A Whisper of Trouble

by Susan Y. Tanner

  A motorcycle slid to a stop in the street in front of her. As Trouble clambered into Will’s lap, Will reached to pull Liz up behind him. She was barely in place before Will had the bike in motion, loose pebbles slinging from under the back tire. Balancing as best she could, she fastened the helmet that he thrust at her.

  “You okay?” His voice came low and reassuring through the wireless.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat so that she could lie more convincingly. “I’m fine.”

  A light rain, barely more than a drizzle, began to fall as Will took turn after turn. Liz cringed at the thought of the brick pavers beneath the tires, already worn slick by time and traffic. They would become even more slippery with the damp. Nor was the traffic any lighter than earlier in the day. Headlights whizzed past with dizzying speed. Pedestrians stepped into the street without regard for no-walk lights which she found odd and frightening. Earlier in the day, she’d noticed that drivers appeared to respect the lights, giving ample opportunity for walkers to cross in safety. Now any one of them could cause Will to jerk the bars or brake sharply to avoid killing them and spin them into a crash.

  Liz squinted through the drizzle as they passed a storefront that looked familiar, then another. “Are we going in circles?”

  “A bit. We’ve got a shadow. I don’t want to leave the city until I shake him.”

  She leaned her forehead against his back. She was down the rabbit hole for sure.

  “Lower your center of gravity,” Will cautioned.

  Though she wasn’t completely sure how to accomplish that, she did her best to comply, sinking as low as she could as she peeked over his shoulder. The street ahead separated around one of the beautiful vee-shaped buildings she’d noticed earlier. A lamp shone through a lower window. Will increased speed and Liz tucked her chin, watching the building as they sped toward it.

  “I’m going to veer left.” His voice was calm and quiet. “Be ready.”

  She didn’t comprehend until she felt him lean the bike right as if to take the righthand side of the split. She had to force herself to stay centered, prepared for a left shift. The building loomed. A glance over her shoulder showed the motorcycle behind them gaining ground as Will slowed slightly.

  At the last possible moment, Will whipped them to the left. A heartbeat later, the explosion behind them had Liz catching her breath. She glanced back at the fireball littering the sidewalk in front of the vee of the building, the metal debris scattered across the street, and her heart thudded sickeningly. Swallowing hard, she focused her attention on the road ahead.

  Chapter Eight

  That was a very efficient move. My admiration for Will goes up yet another notch. He has much to commend him. Some might consider me a cold-hearted bloke for my point of view but our nemesis opted into this deadly game. I can assure you, he wasn’t hard on our trail to commend us for our recent success in returning Milo to his owners.

  I’m not sure Liz shares my admiration for Will’s deft handling of our tail. I feel the rigidity in her muscles as we travel out of the city. The dark night of the countryside swallows us, our headlight a single beacon on the road ahead.

  * * *

  The lights of Florence glittered delicately across the skyline. Will stifled the urge to ask the woman at his back her first impression of the city that was his favorite in all of Italy, stifled, too, the wish that he could show it to her under other circumstances. Now wasn’t the time and he doubted there ever would be a time for them. For as long as he employed her, she was his to protect. Period. Not that she would agree. While she wasn’t prickly about her independence, he’d never mistake it for anything less than an integral part of her nature.

  The apartment Cervelli had provided, though tiny, was located in the heart of the city and that meant it was also expensive. Very. And, more than likely, also government owned rather than a vacation rental by owner. The restoration had been impeccably done. The paved lower floor which had once housed some nobleman’s prized horse now sheltered Will’s motorcycle in one corner.

  Narrow steps curved upward to a first-floor living area that would be called an open floor plan in America. The floor above that held two narrow bedroom and bath combinations. Will took the one that opened onto the terrace. If trouble came, that rooftop would be what gave it access, not the street entrance below with its heavy iron grills.

  Liz paused in the doorway to her room as Trouble slipped past her and leapt to the narrow bed. Exhaustion lay like purple bruises beneath her eyes. “What next?”

  “For now? We sleep. Tomorrow, I figure out how to break into a similar villa which may or may not house the stallion from the Maremma Laziale.”

  “Is that a city?”

  “It’s an area within the Lazio region, the northern part,” but Will could tell her mind wasn’t on her question or his answer.

  “How much do you trust Cervelli?”

  Will studied her a moment. “Enough. His job is at stake if those horses aren’t returned and that’s worth a hell of a lot in terms of dollars and perks. He knows I’m his best bet to keeping it.”

  “But?”

  Will smiled faintly. “But it’s probable he trusts people that I wouldn’t so, also tomorrow, we find another place to stay.”

  “So why stay here at all?”

  “Because if Cervelli’s source is correct, the stallion is—or was—in a restored tower similar to this one. I need to study the structural design just in case. Cervelli, however, believes we moved no further than a hotel on the outskirts of Rome for tonight. As will anyone tapping his phone.”

  After a moment, Liz nodded and withdrew into her room with a murmured goodnight. Will couldn’t tell if he’d reassured her or even if she was concerned at all rather than merely curious. Liz wasn’t easy to read.

  He waited until she’d had time to shower before he stepped into his own and lathered the inherent odors of motorcycle travel from his hair and skin. Pulling on fresh jeans and a long-sleeved tee, he was glad they’d taken the time to have their clothing laundered.

  Moments later he was downstairs with his tape measure and a notepad and Trouble close upon his heels. He took a moment to study the original cobblestone of the flooring, now polished to a satiny sheen. The plaster walls were pristinely painted. He doubted the double doors of heavy oak had survived through the centuries but the possibility existed. And if they weren’t the original, they were excellent replications. The ceiling was at least two floors high with wide arched openings on either side of the central space.

  He’d left the ornate chandelier above turned off, opting instead for softer wall lighting. No need to draw attention from the street that there was anyone currently in residence.

  The spaces to either side were of sufficient size to stall two horses comfortably, although any trace of stalls was long gone, if they’d even existed. Only iron rings set into the walls remained. Each side space had a flight of steps leading to a room above. When he investigated, both proved empty. He suspected they’d once held feed and forage and equipment for the animals housed below.

  Returning to the lower level, he began taking measurements under Trouble’s watchful gaze. “None of this may be of the least use,” he murmured to the cat, jotting down numbers, “but I’d rather have and not need than need and not have.”

  The voice that answered from behind him belonged to Liz. “Shall I hold the other end for you? Trouble seems to be falling down on assisting.”

  She sat about three steps up from the bottom. Like him, she wore jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, though hers was a button-up. Her hair was still half-damp and her lips were curved in a half-smile.

  For answer, he pulled the tape longer and held the end toward her. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Didn’t really try,” she admitted, taking the clipped end. “What are we doing…beyond taking measurements?”

  “If the stallion is or was stashed in Florence, the villa may have been altered with false walls. Taking m
easurements here will help me determine that possibility more quickly. If he’s there, every possibility of success will ride upon how fast I can act.”

  “We,” she corrected.

  Will met her gaze. “We. Me, you, and the cat?”

  “Who can let us know far faster than any measurements, if and where the horse is hidden.”

  The feline, who’d been standing at Liz’s feet, turned his gleaming green eyes in Will’s direction. Will swore the cat was waiting for the response, upon which Will would then be judged. Will opted for the wiser course of action, particularly as he was on the last measurement which he wrote beside the others.

  When he looked up, he nodded. “You make an excellent point.”

  Trouble slowly blinked both eyes, lifted a paw and began to groom himself. Will gathered his response was deemed appropriate.

  Liz gazed around her. “It’s interesting to think of the ruling class riding their horses inside, then walking upstairs to their hearths.”

  Will walked toward her, letting the tape wind into the box as he did so. “It’s what we do now, isn’t it? With our BMW’s and our Lexus? Drive them into the garage then open a door and walk into our homes?”

  “You’re right, of course.” She smiled. “I suppose it’s hard for me to think of them as their owners once did…as just a means of conveyance.”

  “Not just,” Will corrected, “I suppose some today love their Lamborghini as much as they do a family member.”

  Liz chuckled. “No doubt.”

  “There are estates outside Florence which have stables as palatial as their homes. Perhaps when we’ve returned all of the horses to their homes, we can take a few days to visit some of them.” He held her gaze, waiting for her reaction. The timing was all wrong. He knew it. She’d know it, too.

  Her reaction came slowly, hesitantly, with a small dip of her chin. “Perhaps.”

  He waited in case she said more, then gestured toward the stairs for her to go first when she didn’t. Trouble followed them to the living area above stairs where Liz stopped and turned to face him, not quite frowning. “Those horses could be scattered around the globe. There’s no real reason to believe America was the end destination. Even for Milo. It could have been no more than a mid-point in a longer journey.”

  Will nodded. “True. We’ve no way to be certain. But I think it would be odd for the horse to be put ashore in Florida if it were intended to go beyond the States.” He resisted the urge to touch her cheek. “Grab some sleep. I want to be out of here by daylight. We’ve only got a few hours.”

  * * *

  Florence lacks the sprawling grandeur of Rome but makes up for it with the rare distinction of being the birthplace of the Renaissance, the beginning of a new world order. It’s an interesting thing that the nastiness of a plague, which cut the city’s population in half, spawned what many consider the greatest age of the arts in the history of all mankind. It was here that Dante was born and Michelangelo trained. Here where legend insists da Vinci's lost painting, "The Battle of Anghiari," lives on. Although its location remains a mystery, some claim it to be hidden behind a later fresco in the Hall of the Five Hundred.

  My thoughts linger less on art than on the promise of the city’s cuisine which is reputed to be superior even to Rome’s. If true, I hope our stay is not overly brief. Oh, the things I’ll have to share with my Tammy once we crack this case! While I recognize few humans can understand the intricacies of my speech, my human has proven herself more astute than most.

  Speaking of cuisine, I believe it’s about that time but my provisional humans have stalled in their tracks as they admire the labor of several chalk artists. I agree some of the work is exquisite with vivid colors and extraordinary detail. Pedestrians walk politely around, stopping to admire and perhaps toss coins into the piles that appears here and there. And the street is closed to motor traffic with those round drum-like mechanisms that somehow automatically lower only for emergency vehicles. Still, the drawings are created directly upon the pavement and it seems a shame they’ll all be gone with the first rain and will, in any event, soon be smudged by careless feet.

  I spy an array of eateries ahead with tables lining the sidewalk on either side of the street. Wide doors stand open to the pleasant weather. I nudge my charges along and am pleased when they select an establishment without belaboring the choice. Doubtless, they are as weary of this strolling about as I.

  We’ve wandered through a bustling open-air market in the heart of the city and followed with morning coffee and pastries light as air. We’ve gazed at statues whose physical endowments I felt would be better served by being garbed then lunched on pizza from which I enjoyed the tidbits of meat. We once blended discreetly with a guided group of tourists as the homes of early Florentine barons were pointed out and extolled for the treasures within. All of this meandering enabled us to surveil our ultimate destination on three different occasions. There was no sign of activity any of those times and all that could be seen was the wide, barred archway that allowed horses of old to carry the wealthy into the security of their homes without dismounting.

  This horse we seek might or might not be hidden behind those stout stone walls. Night will fall before much longer and we shall see what we shall see.

  * * *

  Liz stood at Will’s back, watching the darkened street behind them while he used the key Cervelli had provided. A little further down, a wall lantern affixed to one corner cast a dim glow. The illumination didn’t carry far and she could barely see the buildings on the other side of the narrow street. The cat brushed against her leg as if to reassure her of his presence.

  When the lock clicked open with a soft sound, she slowly exhaled the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. Will reached back to take her hand and tug her inside as he swung the gate wide enough for them to enter. She thought he must have eyes as keen as Trouble’s when he pulled her toward one of the inside openings, so they wouldn’t be visible from the street. The penlight he flicked on cast no more than a pinpoint of light in the empty space. The silence around Liz warned her that the other side would prove equally empty. There was no horse hidden here.

  But there had been. Though the first upstairs storage room held only old trunks and a scattering of furniture in need of repair, the one opposite told a different tale. Will had turned off the light long enough for them to cross to the other side but he flicked it on again as they climbed the steps. On the landing above was a half-empty bag of oats and a scattering of fresh hay.

  She heard Will’s quiet huff of exasperation that they were too late in almost the same instant, she heard the click of a door open somewhere below them. Will heard it too. He switched off the light and tightened his hold on her hand, moving her to one corner of the room. When he stepped away from her toward the wall where the stairs ended, her mouth opened in protest. She closed it again. The beam of a flashlight shone up the stairwell, hitting high where the wall met the ceiling. If whoever climbed toward them in measured steps thought Will was alone, her presence could be a distinct advantage.

  She heard a phrase in Italian, then “Hello” in English. Her spine tensed as she waited to see which way the person would turn when he reached the top. Toward Will or away from him. She considered moving to reveal her own position so that he would focus on her and keep moving forward, giving Will the advantage. Or—she realized—he could simply shoot her from the stairs without stepping onto the landing. That thought stopped her cold.

  Even knowing Will stood a few feet away, she could barely make him out. Across from her, Trouble’s eyes gleamed in the dark. Praying for silence, Liz slid her hand into her bag. She felt for and found the syringe filled with horse tranquilizer that Will had given her for safekeeping and wrapped her fingers around it. She dared not move more than that. Not until they were discovered.

  Trouble hissed softly, returning her attention to him. One brilliant green eye closed in a deliberate wink. Of course, she thought.
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br />   As the steps reached the top of the landing, she heard the soft puffing of breath. Their stalker wasn’t in the best of shape. Good. Before that thought cleared her mind, Trouble launched himself with a yowl. The howl that followed was human, startled, and in pain.

  The flashlight hit the floor and rolled to one side but the light was enough for Liz to see a man whirling in an attempt to sling Trouble from his shoulders. Will grabbed the arm that held the gun aloft. Unfortunately, the man was stoic enough to stop trying to dislodge the cat and the claws still sunk into his flesh and focus his effort on bringing the gun around to aim at Will.

  Liz didn’t stop to think. Bringing the syringe from her bag, she uncapped the needle and came up behind the man. Hoping the dosage intended for an eight-hundred-pound horse didn’t prove lethal to a two-hundred-pound man, she sank the needle into the muscle of his back and pressed her thumb against the plunger. Given intravenously, the medicine would begin to affect a horse within three to five minutes. She couldn’t hope to hit a vein but surely the surprise of the attack would give Will a respite, maybe even a momentary advantage.

  The pain of the large equine needle and the burn of the medicine drew a howl as the man flailed in response. His shoulder flung Liz backward against a wall but she managed to keep her balance.

  “What the hell?” She heard Will’s bewilderment as his opponent lurched for the stairs. His gaze met Liz’s then dropped to the syringe in her hand. They heard a thud and groan as his attacker missed a step and tumbled the remainder of the way to the floor below.

  “Let’s go.”

  At Will’s words, Trouble gave a slight grumble that could have been a purr or a complaint and led the way down the steps. Liz retrieved the flashlight and followed. She held it on the lump of humanity at the base of the stairs while Will felt for a pulse.

  “He’s alive but he’s on his own from here.”