Lost in Italy

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  He angled his head toward her with a frown. “You keep talking like this is it. I’ll get you to Milan, Halli, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not.” She half-smiled up at him. “Well, not really. What I meant was after I meet up with Ben and Rachel tomorrow morning, I’m booking a flight straight home. I’ve had enough of Italy to last me a lifetime.”

  She sounded awfully certain she’d locate her family right away. He felt compelled to caution her against getting her hopes up too high. “I’m sure the consulate will help you locate them, but be prepared that it might not happen right away.”

  “Oh, geez, that’s right.” Her palm smacked her forehead. “With everything that happened, I forgot to tell you I called Ben earlier. I’m meeting them at the consulate in the morning.”

  His frown deepened. “When was this?”

  “When you left to get the battery.”

  At most, an hour before they’d been ambushed. Unease snaked down his spine. “Where were they all day? Why didn’t they come to get you tonight?”

  She gave a short laugh. “I can try him again if you’re that anxious to get rid of me.”

  “First of all, my cell’s back at the villa, and second, that’s not what I meant at all.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” After that little burst of injured sarcasm, she looked down, rubbing the toe of her shoe on the dock. “I didn’t actually talk to Ben. I left a message.”

  Suddenly, Lapaglia’s men showing up at his villa took on a whole new meaning. Then a second realization socked Trent in the gut. Shit! The wire recording was back there, too. Right in the hands of Lapaglia’s men. And he had no doubt they’d find that extra piece of evidence.

  When Trent spoke, he kept his voice calm with effort. “What did you say?”

  “I told them I was okay and I’d meet them at the consulate tomorrow. Why?”

  “Did you say anything about where you were? Who you were with? Leave my number or anything?”

  “No. I didn’t even mention anything that happened today, only that I’d meet them about ten o’clock.” She turned to face him and repeated, “Why?”

  Trent relaxed slightly, realizing his gut reaction assumptions were probably unlikely. All it would’ve taken was one trip to Lorenzo’s house in Blevio to connect him and Trent.

  Paranoia and exhaustion were getting the better of him and he tried to make light of the mini-interrogation. “Just want to make sure I can drop you off tomorrow without having to deal with a bunch of fans clamoring for autographs.”

  She rolled her eyes before spinning on one heel to start back along the dock. “You should get yourself a bigger boat to house that ego of yours. And, my brother and sister hardly constitute a bunch.”

  “I notice you didn’t point out they wouldn’t want an autograph.”

  “They don’t know you like I do.”

  “Lucky for me.”

  “Lucky for them.”

  He laughed and playfully nudged her toward the edge of the dock with his good shoulder. She stuttered a step, then shoved back on his arm with both hands.

  At the boat, he braced his weight on his right hand and jumped over the edge, then turned to offer help down. Her hesitation delivered another blow to his apparently staggering ego. He fought back with a good ol’ boy grin.

  Her palm slid into his. So small, so delicate, but her grip spoke of a strength easily underestimated.

  “I never did actually thank you for saving me today.”

  Case in point, he hadn’t seen that one coming.

  The lights of the boat illuminated her face as she joined him on deck, but intriguing shadows darkened her eyes. He tightened his hold on her fingers when she gave a subtle pull. “Three times, now, but who’s counting.”

  “You’re a regular knight in shining armor, Tomlin.”

  “Tell that to the tabloids.”

  “They’d never buy it.”

  She tugged harder and he released her hand. “True. And if they did, it would totally ruin my image.”

  Flip answers came easy, and they were as comfortable as a worn pair of jeans. Better than giving in to the temptation to kiss her again. He might end up head over heels in the water.

  She shook her head with a laugh. “In light of your three rescues then, I say, thank you, thank you, and thank you.”

  He dipped his head in a single nod. When she lowered herself onto the bench seat and leaned her head back, he descended to the galley for two glasses and the bottle of Chianti she’d opened earlier. She protested when he returned and poured wine for each of them, but accepted his offer of the glass anyway. He took a seat across from her and sipped.

  A few minutes of companionable silence passed before he said, “I’m curious…I noticed it took me getting shot for you to one hundred percent believe I was trying to help. Do you have trouble trusting people in general, or is it me in particular?”

  She lifted her hand to cover a yawn, and then took a sip of wine. She did not meet his eyes. “I like things very ordered, and y—”

  “No, not you.”

  “You are very un-ordered.”

  “So, naturally, I’m untrustworthy.” He acknowledged her statement with a lift of his glass. “I’m impressed with your logic.”

  “We’re not really having this discussion again, are we?” She mimicked his words from earlier at the house.

  “Humor me. I was tired, I wasn’t listening.” He glanced across the lake at the lights of Candenabbia and Tremezzo. Lenno sat slightly to the south. He did his best to focus on Halli and not wonder what Lapaglia was doing right now.

  Halli spoke through another yawn. “Typical. It didn’t have to do with you, so why bother listening.”

  Trent turned back to Halli. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  When she started to repeat her words, he couldn’t hold back his grin.

  “Oh, ha, ha, funny man.”

  “You walked right into that one.”

  “Yeah, well I’m tired, too. And this wine isn’t helping.” The red liquid sloshed around the inside of her glass as she lifted it to point a finger at him. “Another strike against your trustworthiness. First you kidnapped me, now you’re getting me drunk.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “On one little glass?”

  She took another drink and rested the glass on her thigh, her head on the seat back. A tired smile curved her lips and her eyelids drooped. “Probably.”

  He’d argue the wine was helping just fine, just not out loud. She needed more than the short nap she’d gotten earlier. The car chase, the police station, and the attack at the villa would be enough to exhaust anyone, but she also had a hefty shot of jetlag stirred into the cocktail. He was amazed she’d held up as well as she had, not to mention, her impromptu performance at the station had been spot on. Granted, she’d probably been channeling her terror of the situation, but for a rookie, she’d played her character almost perfectly.

  He had a brief flashback of their conversation in the station’s janitorial closet. Something she’d said had struck him as very odd. Still did now. After a drink from his glass, he asked, “So, you work in television?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever acted before?”

  “Not really.”

  She’d turned to rest her cheek against the seat. Her lowered lashes formed dark fans against pale skin.

  “You were a natural back at the police station,” he commented, staring at her relaxed mouth.

  “Hmm.”

  “What’d you mean when you said you forgot about back story?”

  “My parents,” she mumbled, eyes still closed.

  He sat forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, curious about her family. “What about them?”

  “They used back story.”

  After setting his own drink aside, Trent got up and rescued Halli’s wine glass slowly tipping off her leg. “Were they actors?”

  She made a soft negative sound and shifted in her seat. He set the
stemmed glass on the floor of the boat, and hunkered down next to her, wishing the wine hadn’t taken affect so fast.

  “Halli.”

  With his light touch on her shoulder, her lashes fluttered, lifted to allow a brief glimpse of blue, then lowered again.

  “What’d your parents use back story for?”

  She mumbled again, forcing him to lean forward to catch her ever softening words. Unfortunately, sleep had finally claimed her.

  Settling back on his heels, Trent rested his chin on his hand with a deep sigh. He gazed at her softened features, wondering what she’d been about to say about her parents, and surprised by how much he wanted another glimpse into her world beyond the bits of film with her siblings.

  Had she had the ideal childhood growing up in the Heartland of America would suggest, or was it riddled with angst and unhappiness like his? Going off the video he’d watched of her interacting with her brother and sister, he pictured the perfect, All-American family sitting down to dinner like the classic Cleavers or the Brady Bunch. They’d have had a big, sloppy dog under the table, and lots of laughter and fun as they ate pot roast and mashed potatoes with apple pie for dessert. They probably played ball in the yard and had family game nights with popcorn and Kool-aid.

  He’d dreamed of that exact scene so many nights after the nanny served him and Sean gourmet French cuisine prepared by their live-in chef. The fancy food made no sense with their father on the other side of the world filming his latest award-winning documentary, but François had refused to prepare food he considered unworthy of his self-proclaimed five star talents.

  It was only in weak moments that Trent admitted to himself he still resented being left at the mercy of hired help who had no patience for two boys craving attention after the sudden death of their mother. Greg Tomlin repeatedly touted the fact that he’d provided a luxurious roof over their heads and anything they needed, but Trent felt his father’s absence was nothing short of abandonment.

  When they got a little older, Sean sought and gained approval by following in their father’s footsteps. Trent, on the other hand, had rebelled by entering the very profession that’d stolen their mother. He and the old man hadn’t seen eye to eye since, especially when he succeeded despite his father’s predictions of failure. To Trent’s knowledge, the elder Tomlin had never once admitted when he was wrong.

  Banishing the dark thoughts back where they belonged, he picked up Halli’s glass and stood, debating his options. She was light enough to carry below deck, but he didn’t want to wake her. Since the temperature was mild, with no rain forecasted, he decided it would be better to make her comfortable where she was.

  He drank the remainder of his wine, but dumped hers overboard. Much as he would love the numbing affect more alcohol would provide for his thoughts and the steady throb of pain in his arm, he needed to stay alert. Although he wasn’t too worried about their location, Lapaglia had been resourceful enough through the day, even if he hadn’t been successful. Trent would sleep topside tonight, too, just in case.

  Chapter 12

  Ben woke in his clothes, with a crick in his neck, and a sore jaw. Nothing new since he was used to sleeping in odd places and had been known to get into trouble at the bars on occasion. This morning, it was his surroundings that threw him off completely. Cheap hotels and country campsites didn’t have plush velvet chairs and four poster beds.

  It only took a moment for the nightmare to come crashing back. He tensed, but refrained from making any sudden movements. A slow stretch in the chair he’d occupied for the night allowed him to take stock of the room with a careful sweep of his gaze. Rachel slept soundly on the bed nearby, and their watchdog Zucchi still sat at the door.

  Through a part in the curtains, he saw dawn had broken across the water. The sun peaked over the snow tipped eastward mountains that made up part of the alpine region surrounding Lake Como. It was absolutely breathtaking, and he wondered if Halli could see it from wherever she was at this moment. Worry stirred in his gut. Was she safe out there all alone, or possibly still with the mysterious stranger helping her?

  He hoped he’d get to meet the man some day and thank him. But not today. God, he wished there were some way to warn Halli before she went to the consulate in Milan.

  A snore erupted from the bruised face of the guard at the door. He shifted in his chair, snorted once more, then silence returned. Ben listened carefully. It seemed the rest of the house slept along with the guard so he sat up to reevaluate the balcony he’d assessed the day before. The one story drop might be a problem for Rachel, but it couldn’t be helped. This might be their only chance to escape.

  Movement in the courtyard below caught his attention. He leaned forward and nudged aside the curtain for a better look. The Italian woman from the night before stood on a small cobblestoned area of a corner garden. Eva balanced on one leg in a difficult yoga move his last girlfriend had attempted a time or two. Spandex clad curves flowed lithely from one pose to the next, her control of movement remarkable.

  Damn. She posed a problem out there. As if sensing his scrutiny, her head lifted toward the second story window. Ben ducked back behind the curtains and shifted toward the door. Forget the woman for a moment, he had to concentrate on disabling Zucchi. Better yet if he could secure the gun hanging limply from the man’s lap.

  He looked around for something to use as a weapon. Something quiet, but effect—

  His gaze swung back to the sleeping guard and focused on the weapon. His heart began to pound. Could he really go and just pluck it from his grasp? And would the guy stay quiet with a gun in his face? Hopefully. He wouldn’t want to have to make the decision to pull the trigger.

  One smooth movement brought him to his feet. He allowed no time to think before crossing to Zucchi’s side and snatching the gun. The guard came awake with a start, but Ben pressed the barrel hard against his cheek. “Shh.”

  Zucchi’s dark eyes widened, but he didn’t make a sound.

  “One word and I’ll blow your head off. Capiche?” Good God, he even nailed the Godfather accent. The guy nodded. Ben stepped back and jerked his head toward the bed where Rachel slept. “Up. Move slow and don’t make a sound.”

  Once they were near the bed, he shoved Zucchi to the chair. Without taking his eyes off the man, he leaned over and gently shook his sister. “Rachel, wake up.”

  She groaned softly and he felt her shift away. She wasn’t a morning person and didn’t usually become coherent until after a couple cups of coffee. After one swift glance, he returned his gaze to Zucchi before shaking a little harder.

  “Rach, wake up.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her roll over, blink a few times, then she jolted upward with a gasp.

  “Shh,”, he warned. “Come on, let’s go. We’re getting out of here.”

  She scrambled off the bed, in no need of liquid stimulants this morning. “I’m all for that. What about him?”

  They both looked at Zucchi, glaring at them above his bruised, swollen nose.

  “Tie him up,” Ben told his sister. Then he caught the guy’s eye. “You even think about touching her, buddy, you’ll be singing soprano for life. If you live that long.”

  Rachel moved toward the curtains.

  “Stay away from the windows,” Ben ordered. “That woman was out there. I don’t want her to see we’re awake.”

  “I need the sashes to tie him up.” Rachel removed the restraints and gave a quick peek out the window. “Looks clear.”

  Ben kept the gun trained on Zucchi’s lap as she approached the chair. He hated having Rachel do the hands on work, but she had no experience at all with guns.

  While she tied the man’s hands to the arm chairs, Ben felt behind him for a pillow. “Tight as you can, sis, and hurry up.”

  The pillow slid from its case when he upended it, and he tossed the material to Rachel when she was done. “Gag him.”

  Confident he had a little breathing space, Ben eased ove
r to the window. The courtyard did appear deserted. Did they chance their escape that way, or try the hall? He turned back to Rachel to see her unlacing one of her shoes. “What are you doing?”

  “Tying his feet so he can’t kick something and make noise after we leave.”

  “Good thinking.”

  The yard remained empty and he decided they’d go that way. Rachel finished tying Zucchi’s feet and stood. Ben walked behind the chair and tipped it back on two legs.

  He pressed the tip of the gun to Zucchi’s forehead. “Is there any security on the windows?”

  Zucchi’s Adam’s apple bobbed frantically. He soundlessly jerked his head back and forth.

  “If an alarm goes off when I open that window, I will shoot you before we run. Understand?”

  Zucchi nodded.

  Ben lowered the chair backward, all the way to the floor, and stepped over him to the window. He held the gun chest high and reached to unlatch the window. It swung open with the slightest of squeaks. Rachel sucked in a breath and their eyes met for a charged moment. The absence of an alarm did not allow for relaxation, and Ben took a deep breath before stepping out onto the balcony, his sister close behind.

  They crept steadily along the length of the villa, crawling under each window while Ben tried to figure out the best place to jump down. It was hard to see what was underneath and the last thing he wanted to do was drop directly in front of a lower window. The very end looked to offer the best protection. Ben debated giving Rachel the gun, but decided to tuck it against his back instead.

  He pulled her close and breathed in her ear, “I’ll let you know when to jump, okay?”

  She gulped and nodded agreement. Ben judged the distance, grabbed the railing, and vaulted over the side. He landed on his feet and immediately dropped down into a squat to do a quick visual sweep of the surrounding area. All clear. Rachel had climbed over the rail and stood on the edge, waiting for his signal. He waved her down.

  She bent her knees, leaned forward, and jumped. One of her unlaced shoes fell ahead of her. Her landing was far from elegant and she gave a soft cry as she tumbled to the ground. Ben rushed to her side and helped her to her feet. One step and she nearly fell again. A barely perceptible moan escaped her compressed lips. “My ankle.”