by Lisa Harris
With someone like Joe.
She dismissed the surprising thought and stared up at the now familiar ceiling. When she hadn’t been sleeping, she’d been praying. Or worrying. She was worried about her sister. Worried about the threats against her own life. Worried about what would happen if she couldn’t find the paintings.
Her mother used to remind her not to worry. That today’s troubles were enough without adding to them. But she’d always struggled putting that advice into practice.
You know my struggles, God. But I have no idea how to deal with this situation. No idea how not to worry.
Her faith had wavered after Thomas had died. She’d kept praying. Kept trying to find answers when there didn’t seem to be any. She’d gone to church, hardly missing a service, but at the same time she couldn’t help but wonder how she’d ended up where she was. She’d prayed before marrying him and thought she was doing the right thing. When she found out who he really was it was impossible to deny she’d made such a big mistake. It didn’t seem possible that she hadn’t even known him at all. She knew that now.
And it was that knowledge that had made her cautious over falling in love again. Having someone like Joe show up and come to her rescue like a knight in shining armor didn’t change anything. Not really. She couldn’t let it.
Her phone rang, and her heart took another nosedive, as she worried it was going to be more bad news. She fumbled to find it in the dark on the table beside the bed.
“Joe?”
“Hey…did I wake you?”
“No. Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I’ve just been laying here half the night.”
“I haven’t been able to sleep either,” she said.
“Had a feeling I wasn’t the only one. I know it’s early, but I could use a walk and a bit of fresh air.”
“I can be ready in ten.”
He was right about the fresh air. Fifteen minutes later, she was walking down the streets of Florence, thankful for both the crisp morning and a new perspective. And for the moment, it was almost possible to pretend she was nothing more than a guide giving a private tour of the city.
“I told you it was even more beautiful in the daylight. One of my favorite cities all wrapped up in incredible architecture, history and art. And then there’s the bridges, the cobblestone sidewalks and the food.”
“When did you first come here?”
“I was seven, maybe eight. My sister always preferred science to history, but I couldn’t get enough of my father’s stories. He was a history professor, and loved talking about how the Medicis used to walk across the bridge up ahead, the Ponte Vecchio, from their palace to their offices, to ensure they didn’t mix with the commoners. More than six hundred years of history. It’s almost impossible to comprehend, but then you think about the birthplace of the Renaissance, the final resting place of Galileo, Ghiberti and Michelangelo. So many incredible things happened right here.”
“I think I would have enjoyed meeting him.”
“And I think he would have liked you, as well.”
She felt a blush cross her cheeks at the implication, then couldn’t help but look up at him. Strong jawline, deep brown eyes. He was staring out across the water, soaking up Florence’s beauty. The breeze off the Arno River was perfect, especially knowing that in a few hours the heat from the summer sun would be radiating off the old stone paving.
She glanced away. He reminded her of Thomas. Of the things she’d first fallen in love with. His strength. His love for justice. His fight to make the world a better place. Beyond that, though, the similarities ended.
Not that she was comparing.
She turned away and focused her attention back to the scene in front of them. Four rowers skimmed across the water in perfect unison in their quad scull. A white gull soared across the top of the water. She never got tired of the old bridges scattered throughout Europe. London’s Tower Bridge, Pont Neuf in Paris and the Ponte Vecchio right here in Florence. She glanced once more at Joe. And the man standing next to her simply added to the peace of the moment. Even if it was the calm before the next storm hit.
“I wonder if they’re training,” she asked, taking her thoughts back in check. “The rowers, I mean.”
“Believe it or not, I actually dreamed of getting to the Olympics.”
“Really?” She glanced up at him, thankful for the distraction from her thoughts. “What sport?”
“I was a long-distance runner in high school and college and loved it. I decided to see if I could make it to the Olympic team trials, but in the end, I missed the qualifying mark by a second.”
“Yikes. That had to be tough to swallow.”
“It was. At first. But then I realized that while it would have been an incredible experience, it would have pretty much engulfed my life, and I wasn’t sure I was willing to give everything up for it.”
“And you decided on the FBI?”
“Not at first. At that point, I just knew I was going to go into a branch of law enforcement. My grandfather was a police officer for thirty years and my father is a firefighter. I ended up graduating with a degree in criminology, and then at twenty-three I decided to apply for the FBI. What about you? Do you ever have any huge dreams?”
She stopped along the stone wall running parallel to the river and watched the gull swoop up something to eat. “I’ve always wanted see my art in a big gallery in some European city. But after studying all the masterpieces, it makes you feel pretty small. This is the city where I took classes and studied the frescoes in the historic center. It was an incredible experience that I wouldn’t trade for the world, even if my art never gets into any of the galleries.”
“I’d still like to see some of your work.”
She started walking again. It had been a long time since she’d pulled out any of her pieces. “Maybe one day.”
She liked the idea that they’d see each other after all of this was over. Because he was the kind of man she’d like to spend the rest of her life with. Except hadn’t she thought the same thing with Thomas? He’d come in and swept her off her feet. She’d fallen in love with him, but now…his betrayal had changed everything. Which meant it really didn’t matter what her heart felt. She knew that any feelings she thought she was feeling were nothing more than a recipe for disaster. And a place her heart shouldn’t want to go.
Her foot hit an uneven spot in the pavement and twisted her ankle. She grabbed on to his arm in order to catch her balance. He caught her, and ran his arm around her waist to steady her.
“Sorry.”
She rested her hand against his chest for a moment, then quickly pulled it away.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…”
She didn’t finish her sentence. She was close enough she could feel his breath against her cheek. He was close enough to kiss her. She ducked her head, then stepped back, her heart racing at his nearness.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’d think I already learned my lesson.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing… We probably should go get ready to catch the train.”
They started walking again, but something about the morning had lost its charm.
“Who was she?”
He frowned at her question. “Who said it was a she?”
“No one, but I don’t know…it sounded personal.”
“Let’s just say I learned never to mix business with pleasure. No matter how intense the situation becomes.”
“So she was someone you rescued?” She was probing, and she probably shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it. “Someone involved in one of your cases.”
“Yeah, but it was a long time ago.”
She wanted to ask more. Wanted to know who she’d been. Had he loved her? Had she betrayed him? But she wasn’t going to. She had her own past to wrestle with.
Aside from Thomas’s betrayal, she knew what it was like to love someone and
worry about him going out on the job every day. She never again wanted to experience not knowing if the person she loved was going to come home at night. Or receiving the call saying that he wouldn’t.
*
Joe wanted to kick himself as they turned down another side street toward the river and their hotel. He’d come so close to kissing her. He’d wanted to kiss her, and yet he’d meant what he said. He had no business mixing business with pleasure. And he certainly had no desire to talk about Natasha.
He turned his attention to his surroundings where there was already a busy mixture of locals and tourists. Cars and mopeds rushed by. The last thing he needed right now was a distraction. He pushed away any fleeting feelings of attraction. He knew better. Not that he believed she was involved in a crime, like Natasha was. But even that didn’t matter.
He knew how things worked. She might be innocent in this situation, but when all this was over he’d never see her again. He wasn’t her knight in shining armor, sweeping into save the day. He was an FBI agent looking to take down a thief and the person who murdered his brother. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The sharp crack of a gunshot jerked him out of his thoughts.
Joe reacted automatically. “Talia, get down! Now.”
He thought the shot had come from behind him, but he couldn’t be certain. With a brick wall running along the river to their right and an open street to their left, they were sitting ducks. He grabbed Talia’s hand and started running. In an outdoor situation, the best response was to look for both cover and distance, with the goal being to put as much distance between the shooter and the target.
And he was certain they were the target.
“Joe…” She squeezed his fingers as they ran. “Joe—you’ve been hit.”
He glanced down at the trail of blood that was spreading across the sleeve of his T-shirt and running down his arm. Another few inches to the left, and he wouldn’t still be standing. But there was no time to go through what could have happened. “It doesn’t matter.”
Not now. Adrenaline masked the pain. All he could feel was his heart racing and the fierce determination of getting her to safety.
The street was in a state of confusion. Those who had heard the shot were running for cover. Others didn’t even react. Cars continued to drive through the intersection, unaware of what was going on, which meant they had to run through oncoming traffic in order to get to any semblance of safety.
There was another shot and the sound of glass shattering one of the windows of a car behind them. The shots were coming from northwest of them, but he still couldn’t locate the shooter.
“We need to find cover. Don’t stop running.”
NINE
Joe blocked out the pain radiating down his arm as they ran and focused instead on both identifying the shooter and finding an exit strategy. Most people, when faced with a clearly imminent threat, tended to freeze. But that reaction could mean valuable seconds lost, giving the attacking force an advantage. Years of training made his own response automatic. Which meant unlike an everyday victim in a similar scenario, he was already seconds ahead in his thinking.
But this situation was more complex than simply deciding the best way to take down an active shooter. His first priority—his only priority at the moment—was keeping Talia safe. Which meant he had to get her away from the attacker.
“Joe—”
“Just keep running.”
From where they were, the closest cover was in one of the shops across the street, but the last thing he wanted was to be boxed in without an escape route.
The other option was the covered bridge straight ahead.
He glanced briefly behind him without slowing down. Fifty feet behind them he caught sight of the shooter. A figure wearing a gray sweatshirt and a ball cap, and carrying a weapon, was coming toward them. Male, female, age—he couldn’t tell. But what bothered him the most was that the person wasn’t acting logically. Why shoot at them in broad daylight, with dozens of potential witnesses? It meant that either the gunman was panicked, or they believed they were invincible and could manage to escape. And it meant they were willing to take risks in achieving their objective.
Making sure his body was between her and the shooter, Joe gripped Talia’s hand tighter and picked up their pace, wondering where he’d faltered. Taking in his surroundings had become second nature to him. He always knew where the nearest exit was at a restaurant or store. Always looked for anything or anyone that didn’t fit into his environment.
Today, though, he’d managed to get caught up in the moment and missed the warning that they were in immediate danger. But there was no time for regrets. He’d have to deal with those later. Instead he made his decision. Their best option was to get to the bridge. The problem, though, was that it was still another ninety to one hundred feet ahead of them and their sniper was still behind them. Which meant the odds of finding cover before getting shot weren’t good.
He kept running toward the bridge. The sound of gunshots had sent dozens of people scurrying for cover and ducking into shops. And even though it was early, there was still a steady stream of cars going past, putting frightened pedestrians at risk of getting hit on top of getting shot. But for the moment, the only thing he could focus on was getting Talia to safety.
His gut churned with unease. Until they got to the bridge and were able to find cover, they were in reality pinned down and completely vulnerable. But as long as the person with the gun was also moving, the odds of him hitting his target accurately were going to be far lower. Which was why they had to keep moving.
Someone yelled behind them. He had no idea what was being shouted beyond polizia. He glanced back, searching quickly once again, but he couldn’t find the shooter this time.
Where is he, God?
He still had to be nearby. Lurking in the shadows. Trying to blend in with the swarm of terrified tourists. But there was no way he’d get away with this. Someone had to have seen him shooting and would be able to ID him. And at this point the sniper’s only escape was one of the side streets away from the river.
Joe shifted his focus back to the bridge. Seventy-five more feet… Fifty…
He kept running.
“Joe, where is he?”
He caught the panic in her voice. “I don’t know. I lost him. We just need to make it to the bridge.”
He searched the crowd across the street. No one suspicious there, which meant he still had to be behind them.
They reached the edge of the bridge where the Ponte Vecchio spanned the Arno River at the narrowest point. Instead of being open like most European bridges, this one had dozens of overhanging shops that dated back to the Roman era. The perfect location, he hoped, for evasion.
“This way,” he said, leading her onto the bridge.
“Joe, you’re bleeding too much.”
“Maybe, but we can’t take a chance of stopping and one of us getting shot again.”
His heart raced inside his chest. His arm was beginning to throb despite the adrenaline pumping through his body that should have helped mask the impact of the bullet. Ignoring the pain, he led her across the bridge, where shops were just beginning to open up. Past wooden doorways and shop windows. Past store after store selling jewelry and gold, sprinkled with a few places selling postcards and gelato.
“Do you see him?” she asked.
He glanced behind them again, trying to sort through the blur of people on the bridge as he searched for the figure in the gray sweatshirt. “No, but keep running.”
Some people glanced oddly at them, but most were headed in the opposite direction to see what was happening on the street.
In the center of the stone bridge, archways opened up to stunning views of the Arno River. He could hear sirens wailing in the background. Someone had called the authorities. He was going to have to make his own call and let his boss know what had happened. He also needed to let Esposito know what was going on, and in return get a
n update on last night’s train incident. There had to be a connection between the woman who’d followed them and what was happening right now. He needed her ID’d and brought in. And they needed to find the paintings that were the reason for all of this.
“We have to stop,” she said, grabbing on to his good arm. She slowed down in front of one of the shops, and grabbed on to his uninjured arm. Rows of gold necklaces sat lined up on display. “I meant it when I said you were bleeding too much. If you keep pushing it, you won’t make it much farther.”
“I’m fine. We need to get as far from here as possible.” Just because they were on the bridge didn’t mean he was ready to stop. Not yet. They could catch a taxi on the other side that would take them out of the neighborhood and somewhere safe.
“You’re losing too much blood,” she said. “Besides, I’m pretty sure our shooter’s disappeared.”
He drew in a deep breath. Maybe she was right. He could feel himself slowing down. His legs were beginning to feel like lead, and he was struggling to get enough air.
You’re fine. It’s nothing but a flesh wound, which means you’ll be back on your feet as soon as you can catch your breath.
At least that’s what he kept trying to tell himself. Whoever had shot him might not have had the best aim, or maybe they’d done exactly what they’d wanted to do—make sure he was pulled off the case without actually killing him. He wasn’t sure which made more sense. But what he was sure about was that even a bullet wasn’t going to stop him at this point.
Talia pulled him inside. She started speaking rapidly in Italian to a woman behind a glass display. Something about the police and a gun. The woman replied, speaking even faster. He took a step forward, but the room was spinning. Funny. He’d never had issues with vertigo. Boats, planes, cars—nothing bothered him, but this… A wave of nausea hit him, along with a sharp pain that radiated to his fingertips.
“Joe—Joe, I need you to sit down.”
“I’m fine.” He was still determined to shake it off.