Lost in Italy

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  He really should find out her name. Poor Girl wouldn’t cut it for long. And if they didn’t make it through this—

  “This—you driving like a crazy man—is not my idea of fun,” the girl snapped. “Let me out.”

  Trent snorted, swerved around a slower vehicle and checked the only mirror he had left to see if they were still being pursued.

  “I mean it! Stop the car this instant.”

  “Not a good idea, sweetheart.”

  “What in the world is going on, anyway? Are you filming a movie or something?”

  “I wish.” He took the next turn so hard her shoulder hit his as they cornered on two, squealing wheels. When she didn’t respond right away, he saw her staring at the holes in his windshield as if she’d just now noticed them.

  “You mean...those were real bullets?”

  “What the hell else would they be?”

  Another sharp turn assisted her back to her side of the vehicle.

  “Real guns?”

  A quick look at the girl’s dazed expression and Trent knew exactly how she felt. If he looked anything like she did…he pulled down his Ray Bans from on top his head. He’d never done this in real life before, only in carefully choreographed scenes with numerous stuntmen.

  The front end of his convertible took out a sign and side-swiped a garbage dumpster with the next turn. Damn it. He’d just bought this baby last week! Hadn’t even had a chance to open it up and see what it could do on the auto strata. This was not the way to break in the engine—and he didn’t even want to look at the body.

  A few stuntmen right about now would be more than welcome. “Listen, make yourself useful and see if they’re still behind us.”

  “Who?” She turned around in her seat.

  He reached over and jerked on her shoulder. “Stay down!”

  “How am I supposed to look if I—”

  “Around the headrest. What the hell,” he muttered. “You have enough common sense to not get in a car with me, but pop up for target practice?”

  “Hey, I was right about you. You kidnapped me!”

  “I saved your life, and I did say please. Now shut up and look for a black car.”

  Halli peered around the headrest. No speeding black car giving chase. No dangerous looking bad guys toting guns. Real guns. She felt a little lightheaded, but maybe it was the jetlag. Or the bump on the head when she’d hit the floor. Or the way the car swerved back and forth and up and down on the mountain roads, like a bad roller coaster. Very bad.

  How had she ended up here? She’d had plans for this trip. Detailed plans that hadn’t included a stop along the shore of Lake Como until tomorrow at two p.m.

  Back home, Ben had laughed at her itinerary and tossed it in the garbage. Then he said he understood her need for structure and stability, but it was time for her to stop letting the choices their parents had made rule her life. That had really struck home and the week prior to their trip, he’d worn her down, and she’d actually convinced herself touring Italy whichever way the wind blew them could be fun. And bonus—maybe she’d even get a little control over her anxiety.

  She’d even managed to keep her cool when Ben had swerved onto the side of the road out of the blue before they’d found their hotel and Rachel’s stupid hair dryer converter. He’d promised to go easy on her, so she’d figured a stop by the lake wasn’t too bad.

  Of course, she still had an extra copy of that itinerary tucked in with her passport, but—

  “Well?” Trent Tomlin demanded.

  Trent Tomlin! America’s dark-haired, sexy playboy god. She hadn’t even recognized him until he smiled, and now she understood why. He’d taken the scruff look to the extreme with a dark five-o’clock shadow, windblown hair, and tightly compressed, uncompromising lips. He darted a glance to the one remaining mirror and she gave her head a quick shake. Black car. Bad guys. She squinted at the narrow ribbon of road behind them.

  “I think you lost them.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I don’t see any black cars.” Wherever they were, there was substantially less traffic, so she was pretty confident in her assessment.

  He slowed the convertible a hair, enough so the next turn didn’t throw her body against his; just close enough for her accelerated breathing to catch another heady dose of his scent. Citrus and spice, with a subtle musky base. Almost earthy. She inhaled again before she could help herself. Of course Trent Tomlin would smell great.

  Man, she had to get a grip. He’d kidnapped her! As she pushed back into her own seat, his earlier words finally registered on her short-circuited brain.

  “What do you mean, you saved my life?”

  After giving her a brief glimpse of her own confused expression in his mirrored glasses, he returned his attention to the road. “Grab me that baseball cap down by your feet.”

  Halli automatically leaned forward and swept the floor with her hand. When she sat back with the navy blue cap, she jerked away from his reaching hand. “You put my life in danger, you didn’t save it. Because of you, I almost got shot.”

  “Honey, because of me, you didn’t get shot,” he retorted. “Did you really think you could record those guys and get away with it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They saw you across the water with your camera.”

  “I was filming the swans.”

  He frowned at her like she’d grown a second head. “Swans?”

  “Yes, swans. You know, big white birds with a long neck and—”

  He braked sharply, and she was grateful for the seatbelt that kept her forehead from connecting with the dash as they came to a full stop.

  “You weren’t videotaping the villa?”

  “No. I saw it, even zoomed in on it, but…”

  She trailed off with a flash-vision of the person bursting through the villa door. And the man staring at her from the window. Were they the same person? Suddenly it dawned on her why the window had looked odd. It hadn’t been shiny from the sunlight glinting off the glass, but dark, as if the glass was no longer there.

  The fine hairs on the back of her neck tingled. Trent Tomlin leaned closer, his dark head blocking out the sun. The vision of the man in the window made Halli shrink back against the passenger door.

  “You didn’t see anything else?” Trent Tomlin prompted.

  Her hands trembled. She clasped them together in her lap, absently fiddling with the Velcro adjuster on his cap. After the past ten minutes and the sharp tension in his voice, she was afraid to ask her next question, but forced the words out anyway.

  “What do you think I saw?”

  He gave a brief glance behind them and yanked up on the hand brake lever. His knuckles brushed along her leg as he reached down into her space. She flinched in alarm, but with her camera now fisted in his large hand, he simply resettled into his seat. He powered it on and hit rewind.

  Three seconds later he swore under his breath. “You got another battery?”

  “I left the case in the car.” With Ben and Rachel.

  More swearing. He shoved the camera at her and snatched his cap from her death grip. After settling it low over his brow, he released the hand brake, shifted the idling car back into gear and hit the gas.

  Her head bounced off the headrest as the car shot forward. Dumbfounded, she stared out the windshield. Comprehension dawned and this time she purposely let her head thump back as she squeezed her eyes shut in dismay. Stupid idiot. She’d just missed a chance to escape. Movie star or not, apparent rescue or not, she didn’t actually know the man. He could be a serial killer for all she knew. Unlikely, sure, but only an hour ago she’d have also said being abducted by him was unlikely. Unlikely did not mean impossible.

  What did seem impossible was getting back to her family. The further he drove, the more lost she’d be. Because even if she got away, she hadn’t seen any city name signs where they’d pulled off the road and had no idea where they’d left her. Her English
/Italian dictionary also sat on the back seat of the blue rental.

  “Where are you going?” she asked after a minute of silent berating.

  “To my house.”

  “Your house? Shouldn’t we go to the police?”

  “La polizia?”

  His perfect Italian accent threw her for a moment.

  “No can do, sweetheart.”

  “People shot at us! All we have to do is show them your car.”

  He maneuvered around a corner, their speed sedate compared to earlier. “We can’t trust them.”

  “We can’t trust the police?”

  “Not here. Didn’t notice anyone rushing to stop that chase, did you?”

  True, the entire car chase hadn’t alerted a single officer of the law, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be trusted.

  She watched Trent from the corner of her eye. His attention constantly shifted, as if he was keeping watch, and she guessed there’d be no convincing him.

  Then again, maybe he just didn’t want to get caught. That thought didn’t make her feel any better.

  “Take me to the US Embassy,” she said as firmly as possible, like he didn’t have a choice.

  “The embassy’s in Rome.”

  Alarm undercut her bravado as she pictured the map of Italy in her mind. “But that’s hours away.”

  “There’s a Consulate General in Milan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Basically the same thing as an embassy.”

  That’s right—she knew that. She just wasn’t thinking straight with all that’d happened. A deep breath helped quell her rising panic. Giving into her anxiety would get her nowhere. One thing she did know, she didn’t want to go back to Milan without finding Ben and Rachel first. She wasn’t sure how she’d find them, but she’d have to figure something out. If she could get out of this car and away from him.

  “You know, you could just drop me off—”

  “No.”

  “It’s not like you need me for anything. I didn’t see a thing, and I—”

  “Until I see what you’ve got on that video, you and I are best friends, honey.”

  Her teeth ground together at his fake, condescending southern drawl. “It’s Halli.”

  His head turned, and despite the sunglasses, she felt his gaze rake over the comfortable sweat pants and T-shirt she’d worn for the long trans-Atlantic flight. “That’s your name?”

  “What else would it be? Look, you can have the video. I don’t want it, there’s nothing on it that matters to me.” She fumbled with the camera as she spoke, but her shaking hands made it impossible to extract the small SD card. Tears stung her eyes as frustration mounted. “Just take the whole thing and let me go.”

  She shoved it into his lap, hating that her voice wobbled at the end. She’d saved six months to buy the camera, but hopelessness is what made her composure crumble, not the stupid camera. Before she made a complete fool of herself, she averted her head and took a couple deep breaths to get control of her nerves.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  His quiet statement made it worse. She clutched the travel purse angled under her right arm and around her neck, aware the ripples of anxiety grew with each passing moment. Bet Ben and Rachel hadn’t figured this into their fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants plan. Heck, even she couldn’t have planned for something like this.

  A tear slipped from her lashes and out of nowhere, a laugh bubbled up. Was this what hysterical felt like? Didn’t matter, she needed some sort of emotional release, and more tears wouldn’t get her anywhere.

  “Do you have a phone? Can I at least call my brother and sister?”

  To her surprise, he set her camera on the console between them and then dug a phone from his pocket. Halli grabbed it like a drowning person latching onto a life-preserver. Shaking fingers forced her to start over twice before she got the number right.

  Please, answer, Ben. Please.

  Relief swelled when the call connected, but instead of her brother’s voice, she got some strange recording in Italian. She tried again with the same result. Biting back frustration, she dialed a third time. This time, all she got was dead air. Then a series of beeps sounded in her ear.

  “The call won’t go through,” she said.

  “Service is spotty around the lake,” Trent informed her. “You can try again later.”

  Tears threatened yet again as she slapped the phone against his outstretched palm and leaned her head back against the seat. “I planned this to be the trip of a lifetime. Something to remember.”

  His answering chuckle held a note of disbelief. “Sweetheart, if you don’t remember this, whatever you had planned didn’t stand a chance.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “What, you’re not having fun?”

  Halli jerked her head up and straightened in her seat. “No, I’m not. Getting shot at and kidnapped wasn’t listed anywhere on my itinerary.” The planned one or the windblown one.

  “It wasn’t?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped, glaring at him. “After we landed, right about now, in fact, we were supposed to go right to the hotel to freshen up, then get something to eat and tour the Villa Carlotta instead of listening to Ben’s bright idea to stop for a quick look at the lake. Tomorrow after breakfast, I wanted to visit a couple churches headed south and around Como, and after lunch, we were going to explore the village of Careno.” She ticked off each day on her fingers. “The next day I planned a drive around the lake until we reached Mandello to see the motorcycle museum—my brother’s a motorcycle nut. Then on Wednesday…or was it Thursday?...no, Wednesday, we’re going to—”

  She halted mid-sentence when his eyebrows became visible above his sunglasses and underneath the bill of his cap. Heat flooded her face as she lowered her hands to her lap.

  “You were being sarcastic.”

  He gave her a patronizing grin. “Yes.”

  And the pathetic idiot that she was, she’d given him a play by play. To avoid looking at him, she stared out her side of the car and opposite the lake as he navigated south. They were now driving around Lake Como, Italy, and she couldn’t even enjoy the scenery.

  Heck—alone with Trent Tomlin, and she couldn’t enjoy the scenery. The man voted Most Sexy by women across America not once, not twice, but four times. Most of her female co-workers at PBS had agreed; any woman who didn’t fantasize about Trent Tomlin was either blind, or a lesbian.

  She snuck a quick peek from beneath her lashes. Yeah, though he hadn’t been easily recognizable, he was still hotter than ever with all that rough scruff.

  She’d always loved his movies, especially the Shain West ones that were an exciting cross between Indiana Jones and Romancing the Stone, but set in the 1800’s. However, things she’d heard on TV and read in the tabloids while standing in line at the grocery store suggested he was an irresponsible, incorrigible, work-a-little-party-too-hard Hollywood playboy.

  She wasn’t naïve enough to believe everything they printed, but a picture told a thousand words. Or more accurately, a hundred pictures told a thousand words. The beautiful co-stars, glamorous supermodels and semi-talented pop singers who adorned his arm changed as often as his tie. So while she may have fantasized about the image of the man like the rest of America, it didn’t mean she respected him.

  And, now that she’d been abducted by him, she certainly didn’t like him.

  “Where exactly is your house?” she finally asked. They’d passed Brienno and Moltrasio, names she recognized from the hours pouring over maps the past two years. Yet more miles between her and her family.

  “Torno.”

  If only she hadn’t wasted so much of her camera battery filming on the plane and in the airports. But she’d wanted to catch every moment to remember later. Trip of a lifetime and all that. Then the town name Trent had said registered and she realized they’d be traveling through more populated areas as they rounded one of the southern tips of
the lake.

  “Why don’t you just stop at an electronics store and buy a battery?”

  “Great idea, if you don’t take into account that most of the shops close down between noon and three for the traditional Italian siesta, and right now”—he glanced at his watch—“it’s one-fifteen.”

  Darn it, that’s right. She knew that, too, and had even planned for the inconvenience—just not the rest of this craziness.

  “And,” he continued, “I can’t really drive around town with bullet holes in my windshield, now can I?”

  She wished he would. Maybe the police—la polizia, she mimicked in her head—would stop them, and she would be free. At this point, she acknowledged it wasn’t so much that she was afraid of him, she just wanted things back to normal. Back with Ben and Rachel. They would never believe what’d happened—she wouldn’t believe it if it hadn’t happened to her.

  Come to think of it...what had he been doing there? Halli snuck another glance toward his stern profile as they passed the sign for Cernobbio. How did he know she’d been filming and those guys would come after her? Were they really after him?

  Halli shifted in her seat to get a better look at his face. “Why were you—”

  “Sonofabitch.”

  She drew back, then followed his gaze to see a large, dark blue SUV-type vehicle up ahead on the side of the road. Two uniformed men stood at the rear, alongside the pavement. One waved a red and white paddle and the other—Halli’s heart went nuts all over again—had a very big, very scary-looking gun slung around his neck and shoulders. The kind the bad guys used in the movies.

  “Oh my God, who are they?” she whispered.

  “Carabinieri.”

  Even the name sounded scary. Instinctively she cast Trent in the role of protector and leaned closer. “Are they bad?”

  “Italian military police.”

  He flicked on his right turn signal and downshifted to pull over in front of their vehicle with a few short jerks. Halli sat up straighter at the word police. Thoughts of protection quickly transferred from Trent to the armed military men.