"Sore?" she asked quietly.

He reached up to rub his shoulder "Yeah, think I overdid it a bit."

She motioned for him to join her on the couch. "Come over here, I'll rub it for you."

He stood; long, elegant fingers already reaching for the buttons on the sleeve of his shirt. Kyra watched, fascinated, as he removed the white material. Glorious caramel skin covered the planes and angles of his muscular torso, and her breath stuttered in her chest.

She'd never been treated to the likes of a man like him before. Her experiences were with more...subtle men. Neal without his shirt was more enticing, more overwhelming, than most men would have been stark naked.

Neal sat next to her, turning so that she was presented with the wide expanse of his back.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out to touch him, her fingers gliding over the warm softness of his skin.

Neal closed his eyes as a low humming started in his veins, making his body throb with a need that shocked him. He knew this wasn't the time to begin a relationship. Hell, for all he knew he was married with five kids. But as her soft hands moved across his suddenly heated skin, he ceased to care. A low moan escaped his lips as the pressure intensified, her fingers kneading the taut muscles of his shoulders and back. He lost himself in the sensation.

"Neal..."

He could feel his own heartbeat - the acceleration of his pulse - just because she'd said his name. Her voice was husky, and he wondered if she was having a similar reaction to the connection of their flesh.

He turned wordlessly to face her, and the twin pools of liquid desire stared back at him.

He reached out to touch her face, moving closer to her.

And when his mouth began its descent to hers, all she could do was close her eyes, and pray she had the willpower to say no.

Ignoring the ache in his arms to hold her, and the tightness in his throat to taste her, he veered up at the last second and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Goodnight Kyra, thank you," he whispered the words before unfolding his lanky frame from the couch.

She watched, an emotion she couldn't quite identify flooding her, as he disappeared from the room.