by Sara Rosett
“SO you want to tell me about it?” Zoe asked.
Jack took his time, carefully wiping his mouth with a napkin as he glanced around. They were sitting in a restaurant attached to the deli section of a Von’s grocery store near UNLV.
Before they left the apartment, Jack grabbed the pile of un-shredded papers. The computer and memory drive were useless. The fall from the desk had broken the drive into pieces and the computer wasn’t much better. Zoe said something about it being possible to repair it, but Jack said, “No time.” They left it on the floor.
Jack had pulled a trash bag from under the kitchen sink, filled it with some of the fast food debris covering the counters, then dropped the gun inside. “No need to leave this where he can find it,” Jack said, nodding to the stubby guy who was still out cold on the carpet, his feet and hands tied with cords from Connor’s extensive gaming setup.
On the way to the car, Jack casually tossed the trash bag with its lethal contents in one of the apartment complex dumpsters. Zoe had been amazed. With his relaxed stride, he’d looked as if he had nothing more on his mind than getting back inside to watch basketball. Zoe wondered how much of his life with her had been spent in this weird altered state with reality pushed below the surface.
But up close in the car, Zoe could see that whatever he’d seen in Stubby Guy’s wallet had impacted him. He was quiet, and there was a “don’t talk to me” vibe coming off of him, so Zoe had left him alone. She skimmed through the papers from Connor’s shred pile, which were mostly spreadsheets, while he drove.
Zoe took a sip, then set her can of ginger ale on the table with a firm click. “Let’s not play the silent game any longer, Jack. I can tell whatever you saw in that guy’s wallet was a game changer.”
A smile flicked across his face. “Never go on the run with your ex. You can’t get away with anything. She knows you too well.”
Zoe stared at him a moment, then said, “Not as well as I thought.”
Jack ran his thumb over the label on his bottle of Snapple Peach Iced Tea. “This whole thing—this situation—may be connected to my old job.”
He stopped as though he didn’t know what to say next. Zoe said, “Jack, I’m pretty sure that you didn’t work in Policy and Plans.”
“That’s what’s funny. I did—work in Policy and Plans, that is. At least, for about five months, and yes, it was insanely boring. Then I was transferred to Italy. Same department at the consulate in Naples. Still boring.”
“So you worked for the State Department?” Zoe asked just to confirm. “Officially?”
He nodded. “It wasn’t like you think. Nothing like the movies.”
“You didn’t wear a tux and drive a sports car?”
He smiled with his whole face this time. “Suits, yes. Tuxedo, no. And I drove a moped—everyone does there. The idea was to blend in,” he said then took a bite of his sandwich.
“I see,” Zoe said, but she didn’t. She couldn’t picture him zipping around a foreign country on a moped.
“It was pretty routine stuff. I had my work at the consulate. I had the cocktail party circuit, dinner parties. I tried to meet people, establish friendships. It went on like that for almost a year before there was a change. A friend of mine...” He paused, and the way he seemed to search for words to describe what he was thinking made her think he was telling the truth. His words weren’t smooth and glib, and he was clearly uncomfortable talking about this topic.
He cleared his throat, then said, “My friend, he worked in the same department.” Jack sent Zoe a significant glance, and she nodded that she understood. “He got a new assignment. He had several assets.”
Zoe raised her eyebrows. “Assets?”
“Contacts. Resources,” he said. “One of them was handed off to me. For about six months, everything went fine.” His chin wrinkled, and his lower lip went up, forcing the corners of his mouth to turn down. “At least, it seemed fine.” He put his sandwich down. He looked nauseous, reminding Zoe of the time he’d had the stomach flu. “The asset didn’t show for a meeting, and I couldn’t make contact. I went through the protocol, made preparations. The Irena passport was for her, to get her out of the country, if I could find her...” his voice trailed off, and he ran his hand over his mouth. “Her body was found a week later.”
She searched for words. “That’s...terrible,” Zoe said. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Unfortunate. That’s what they called it. I was reassigned. They told me to move on, to keep working.” His tone was subdued as he said, “I couldn’t do it. She was my responsibility.”
He carefully rewrapped his sandwich and set it aside. “I couldn’t take it—the guilt, the thought that someone had died on my watch. I resigned, got out.” He blew out a breath and seemed to mentally comeback to the present. He focused on Zoe’s face. “Decided to do something nice and safe—like open my own business,” he said, lightly.
When his eyes crinkled up on the corners, it was nearly impossible not to smile back at him. He leaned forward over the table, his fingers laced. “I never told you about it because it was in the past. Over and done. And there was that pesky confidentiality agreement as well.”
“Really? There is a confidentiality agreement?”
“Yes. And they’re very serious about it, too.”
Zoe shifted in her chair, mentally reviewing what he’d told her. “So you think Connor’s death and Stubby Guy’s visit is connected to her death somehow?”
“Stubby Guy. I like that,” Jack said with a hint of a smile, then he turned serious again. “Stubby Guy, as you call him, had an Italian drivers license on him along with euros. It’s got to be connected. Italian thugs don’t randomly show up at your place of business and murder your partner for no reason—at least not in America,” he added.
Zoe sat up straight. “Connor’s pictures,” she said and pulled her messenger bag into her lap. “Connor mailed these photos to me. With everything that’s happened, I forgot to show them to you. That could be Italy, couldn’t it?” Zoe asked as she passed the photos to him.
He skimmed through them. “Could be anywhere in Europe. There’s no distinctive landmark or readable sign. Cobblestone squares are a dime a dozen over there. And we don’t know when these were taken. Just because he mailed them recently doesn’t mean they were taken recently.”
Zoe sipped her ginger ale. “It’s likely they were taken in Italy. GRS has connections with Italian business—the paperweights are imported from Venice.”
He waved that thought aside. “Coincidence.”
When Zoe frowned at him, he leaned farther over the table. “The woman who died, her name was Francesca. Her husband was in the Naples mafia—very high in the Comorra, that’s the organization that controls Naples and the Campania region. Francesca was providing information on her husband. He must have found out who I was and come after me.”
“Back up. Why would the CIA be interested in a mob guy in Naples in the first place? I thought the CIA was more into terrorists in the Middle East, stuff like that.”
“Organized crime is a very sophisticated operation in Naples, practically mainstream. For all intents and purposes, the mob runs the area—collecting protection money from businesses and running goods into and out of the huge port. Over half of the goods that arrive are undeclared, which means the U.S. government wants to know what is moving through the port. There’s an entire division in the CIA that deals with organized crime.”
Zoe massaged her temples, trying to take it all in. “Why come after you now? After years?” she finally asked.
“Because that’s how it is over there. You mess with someone like him and he never forgets. They live by a code—like in the old west. If he finds out who killed his wife and does nothing to take me out, then he’s weak. He has to kill me to maintain his power.”
“Wait,” Zoe said, throwing up a hand. “How do you even know he blames her death on you? He might have found out she was giving you information and k
illed her himself.”
“No. The way she died—there were witnesses. It was a rival crime family. When she was exposed, they realized it was a way to hurt their competitor. But even with that, if he knew Francesca was in contact with me...ultimately, he’d see me as the guilty party.”
Zoe shifted in her chair. “Okay, say all that is true. But it doesn’t explain why he’d wait to come after you.”
Jack downed the last of his tea, then said, “Maybe it’s taken him this long to track me down. I did move a few times, and my on-line footprint is small.”
Zoe felt as if lights were going on as she connected some things. “That’s why you didn’t want a Facebook account and why you refused to put any personal info on the GRS website.” Zoe had always thought that Jack was a little paranoid because he refused to create any social media accounts.
He shook his head. “No. It was more habit than anything else. You learn to keep everything close, not to share,” he said.
Zoe held his gaze. “So I wasn’t the only one who pulled away,” she said, thinking of several tense arguments when he’d flung that accusation at her. “You just hid it better than me.” The tone of their conversation, which had been fairly normal—if you can consider talking about your ex-husband’s secret past life a normal conversation, Zoe thought—suddenly swerved into something deeper. “All those times you said I was shutting you out,” she narrowed her eyes and felt her face flush, “and you had this whole history, another life, that you’d kept from me. I may have not been very good at sharing, at opening up, but at least I tried.” The air seemed to simmer around them.
Jack’s mouth was set in a firm line. He nodded slowly. “I have to give you that—you tried.”
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say, and she was surprised to see a look of sadness in his gaze, which threw her off.
Zoe quickly glanced away from Jack, reminding herself he was a spy—a spy. He was trained in deceiving people. Was that sorrowful expression on his face real or manufactured? She crossed her arms and braced them on the table. “Water under the bridge,” she said, dismissing the topic. “I still think it’s odd that he would come after you now.”
Jack raised his hands and shrugged. “Maybe he just found out. Maybe it was those leaks to the media—remember that huge document dump of government files and e-mails? Maybe my name was in there. Or maybe someone else talked. I don’t know. It’s not important. What I have to do is figure out how to get to Naples.”
Zoe sat up straight. “Go there? Why?”
“Because that’s where Roy Martin lives. He’s the case officer I replaced. Francesca was originally his asset. He went on to be the station chief. He knows the whole history. He can vouch for me, get this straightened out.”
“Why not call him?”
“I tried. Just a few minutes ago. My Italian is rusty, but passable. I was able to talk to his cleaning lady. Roy is out of town, but he’ll be back tomorrow. Now we just need to find some cash to buy an airline ticket. I can’t talk about this on the phone. It has to be face-to-face.”
“An airline ticket?” Zoe asked.
“There’s no need for you to go.”
“You think I should stay here in Vegas?” Zoe said, her voice rising.
Jack looked around to see if she’d drawn anyone’s attention. Zoe didn’t care. “You think I should stay in the same city where a man tried to run me down and then shot at me? A man who knows my face and is probably out there right now looking for me? I’m sure he’s conscious by now, and he’s probably figured out how to get those cords off.”
Jack placed a hand on her arm. “Easy. We’ll get you a hotel room. Somewhere safe and I’ll come back for you when this is all straightened out.”
“Really, Jack? That’s your solution? I hole up in a room and wait for you to come back? I don’t think so. I’m not letting you out of my sight. I don’t know if that story you told me is true. It could be a pack of lies,” she said, and his expression closed down. Good, she thought. Much better to have him sullen and withdrawn than looking at her in a regretful way that pulled at her heart just a little bit.
“It may come down to simple economics,” he countered, his voice soft and controlled. We can’t use plastic to charge an airline ticket because the police will be checking for transactions. I can pawn my watch,” he said, twisting his wrist so that the face of his expensive black watch with about as many dials and readouts on it as an airplane dash caught the light. “But I doubt that it will cover two last-minute tickets to Rome.”
“Don’t you mean Naples?”
“Rome will be cheaper. I’ll get a car and drive to Naples. It’s only about two and a half hours.”
Zoe lounged back in her chair. “How about we make a deal. If I come up with the cash, I go.” There was no way he was going to Italy without her. She wasn’t about to sit around in a dingy hotel room—and she was sure it wouldn’t be at the Luxor or the MGM Grand—probably somewhere far away from The Strip.
And they were talking Italy. Italy. It was a destination she’d read about for years in the guidebooks she’d copy-edited. She knew all about the different sections of Rome, the best transportation options to get around the country, how to avoid lines at the Colesseum, where to find the best gelato...okay, so maybe those details weren’t critical to their goals here, but the point was she knew plenty about Italy, and she’d always wanted to see it. Jack was not getting on that plane without her.
Jack looked wary. “How are you going to come up with the cash?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Zoe said as she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Do we have a deal?”
“You’re thinking of pawning your wedding ring,” Jack said flatly, and Zoe shot him a surprised glance.
“Nope,” she said, splaying her hands, displaying her bare fingers.
“I know you’ve got it with you,” he said. “It’s on that long gold necklace.” Zoe wanted to look away and casually deny it, but she couldn’t break eye contact. She felt her cheeks heat up again as she thought of the ring hanging heavily on its chain suspended between her breasts. “You always wear it,” he said quietly.
Zoe forced herself to keep her hands still instead of touching the necklace or the ring as she was itching to do. She licked her lips and tilted her chin. “It’s not the ring.”
“No? I’m almost scared to ask what you’re thinking of doing in Las Vegas. There are a frightful amount of options in Sin City.”
“Nothing illegal.” He opened his mouth to make a smart remark, she was sure, so she talked over him, “or immoral. Do we have a deal?”
“Fine. Deal.” He extended his hand, and she quickly shook it, ignoring the weird frisson that hit her when their hands touched. She jerked her hand away and opened the messenger bag, which was getting quite heavy. It now contained all the papers purloined from Connor’s apartment. She dug around in the bag, then pulled out the envelope she’d brought with her from Dallas.
She opened the flap and tilted it toward him.
Jack hunched forward and peered inside the envelope. After a second, he said, “That’s my money.”
Zoe glanced around the restaurant at his loud tone. “Finders keepers,” she said, folding the flap closed. “Just be glad I’m going to use it to buy you an airline ticket, too.”
Jack shook his head, a snort-like laugh erupting after a second. “How did you find it?”
“I broke your lamp.”
“I see.”
“I also searched your room. I found the passports. They’re in here, too.”
“Good. That’ will save us some time—” Jack broke off as a guy moved through the tables and took a seat next to them. With his backpack, faded T-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops, he looked like a student. He busily staked his claim to the table, depositing his backpack on a chair and opening his laptop.
“Of all the tables,” Zoe mouthed to Jack, “why did he have to pick that one?”
; Zoe could see Jack giving the guy a thorough examination. Zoe didn’t see anything threatening about him, and Jack must have felt the same way because he turned his attention back to Zoe and spoke in a low voice. “We’ll pick up a few things here and lay low until tomorrow morning. The international flights won’t leave until then. What? What is it?” he asked.
An image on the computer screen had caught her attention and she stared at it, a frightened look on her face. “There’s a picture of us on his Internet browser,” Zoe said.
Chapter Fifteen
Las Vegas
Friday, 7:02 p.m.
“WHAT?” Jack asked, his face perplexed. He tried to see the screen, but it was angled so that only Zoe could see it.
“It’s one of those web browsers with rotating photos that go with the stories,” she whispered, leaning to the side as she struggled to see the text. She squinted. “The headline is Missing Millions and Murder,” she said, sucking in her breath. The photo vanished, replaced by the next story, and Zoe realized she was breaking out in a cold sweat. “It’s gone.”
“Are you sure it was us?”
Zoe nodded. “It was taken in front of The Venetian, right after Stubby Guy tried to run us down. It’s fuzzy, but it’s a tight shot of our faces.”
“Ham and cheese on rye,” called someone from the deli counter. The student grabbed his empty soda cup and went to pick up his sandwich.
“I’ll delay him. You see what you can find out,” Jack said as he stood and followed the student to the fountain drink dispenser.
Zoe glanced around quickly, but the restaurant was still quiet with only the three of them as customers. She slid into the seat and fumbled with the computer’s track pad. Jack walked by the student, who’d just finished filling his drink cup. Their shoulders collided and Mountain Dew cascaded through the air, then rained down, soaking both of their shirts. As Jack apologized, he maneuvered the student so that his back was to Zoe.
The page finally loaded, and Zoe scrolled down the text, scanning as fast as she could. It was a short article, only three paragraphs, but it was some tight writing, Zoe thought grimly. The reporter had managed to hit the highpoints of Connor’s death and the FBI investigation, but clearly the focus of the article was the missing money.