Blonde Ops
Page 5
So much for trying to be friendly. Or helpful. As soon as I deposited the Skulking Suits at the Hotel Beatrici, they’d be on their own.
We drove the short distance in silence. When we pulled up, three porters hurried down to the car. They struggled to unload Candace’s luggage—a dozen blood-red leather cases of varying sizes, each piece monogrammed with an oversized cream-colored C and secured with shiny gold locks. I watched them steer their unwieldy carts up a side ramp and into the lobby.
Case checked in at the desk while I waited off to the side, sneaking surreptitious looks at Ortiz and Nelson. Ortiz looked like she was in pretty rough shape. I guessed that she’d been driving the car. That meant that Parker was on the passenger side—the “Death Seat,” my driver’s ed teacher called it. Ortiz caught me looking at her and the corners of her mouth twitched, like she was fighting a small smile.
Finished with the concierge, Case motioned us over, but when I tried to follow, he held up a hand. “You can go back to the office. We’re good on our own from here.”
“You sure?” Not that I was really interested in helping them, but if Candace and I were sharing a suite and they were moving her in, I didn’t want them touching any of my stuff.
“We’re good,” he said. “We need to clear the area for Mrs. Jennings’s arrival. No one who isn’t personally approved by us gets inside the perimeter.”
Perimeter, checkpoints, surveillance—lots of security. I understood that. Theresa Jennings was the First Lady, and Parker, who was supposed to be hosting her, had been in an accident. That didn’t look good. Still, my room was up there and I wasn’t an outsider. “But—”
Case frowned so fiercely his eyebrows disappeared below his shades and the fight went out of me. I’d bide my time. I still had to locate Parker and tell Mom what happened. I’d never responded to her e-mail. As I left the hotel, I tapped her number into my new phone.
Ring … ring …
“Cici Jackson, leave me a message…”
Leave a message? Why wasn’t her ear glued to the phone like it always was whenever I saw her? What should I say?
Hey Mom, Parker got into a car accident. Have you heard from her? Because I haven’t. I know I promised no hacking, but I may need to break that promise to find out what’s going on. But no worries. Candace Worthington is looking after me. You know, Candace-You-Want-Me-to-Wear-That? Worthington. You must have seen her on TV once or twice. Well, gotta run! Have to escort the Secret Service around Rome! Ciao!
Nope. That wasn’t voice mail or text message material.
“Hey, Mom! Got your e-mail, my new number should show up on your phone. Call me when you have a sec!”
End call.
Around the city, bells tolled. It was noon and I was starved. I passed shop after shop, searching for a place to snag some food, ducking into what looked like a deli.
When it was my turn to order at the counter, I pulled out my wallet, still full of American dollars. Damn. I hadn’t exchanged them for euros yet. Looking up into the eyes of a rotund man with a kindly face I held up a $20.
“No euros,” I said. God, did I sound pathetic.
“Si. Dollars.”
Yep, those were American dollars. One last, longing look at the scrumptious buffet behind the counter, then dropping my head down in disappointment, I turned to go, but he tapped the glass with his huge fingers to get my attention.
“What you want, bella?”
My stomach growled, not afraid to embarrass me. “Um…” I scanned the case and pointed to a puffy, shiny topped bun.
He nodded. “Carla! Una brioche!”
Carla bustled behind him and handed him a small cup and the brioche, nestled in waxed paper. She’d split it in half and stuffed it with something that looked like ice cream.
Reaching under the counter, pulled two small cookies from the showcase and stuck them into the ice cream. It was almost too pretty to eat. Seeing my surprise, he put a finger to his lips.
“Shhh!” He winked at me, handing over the bounty.
“Grazie!”
As I walked, I savored first the delicate crumble of the cookies as they melted on my tongue, then the ice cream as it burst out of the flaky brioche. I licked my fingers, not wanting to waste a precious morsel.
My sweet reprieve didn’t last long. When I got back to the office, it was as if I’d stepped into one of the lower circles of hell. My pit stop had given Case ample time to get back ahead of me, and now he had everyone in the office lined up.
Kevin saw me, scowled, and gave me a dressing-down glare. “And where have you been?”
“I was at the hotel with Ortiz, Nelson, and Case, remember?” Well, I was. I didn’t think that stopping to eat counted as blowing off work. Just because the majority of the staff counted every calorie didn’t mean I was going to follow their example. I smiled sweetly and directed my attention to Case. At least I knew his attitude came from being official.
“Agent Case said you left before he did,” came a voice from above. Candace peered stiffly from the balcony, Varon behind her with an open tablet, tapping away. “From now on, you’re to report straight back here when you’re given a task.”
You’re not in charge of me, whatever Kevin says, I thought mutinously. I wouldn’t accept that I had to go hungry because it wasn’t on anyone’s schedule. Thankfully she dropped it and turned her attention to Kevin.
“Bring water, espressos, and some crudités,” she said to him, and then to Case, “You can use Kevin and Serena’s office.” She looked up and down as if she was examining everyone’s face. “Everyone needs to speak with Agent Case.” Then with a curt nod, she spun smartly in her alligator heels, and on her long legs glided back to her borrowed office, faithful Varon in tow.
“She’s not going to let anyone leave, not even to eat, until we’ve all been ‘talked to,’” Sophie whispered, annoyed—and probably hungry. I was glad I’d stopped at that bakery.
“Don’t just stand there. Get everything together,” Kevin ordered, his voice low and tight—and through clenched teeth. I wanted to refuse—she’d ordered him to get the food, but I didn’t need any more trouble. I rounded up water, coffee, and chopped veggies on a dish—and Kevin snatched them from me.
“I’ll take that,” he snapped, spilling some steaming coffee on his hands. With a stare that promised ill for me, although I wondered how that could’ve been my fault, he stomped out, muttering under his breath about stupid interns. I suddenly missed uptight deans and shallow prep-schoolers.
Case peered over the balcony and called to me. “Rebecca Jackson?”
I moved into view and he waved me up.
Agent Case ran through a mini-documentary on my life, which didn’t sound so good, even to me. There was no detail that seemed to have escaped him. So why the inquisition? He even knew what flight I’d been on, but the questions were relentless and I was losing patience.
“Did you talk to anyone at any of the airports?”
“No.”
“Did anyone approach you on the planes or at the hotel?”
“Only the old man who drove the taxi like we were on the Daytona Speedway, Parker, and the woman at the hotel who brought up my breakfast, saving me from starvation.” His tightly knit brow told me that he didn’t appreciate my witty repartee.
“Have you talked to anyone about the First Lady’s visit?”
“I didn’t even know about it until I got here, but no, I haven’t talked about it to anyone.”
“When was the last time you saw Ms. Phillips?”
My voice cracked a little when I answered. It seemed like everyone had forgotten about Parker. “Last night we walked back to the hotel. We had dinner, then I went to bed. Is she … is she okay?”
He paused as if he was thinking—debating on what he should say. Finally he said, “Stable but critical.”
Critical? That wasn’t good.
I swallowed my fear. “Where is she? I want to see her. She’s my guardian while I’m here.”
“Yes, we’re aware of that. Ms. Worthington will be responsible for you until other arrangements can be made.”
Responsible for me? Other arrangements? How … caring.
“Unfortunately, Ms. Phillips is unable to have visitors and I’m not authorized to give out any information.” He looked genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry.”
It’s okay, Bec. You’ve dealt with worse. Well, not really. But this was no different from any other set of problems to work out. Case might not have been able to tell me where Parker was, but I knew I could find out and go see her on my own. No one, not even the Secret Service or Candace I-Eat-Nails-for-Breakfast Worthington, would be able to stop me.
I emerged from my interrogation to find Ortiz and Nelson bustling about in a cool but determined matter. Ortiz had an electronic device and was scanning everything as if it had a bar code. I knew what she was doing—looking for listening devices. I guessed frequent security sweeps would be the new norm around here, probably until the First Lady left. But I was still wondering about Parker, what injuries she had. Where she was. Serena and Ortiz were the last people with her before the accident. One of them had to know something. I was pretty sure I could talk my way around Serena if she would give me a moment—and why not? It wasn’t like she had much say anymore. Candace had stepped on, and into, those editor’s shoes. Ortiz, on the other hand, was a trained Secret Service agent and so more of a challenge—but hey, I was up to one, if it came to that.
I slipped downstairs and into the bathroom that was right off the kitchen, checked my makeup and my braids. And then I heard Serena’s voice.
“I can’t believe how bad it was!”
“You did what you had to.” That sounded like Ortiz. “Stop worrying about it.”
It was nice of Ortiz to comfort Serena, I thought.
“How long do you think she’ll be in the hospital?”
“I don’t know. Her injuries … were extensive,” Ortiz trailed off. Was she unwilling to say any more? Agent Case did say the information was classified.
“And Candace? How long will she be here?”
“Her being here is as much of a surprise to me as you.”
Ortiz didn’t sound too happy. And Serena … there was no mistaking the anxiousness in her voice.
Then it hit me.
She wanted to run the magazine.
She was Parker’s second in command and would have been running the show if Candace hadn’t shown up. They stopped talking, but I waited a long time before coming out. I wanted to be sure that they were both gone. When I opened the bathroom door, there was Ortiz standing by the espresso machine. The squeal of the hinge made her start and turn around.
“Bec?”
I nodded, trying to keep a straight face, as if I hadn’t heard anything private.
She scrutinized me closely. “I didn’t know you were in the bathroom.”
“The one upstairs was occupied.” I scrunched up my face. “The men use this one. So it’s almost always free.”
A short laugh, and then, thankfully, she turned away.
I spent the rest of the afternoon fetching accessories, food, and water and getting yelled at in Italian by Angelo. When he wasn’t manning his camera, he was eating. Aldo, who usually doubled up as Angelo’s personal waiter, was AWOL on a long lunch. Aldo’s surrogate—me—had been busy being interrogated, and Angelo was hungry.
What kept me going was that whenever Sophie and I crossed paths, we smiled and mouthed, “Four thirty!”
Dante time!
But the magic hour came and went with no deliveries. And I really really needed one happy moment after all I’d been through in the last two days.
Sophie shrugged at me when we packed up to leave for the night. “I probably should have told you he doesn’t come every day.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” I said, feeling let down.
Before any of us could go home, Candace insisted we all had to have staff photo IDs taken. I wasn’t taking a picture without a little sprucing up; my school ID card was scary enough. For once, I counted myself lucky that we were stuck behind the primping models, giving Sophie and me valuable time to improve whatever we could. I sidled up to her as Ugi “fixed” her already perfect complexion. I leaned over to borrow a brush from Joe but he pushed me into the chair.
“The braids,” he unraveled my hair, “too young for you.”A few pulls of his brush and a spritz of something that smelled like plums, and he handed me a mirror.
“Ooooo!” was all I could get out. I loved my braids, but this …
“Nice color, bambina. But no need to look like a little girl.” He wiggled his fingers at the model behind me. “Next!”
Dismissed, I moved into Ugi’s chair.
Ugi rolled his eyes in Joe’s direction. “It’s nice,” he said offhandedly, as if he didn’t want to admit it.
“Office romance gone bad,” Sophie said under her breath next to my ear as he sorted through his array of skin-toned powders. “I’ll have to fill you in later.”
Ugi gave me a dab of foundation and a swipe of lip gloss and mascara. “Don’t go overboard, you don’t need much,” he said sternly as I stood.
“It’s not a beauty contest,” said Case, tapping his arm.
Ugi shook his head and shooed me away with a grumpy “You’re welcome” to my thanks.
It took over an hour to get my badge. I said good-bye to Sophie and started making my way back to the hotel. It felt so good to get out of the office.
A cool breeze played with my hair, sliding it across my face. I brushed it out of my eyes. A few steps ahead of me, a guy with his back to me sat on his Vespa. Two girls smiled and played shy, batting their lashes at him.
I knew who owned those broad shoulders, that golden mane—
Dante!
Maybe it was being in Rome, or the new hairdo, or hearing the heartbeat bass of his voice that made my breath flutter in my chest, but I found myself walking right by him.
Close enough for him to see me.
“Bec!”
I stopped short and turned, a totally believable look of surprise on my face.
“Dante! Come sta?”
“Ciao,” he said to the two girls, who looked miffed that he pushed his scooter over to where I stood.
I win!
“Your hair, it looks bella, beautiful. I like it very much.”
A little shiver ran down my spine. “Grazie.”
“Want to take a ride? I can show you around town.”
I winced. I oh so wanted to, but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea with Candace monitoring my movements.
“How about we grab a drink instead?” I pointed to a café few yards away.
“Okay.” He grinned and rolled his Vespa down the side of the street. “So, you like Roma?”
“I like it more every day,” I answered truthfully. Sure, I’d been shipped here without my consent, but I was discovering so many amazing things, like the breathtaking sight of Dante in front of me.
The Vespa parked, Dante chose an outdoor table under a large canvas umbrella. All around us, waiters bustled, people chattered, plates clinked. He pulled out a chair for me.
And a gentleman too.
“It’s better here, we can watch the people go by.” He waved to someone. “You know,” he said, leaning closer and whispering conspiratorially, “you can tell all the Americans. They wear jeans and sneakers.” He shook his head sadly, then smiled. “But not you. Ever since I saw you, you are different. I like that. And today, you are different again.”
I smiled at the unexpected compliment. “So, what’s good to drink here?” I asked.
“Forget the drink. Get a limoncello gelato.”
“Dessert before dinner? I’m in!” Rome was so decadent!
He ordered, and soon the waiter brought a single plate stacked with scoops of pale yellow gelato—with two spoons. As we savored the tangy-sweet dish, Dante asked, “Are you an exchange student, like Sophia?”
He waved his spoon energetically. “I finished last year. Now I am saving up to study in America. I have cousins who moved to New York City. Tell me about Broadway! Times Square!”
I smiled apologetically. “I live in California.”
His eyes lit up. “Hollywood! Have you seen any movie stars? I would like to visit there.”
Again I had to disappoint him. “Sorry, I don’t live near Hollywood or L.A. I live further north and I’m usually in boarding school because my parents travel.”
He looked a bit sad. “My parents never traveled out of Italy. I want to see the world. First, study in the United States to make a fortune.”
We spent the next hour discussing places around the world we wanted to see. At the moment, he was working two jobs. Soon, his sister would finish school and get a job and he would be free to travel.
When it was time to go, Dante paid the bill before I could offer to chip in, and then he walked me back to the hotel, pausing in front of the doors. I knew one of the agents was probably watching.
He sweetly kissed my cheek and grinned. “I see you again, no?”
I nodded—hopefully not too eagerly. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“Buono.” He waved and walked back toward the café and his ride.
Happy, I strolled into the lobby. Inside, Nelson stood by the elevator looking deceptively relaxed; I could see his fingers twitch as I approached. Bet he had a gun under all that black.
“Rebecca,” he said, and stood aside so I could go up.
In the suite there were clothes and boxes piled everywhere. Gingerly stepping around the stacks, I headed toward my room. Parker’s bedroom door was open, and I caught glimpses of a coat, a hand, and a sensible shoe. There was a flash of silk, maybe an evening gown. And then someone staggered past, hidden behind a stack of monster electronics. Varon spotted me and kicked the door closed with his foot. Totally rude.
Were all those cases full of clothes? What did a model-turned-reality-show-star-turned-temporary-editor need with so many high-grade laptops and electronics equipment? Why would Secret Service agents be unpacking for Candace? If that was part of the security detail for the First Lady, why was it in her bedroom? And where did they put Parker’s things?