Elusive (On The Run Book #1)

by Sara Rosett

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dallas

  Monday, 2:17 p.m.

  “WHO did you see?” Sato asked.

  “The man with a bullet hole in his head.” Sammy reared back, his hands cutting through the air as far as the cuffs allowed, palms down, fingers splayed. “That was it for me. I was done. I don’t do that.”

  “What?” Sato asked.

  “Kill people. That’s what the old dude was setting up. He was gonna prop the dark-headed guy up in his office chair while he was out, then shoot him, set it up to look like a suicide.”

  “You know this how?”

  “Because he told me. He wanted me to help him move the dark-headed guy. I said no. I was outta there, but he said I was already involved. Better to make it clean, finish the job, that way it wouldn’t come back on me. I told him I didn’t care. I was gone. When I made a move for the door, the dark-headed guy on the floor...kinda, well, exploded. He moved fast. He knocked the gun out of the old dude’s hand and hit me in the face,” he said, lifting his chin, showing a purple bruise on the underside. “I went down. I don’t know how long I was out—a couple of minutes, maybe?—but when I came to, the guy with the dark hair who’d been on the floor was gone, and the old dude was laid out on the floor beside me. I left before he woke up.”

  Sato sat back, his arms crossed over his chest. “That’s quite a story.”

  “It’s true,” Sammy said. “Every word.”

  “Oh, we’ll check it out. Every word.” Sato flipped back a few pages in his notebook. “Okay. Let’s clarify a few things. This Rick got a last name?”

  “Sure. Smith.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. At least that’s what he calls himself. Works out of a warehouse over in Fort Worth.”

  “Okay. We’ll come back to that,” Sato said. “Describe the old dude. You said he was short...”

  “Yeah, he didn’t come up to my chin. Maybe five-three. He had thin brown hair. It was cut short. He was medium size—not skinny, but not massive, either. Bit of a belly. Black eyes.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Ah...black. Black windbreaker kind of thing, but heavy. Black pants.”

  “Age?”

  The corners of Sammy’s mouth turned down. “I don’t know. Fifty? Sixty?”

  “Anything else about him that stands out? Scars, tattoos, that sort of thing?”

  “Nah, nothing like that. He had some kind of accent. I don’t know what kind. He didn’t say anymore than he had too.”

  “Alright,” Sato said, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve got a short, old guy. Maybe fifty, maybe sixty in dark clothes with an accent.” Sato sighed, shook his head. “I don’t know, that’s not much to go on. You told me a really interesting story, but there’s not much there we can use.”

  “You want to know who he was working with?”

  “How would you know that?”

  “He left his cell phone in his car when he went inside the office the first time. I got all his recent calls saved in my phone. I ain’t no dummy. I gotta look out for myself, man, ‘cause no one else is looking out for me.”

  Pompeii

  Monday, 4:30 p.m.

  “SO amazing,” Zoe said, stopping in her tracks to admire a fresco with a rich gold background. They were inside one of Pompeii’s more luxurious homes, walking along an arcade surrounding an open courtyard area at the center of the home. In the fresco, a figure of a young man in a toga was seated on a chair reading. “It’s so realistic. Look at how they captured the contours of the face and arms and the sagging cloth. Hard to believe this was painted hundreds of years before the Renaissance. That’s Menander, a poet. The house is named for him,” Zoe said.

  “Of course, I’m sure his exposed chest has nothing to do with your admiration,” Jack said.

  “No more than yours of the Venus we saw in the other house. Oh look, more baths,” she said with delight.

  “More mosaics,” Jack said and followed her into the doorway of the room with impossibly small tiles covering the floor.

  “I love the mosaics,” Zoe said.

  “I know. I can tell,” Jack said, adjusting the strap of his backpack on his shoulders.

  “You have to admit they’re amazing, too. Maybe even more amazing than the frescos. They have the same depth and look so realistic, but they’re made with tiny tiles. It’s amaz—”

  “Amazing,” Jack finished for her.

  “Do you have a better word?” Zoe asked as they left the house and returned to the elevated sidewalk that ran along each side of the street paved in rounded cobblestones.

  “Yes. Food.”

  “That does sound good.”

  “There’s a restaurant back near the Forum.” As they retraced their steps, Zoe realized how tired she was. They’d walked all over the city. It was much larger than she’d expected. Street after street with crumbling rock walls of what had once been homes and street-front businesses extended around them on the careful grid of the typical Roman city plan. They had seen the beautifully proportioned semi-circular theater, the temples, the city’s Forum, and the impressive amphitheater, which grass and moss seemed to be reclaiming. But the parts Zoe liked best were the examples of everyday life that she saw as they trooped through the streets.

  They passed what had once been a bakery with huge hourglass shaped millstones and a half-circle opening of a brick oven that looked like if you fired it up, you could cook a pizza right then. Another turn and they passed what would have been a restaurant with counters right on the sidewalk with hollowed out pits to keep large cauldrons of food warm. “The Roman version of McDonald’s,” Jack quipped.

  “I wish it was open,” Zoe said.

  Zoe had expected for there to be the equivalent of museum guards posted on every corner, keeping a watchful eye on the tourists. It was an open-air museum, after all. But there was nothing like that. She saw a few video cameras, but they mostly had free reign and were able to wander in and out of houses, stores, even clamber up crumbling staircases to nonexistent second stories.

  A few areas were gated off, like the one they were approaching, the area with some of the casts of human bodies. Protected by iron gates, the figures sat mixed in with other finds in an open-air storage facility. Intermingled with fountains, slabs of marble, and endless rows of pots, were the plaster figures that the first archeologists made as they excavated. Some figures were lying flat; others were twisted and crouched, obviously trying to escape the ash and fumes that had covered the city. Zoe thought the saddest one was a figure sitting on the ground, knees in the air, hands covering its face.

  “Wretched, isn’t it?” Jack said.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Zoe said. “It’s easy to get lost in the history here—the beautiful art, the ability to walk around a first century city—and forget that thousands of people died here...in hours,” Zoe said, glancing into the distance where Mt. Vesuvius was clearly visible, dark against the blue sky.

  Zoe felt a presence behind them. Too close. Jack pivoted on his heel, his arms tensed, then stopped. “Nico.”

  It was the guy Jack had bought the guidebook from earlier, looming close to Zoe. “Who’s this?” Nico asked smoothly in English. He’d lost the jacket and looked Zoe over in a way that made her wish she were wearing another layer or two.

  “A friend,” Jack said, tightly.

  “Does this friend have a name?” Nico asked, gazing at Zoe intently.

  “I’m Zoe,” she said, extending her hand. Nico clasped it and raised it to his lips. “I hope you will be my...friend, too,” he said as he deposited a lingering, sloppy kiss on the back of her hand. Jack rolled his eyes.

  Zoe worked her hand free of his clamp-like grip, studying Nico’s face. He couldn’t be much more than seventeen or eighteen. Just to make his day, Zoe said, “How charming.” Nico’s grin widened, and he shifted, placing his arm around Zoe’s shoulders. “You must help me with my English. I need practice.”
<
br />   “Your English is excellent,” Zoe said, and Nico stood a little straighter.

  “It is the special words, the...how do you say...idioms I need help with. Like ‘head over heels.’ What does that mean?”

  Jack wedged himself between them, breaking them apart. “Here’s an idiom for you: cut to the chase.”

  “This one I know,” Nico said excitedly, as Jack moved them away from the knots of people looking at the casts and into an open area between the Forum and the Temple of Apollo, where a lone remaining statue of Apollo stood, arm extended. All that remained of the temple were the brick-fronted steps leading up to a raised platform with a few columns rising in the air, which were surrounded by tourists, alternately consulting maps and taking pictures. “It means to get to the important thing.”

  “Yes,” Jack said approvingly. “And the main reason you’re here...”

  “To meet your beautiful friend,” Nico said, with a lingering glance at Zoe. She couldn’t suppress a smile as Nico caught sight of Jack’s face and quickly added, “and to tell you about Costa. What you’ve heard is true...he is gone. Vanished. Into the skinny air.”

  “Into thin air,” Jack corrected, slightly deflated at the news.

  “Into thin air,” Nico repeated. “People say he is in South America, Brazil, even India.”

  “Are you sure he’s not still involved with things here in Naples?”

  “No, not here,” Nico said, and there was none of the teasing, playfulness in his tone that had been so evident before. “If he was here, I would know. Even if he wasn’t here, but was controlling things, I would know.”

  Jack camouflaged his sigh. Nico missed it, but Zoe was aware of it. Jack slipped Nico some folded bills, and Nico managed to kiss Zoe’s hand again before Jack waved him off and he melted into the crowds. He didn’t go in the direction of the entrance-slash-exit, Zoe noticed, but she figured with a site as large as Pompeii and someone as wily as Nico, there were probably lots of ways to get in and out without going through the main gates.

  “Is that true,” Zoe asked as they walked slowly toward the restaurant. “Would he know if Costa were still here or still in control of things?”

  “Undoubtedly. He’s such a good asset because he plays the clown so well. His family is one of the best-connected in Naples. He’d know.”

  “So, then Roy was right.”

  “It appears so,” Jack said as they stepped inside the restaurant with crusty sandwiches and pizza slices dripping with mozzarella cheese on display. With the distraction of Nico gone, Zoe’s hunger came roaring back. While they were waiting in line, Zoe asked. “Nico—he was one of yours?”

  “Did I recruit him? Yes. One of my first.”

  “I think you did good.” Their turn came and Zoe pointed out which pizza slice she wanted then left Jack to pay, saying, “I think I’ll wash my well-kissed hand.”

  THE return drive through Naples was again a trip Zoe thought better suited to bumper cars or a dirt track speedway. They parked in a different parking garage, and Zoe dug her nails out of the dash, then they walked to the Piazza dei Martiri, which seemed to be the Napoli equivalent of Fifth Avenue with designer stores ringing the piazza. Zoe spotted the names Ferragamo and Gucci as they found a table at a restaurant with several rows of tables outside. The restaurant had a view of the column at the center of the piazza, which was topped with a statue of a winged angel in a flowing gown. Their espresso arrived in miniature cups along with a plate of pastries. “Try these,” Jack said pointing to a pastry curved like a tiny conch shell with golden ridges. It was flaky on the outside, but creamy on the inside with a twinge of cinnamon.

  “That’s so good,” Zoe said. “What is it?”

  “Sfogliatella . Ricotta cheese with cinnamon.”

  “I love it...and it’s not even chocolate.” They polished off the last of the delicate morsels in silence. Zoe sipped the strong coffee. The sun was almost down, and the lights from the stores glowed in the twilight.

  She took another sip and watched Jack scan the piazza, eyeing the strolling pedestrians, the speeding scooters, and the people seated at the small tables around them, who all seemed to be either leaning forward over the table, gesturing theatrically as they talked or busy smoking cigarettes. “So you lived here over a year...and you never mentioned it,” Zoe said, her head tilted to one side.

  He rotated his small coffee cup. “I learned it’s easier not to say anything at all. You mention something, even a throwaway comment, and it draws attention. People want to know more. It was easier to never mention it in the first place.”

  “I can’t imagine doing that—editing everything I said. I’d be terrible—” she broke off. “There’s Roy.” He was striding quickly across the piazza, directly toward them. He didn’t make eye contact.

  He circled the column, which was enclosed with a raised grassy area ringed with low hedges that surrounded four massive lion sculptures placed around the base of the column like the directional points of a compass. Roy wore a long dark overcoat and Zoe lost him for a second in the crowds. Jack had been right. Everyone, except Nico it seemed, dressed in black, gray, or brown. She picked him up again as he paused near the statue of a snarling lion. He dipped his head, cupped his hand to his face, lit a cigarette and walked on, never glancing at their table.

  Jack checked his watch. “That’s not good, is it?” Zoe said, watching Roy’s dark shoulders meld with the crowd going up the short street to the waterfront.

  “No. Not good at all. It means we’re blown.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Naples

  Monday, 7:31 p.m.

  ZOE stood and moved swiftly through the tables. She didn’t look back. She knew Jack would be right behind her. “Parking garage?” Zoe asked as he fell into step with her. They circled around the far side of the piazza, moving in a different direction from Roy. “Did you leave anything at the hotel?” Jack asked. He’d brought his backpack with him and it was on his shoulder now. “The rolling bag is there, but there’s nothing in it except clothes.”

  “No...I have my messenger bag,” Zoe said automatically, as she opened the flap and shifted its contents. “I have every—” She stopped and locked on his gaze. “The spreadsheets. We left them on the foot of your bed.”

  Without a word, they took off at a speed only a notch below running. Everyone seemed to be either on a leisurely stroll, arms linked with a companion, as they walked their dogs or window-shopped. They shifted and dodged until Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her into a narrow street. “Short cut,” he said and Zoe could tell they were moving up a street parallel to the one where their hotel was located—at least she thought that was the way they were moving because of the steep grade.

  Jack zigged to the left down a short street and around a mass of mopeds, all parked at odd angles in a small triangular area where three streets met. She caught up with him. “Where will we go after the hotel?”

  Jack opened his mouth, then stopped and shook his head. “Not sure. Let’s get out of here clean first.”

  “Here it is,” Zoe said, recognizing the street from the dusty pink building on the corner with a peeling Yoda poster. They turned and halted. A blue and white car with the word Polizia on the side filled the street, leaving no room for a car to pass in the other direction. Among the people mingling around the hotel entrance, Zoe spotted several blue-uniformed men with white hats. She recognized one of the civilians, the young man with curly black hair and liquid dark eyes who’d been on duty as the desk clerk when they’d left this morning. He caught sight of her, and Zoe stared at him unable to look away. “No, no, no,” she whispered as she reached out blindly and touched Jack’s arm. The clerk raised his arm, pointed their direction. White hats spun toward them.

  Zoe turned and fled back the way they’d come. She heard Jack’s breathing behind her, but she didn’t spare a second to look as they took the turn to the steep street that would take them down to the Via Chiaia and the pedestrian crow
ds there. They hit the corner and Zoe lengthened her stride, glad for the flat ground and even paving stones. She concentrated on weaving through the crowds, sliding left and right.

  Ahead of them, a terrier on a leash leapt daintily out of a small doorway within a doorway, his leash stretching out across the pedestrian walkway at knee level as his owner lingered inside the midget-sized cut-away doorway in the imposing sixteen-foot double doors of the building.

  Zoe veered left around the dog, who perked up his ears at her pounding footsteps. Jack hurdled the leash. Several white hats bobbed in his wake. The dog bounded after Jack, his barks echoing up the narrow space between the tall buildings. With a quick glance behind her, Zoe saw the dog reach the end of its leash with an abrupt yank. It immediately reversed course and made for the pursuing policemen, yapping away. Two of them got tangled in the leash and went down hard, the dog skipping away, then circling back to bark and lick. The wails of distinctly European emergency sirens filled the air.

  Two policemen still pounded behind them, shouting words Zoe didn’t understand. It was fully dark now, but she could see the end of the pedestrian area ahead where the street opened up into an intersection with traffic swishing by, headlights cutting through the night.

  Zoe and Jack shot out of the pedestrian street, sending a waiter, who had been walking along the street holding a covered circular tray with several drinks, spinning like a top. They burst into an intersection with traffic circling the roundabout, which enclosed a fountain at the center of the intersection. Zoe saw pulsating blue lights atop several approaching cars straight ahead. Jack’s hand closed around her wrist and pulled her to the left. “This way.”

  They ran, angling their shoulders, pushing through the crowds. Suddenly, Jack ducked off the main street and they were in a small market area with vendors hawking jackets and jewelry under plastic awnings. The shouts weren’t that far away as they slipped into another narrow alley, then zigged and zagged through the labyrinth-like maze of streets.