Elusive (On The Run Book #1)

by Sara Rosett

  They followed one street until it curved abruptly into a dead end with several apartment buildings and a pile of trash overflowing several dumpsters that were as tall as Zoe.

  “Damn,” Jack said, turning back. “We’re going to have to stay with the larger streets. I don’t know my way around well enough to get through these small roads.”

  Zoe didn’t want to go backward, but she really didn’t want to hide in the garbage pile, either. They retraced their steps as best they could through the snaking streets. With every corner, Zoe braced herself, expecting to find the Polizia, but they only came across moped drivers with death wishes and people who seemed to be interested in getting to the local café for a pre-dinner drink.

  Zoe heard the sound of traffic and saw bright lights, signaling they were close to a major street. They emerged onto the same busy street they’d been on a few moments ago, the Via Toledo, Zoe saw, locating an Italian street sign, a stucco plaque on one of the buildings with the street name carved into it.

  A siren grew louder as a blue car with flashing blue lights crept down the street. The officer in the window scanned faces on the street. Zoe instinctively turned away, saw a table at one of the sidewalk cafés was open, and dropped into the chair, pulling Jack down into the chair beside her. She felt too exposed, too vulnerable, standing up. At least here they were hidden behind layers of other diners at the café.

  “Good idea to stop running,” Jack said, placing his backpack under the table at his feet. He hunched over the table, one hand propped on his cheek, shielding his face from the street. Zoe found the hair clip in her messenger bag and secured her hair in a lose knot on her head, then shoved her bag under the table. “It seemed better than walking along the main road,” she said choppily, her breath coming out in rough gasps. She pulled off her jacket and stuffed it in the messenger bag, ducking down as the waiter came and Jack ordered two coffees. Short of buying new clothes, she’d done all she could to change her appearance.

  “Caffeine is the last thing I need right now,” Zoe said. Her fingers were visibly trembling. She splayed them on the cool metal of the table. Two uniformed police officers trotted by, their gaze sifting through the pedestrians strolling along the street. Zoe watched Jack, not wanting to look their way. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and then said, “They’re gone,” before taking a sip of his coffee that had arrived.

  Zoe brought the cup to her lips, but couldn’t manage a drink. Another siren approached as she set the cup in its saucer. “Carabinieri,” Zoe breathed, taking in the dark blue car.

  “They probably have nothing to do with us. Probably going to dinner,” Jack said. “They’re notorious for that here—using their sirens just to get through traffic when there’s no emergency at all.”

  Two more dark cars marked Carabinieri pulled to a stop at the curb. Four men in their distinctive dark blue uniforms with red stripes down the outside of the pant leg, emerged and fanned out, two men on each side of the street.

  “Or maybe it does have something to do with us,” Zoe said.

  Jack kept his eyes on his small coffee cup as one of the Carabinieri, hands clasped together behind his back, strolled along the front row of café tables. Zoe developed an interest in her fingernails. She noticed in a disassociated way that she could really use a manicure. Jack leaned over, gripped her hand tightly and said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  He slipped away before she could protest or gather her messenger bag and follow him. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the dark pants with the red stripe move methodically through the crowd. She took a sip of her coffee, and then set it down quickly. Her heart rate was already equal to a hummingbird’s—there was no way she needed to up it anymore. A second Carabinieri officer joined the first one. They settled into the middle of the small enclave of shops and restaurants, watching the constantly moving crowds. Every time their gaze ranged around to the café tables, she tensed, ready to sprint. Where was Jack? She couldn’t believe he’d gone off and left her. When would he be back? A thought struck her and she almost growled. He better come back. If he’d pulled another disappearing act...

  She was busy cataloguing the various tortures she’d put him through when he sat down across from her. He slapped some change on the table. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Where were you?”

  He looked up, perplexed at the fierceness of her tone. “I went to buy bus tickets,” he said, nodding his head at the Tabacchi, a small shop that sold cigarettes, bus tickets, and phone cards.

  Zoe set him an exasperated look. “Why didn’t you say so? I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “You thought I’d left you?”

  “It has happened before.”

  “Touché,” Jack said. “Sorry that I didn’t explain, but time is critical here.”

  “Okay,” Zoe said. “I get it. Just don’t do it again.”

  “Fine. There’s our bus,” Jack said. “Let’s walk calmly to it.”

  It turns out they could have jogged across the sidewalk area and shoved their way into the bus—all the Neapolitans did. They sauntered so casually by the Carabinieri that they almost didn’t get inside the bus. Zoe managed to slip under a man’s elbow and Jack muscled his way in behind her. The doors closed and Zoe looked down at her feet as the bus lurched away from the curb under the watchful gaze of the Carabinieri.

  THEY got off the bus at the train station, along with almost every other bus rider. They moved down a long row of buses to a glass-fronted building with a McDonald’s sign blazing in one corner. Once inside, they made for the ticket counters. “I wish we could use a credit card,” Zoe said biting her lip as she looked at the automatic ticket dispensing machines without lines. Their line was moving at approximately one millimeter every ten minutes. “At this rate we won’t get out of here until tomorrow morning,” she said, shoving her hands into her pockets so that Jack wouldn’t see her trembling fingers.

  “Nothing we can do about it,” he said calmly, so calmly that Zoe wanted to punch him. How did he do it? Sprint through a city with the police chasing him one minute, then the next minute, he stood calmly, looking unconcerned, bored even?

  “So what do you think happened back there with Roy and at the hotel?” Zoe asked in a low voice.

  “I don’t know about Roy. Maybe he heard something through one of his friends. At least he gave us some warning or we’d be sitting in an Italian jail cell right now asking to talk to the Consulate. Not a place I want to be.”

  “Me either,” Zoe said and shifted her feet half a baby-step forward. “So that only leaves....”

  “Nico,” Jack said with an unhappy sigh. “I shouldn’t have contacted him. It was risky.”

  “Well, can’t change it now. Now we just have to get out of here.” Zoe rocked on her heels, still antsy but trying to fight it. “Look, a new line,” she said and took off to the window that had just opened. She slid into place and looked into the bored attendant’s face.

  “Si ?” he said.

  She looked over her shoulder at Jack, who was ambling across to the new line, probably trying not to attract attention by moving too quickly. Where were they going? She’d been so glad to get to the train station she hadn’t thought past getting out of Naples.

  She took a deep breath, hoping that they had enough euros. “Venezia,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Italy

  Monday, 11:47 p.m.

  ZOE awoke with a start, jerking up on her elbow and looking around. Murky darkness. Rhythmic Movement. Right. Train, she realized, taking in the thin light coming in around the curtains across the panels and door that opened into the corridor that ran the length of the train. She rotated her neck, which seemed to have a permanently contracted muscle from sleeping in a half-sitting, half-slumped position. Despite the dimness, she could see that the opposite seat was empty. The woman who’d begun the journey with them in Naples must have gotten off at one of the stops. There ha
d been a confusing train change at some station in the middle of the night. Zoe couldn’t even remember where it was. She and Jack had stumbled from one train to another, and she’d pretty much collapsed into unconsciousness, relieved there hadn’t been a party of Carabinieri on the platform.

  A hasty check for their bags showed Jack was using them as a pillow. He’d reclined on the seat beside her, head toward the outside window, legs sprawled out, taking up most of the room. He shifted, reached out and pulled her head onto his chest. She stiffened, then relaxed. It was so much more comfortable than trying to sleep sitting up. She shifted her chin up and down, burrowing into a more comfortable position. Ten seconds and she was out.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had gone by when she blinked her eyes open. It was still dark. She didn’t move for fear of waking Jack. His chest moved with his even breathing under her cheek. She probably could have stood up and sung a complete rendition of the Copacabana and his eyelids wouldn’t have even fluttered, but she should stay still, she reasoned. It had nothing to do with how incredibly safe she felt. She snorted, thinking that was about the most absurd thought she could have.

  They weren’t safe. The police on two continents were pursuing them, not to mention the FBI. They’d been shot at, and they still hadn’t figured out a way to make it stop or even discovered who was behind it. She was about as far from safe as she could be.

  “What’s funny?” Jack asked without moving.

  “Nothing. You’re sleeping. You didn’t hear anything.”

  He murmured an agreement. She couldn’t drift off to sleep, but stayed curled up on his chest, watching the occasional lights outside the train flick by, throwing brief strips of illumination through the chinks in the curtains.

  A long time later, Jack said, “I think you’d be smart to go to the police when we get to Venice. We could come up with a little act at the train station where there are plenty of witnesses. Make it look like I kidnapped you.” His voice wasn’t groggy, and he spoke in a conversational tone. “Don’t say anything yet. I appreciate that you’ve hung with me and helped me try to sort this out, but this doesn’t involve you.”

  She heaved a sigh into the fibers of his sweater. “Do we have to do this again?”

  “It’s the best thing—”

  “So we are having this conversation again,” she said, speaking over his words. Without moving from her position curled on his chest, she said, “Right. Okay, let’s take it from the top. Even if I go to the police with some story about how you coerced me into going with you from Las Vegas to Europe—and anyone who knows me would know I’d never fight anyone who wanted to take me to Europe—but, let’s say I go with that story. One, I’d be in Italian custody. Not a place I want to be,” Zoe said. “Two, once they found out who I was and who you were, I don’t think they’d let me go easily.”

  “This is quite the gloomy analysis,” Jack cut in.

  “Now, best case scenario. The Italian officials take me in, ask a few cursory questions, and somehow I’m able to get back to the States. I don’t know how I would do that—I guess I could use a credit card for an airline ticket, but I don’t think my balance could handle that. But forget that tiny detail because, otherwise, I’m stuck in Italy living off scraps of pizza crusts the tourists throw away. Let’s say I get back to the States. I go home. The first visitor I’ll have will be the FBI. Those two guys aren’t going to let up. They want to know where the money went and then—even worse—there’s Connor’s murder. They think I had something to do with that as well. So, to sum up, I can stay here with you and see if we can figure out why all this is happening and who’s behind it, or I can possibly, maybe, if I’m lucky, return home and become a suspect in a fraud and a murder investigation.”

  “Always looking on the bright side, aren’t you?” Jack said. “When you put it that way, my plan sounds terrible.”

  “Because it is,” Zoe said, feeling his chest move as he chuckled.

  There was a pause, then he said, his voice serious, “I appreciate that you’re boxed in as far as options go, but remember, my track record isn’t that great. Sticking with me may not increase your odds. I screwed up, and Francesca got killed.”

  “How is her death your fault?” Zoe asked. “How were you supposed to know she was in danger? Did she suspect?”

  “She was worried, nothing specific or verifiable. She thought she was followed to our last meeting. I should have brought her in right then.”

  “Really? What if she was wrong? Then she would really have been ‘blown.’ That’s the right word, isn’t it? If that had happened, you would have lost ...what did you call her? An asset?”

  Jack rubbed his hand over his mouth, and then reluctantly said, “No I wasn’t supposed to bring her in with only her intuition that something was wrong. I followed protocol, but that doesn’t matter in the end. She’s dead. Then, I went all in with GRS. I put everything into the business because I didn’t want to mess things up again. Now I’m a failure twice over. Three times, actually, if we’re counting personal and professional things, since my marriage failed, too. So, you see, staying with me might not be your smartest move.”

  Zoe pushed herself up and looked into his face. “You can’t control everything. Even Roy said Francesca’s death wasn’t your fault. Yes, I overheard what he said to you. Someone talked. You couldn’t control that. And GRS...well, you certainly didn’t murder Connor or dupe your investors.”

  She leaned back to get a better look at his face in the low light. “You didn’t murder him, did you?”

  His bark of laughter filled the small compartment. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. For the record, no, I did not.”

  “I didn’t think you did—really—no, really,” Zoe said.

  “That’s comforting. Remind me to call you as a character witness at my trial.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “Really. When everything first happened, I defended you. The Jack I knew would never do something like that, but then...I realized there was a lot I didn’t know about you. When I found the money and the passports, it was obvious you weren’t exactly a self-employed businessman who was once a federal worker. Deep down, I didn’t think you’d hurt Connor, but with all the strange revelations about your past—well, I had to ask,” she said.

  She felt the motion of the train change and sat up to reach over Jack and sweep the curtain away from the window. A flat, dark expanse stretched out under the black sky, but it wasn’t land as she’d thought at first glance. Tiny sparkles of light flickered on the undulating surface. It was water.

  “We’re here,” she said.

  Venice

  Tuesday, 6:32 a.m.

  THEY stepped out of the train station into the milky light of sunrise and walked down a set of stairs to an open piazza-like area paved in cobblestones and lit with Victorian lights, each with three lights positioned like a trident. “So what are we going to do so that we don’t end up eating discarded pizza crusts?” Jack asked. “Although, I do like the crust, one of my favorite parts. Wouldn’t be so bad,” he added philosophically.

  It was overcast and drizzling and much colder than Zoe expected. She hugged her jacket closer and said, “The Street of Shops, I suppose.”

  “Too bad it’s such a dreary day.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s beautiful. We’re in Venice.”

  The Grand Canal, murky and green-tinged, flowed in front of them. She hurried over to the edge of the open terraced area where the water slapped against the foundation. A sleek boat cut through the canal, waves fanning out behind it in a V-shape. An imposing church with columns, an ornate pediment, and a dome tinted mint-green dominated the far side of the canal. Tightly-packed buildings stretched out on each side of it in shades of cream, white, tan, red, and even lime, each with unique architecture: Moorish windows, arched colonnades, and curving wrought-iron balconies. At the waterline, boats bobbed among the tall poles, some just weathered wood, others painted and in bright curving stripes, ma
rking the various docking points.

  “We’re in Venice,” she breathed. “I can’t believe it. We are in Venice.”

  “You look a little dazed.” He pulled her back a step from the edge.

  “Do you know how many guidebooks I’ve edited about Venice? Four! Two general Italy guidebooks, one Northern Italy, and one specifically on Venice. And I’m here. We have to see San Marco and the Basillica and the Doge’s Palace—you’ll like that. It was a prison, not just a palace...There’s the vaporetto stop,” Zoe said, noticing the people streaming out of the train station to a small metal building with gangplanks attached to large boats. “Let’s go,” she said, striding off.

  “I think I’ve created a monster,” Jack murmured under his breath as he hurried to catch up with her.

  After boarding the vaporetto, a Venice version of a city bus, they cruised the Grand Canal, Zoe nearly hanging over the railing to take in the sites. She saw a boat labeled Servicio Postal, which she took to mean a mail boat. An ambulance boat floated by at a sedate pace, then there were several barge-type boats, some loaded with cardboard boxes, others with crates overflowing with produce. The sleek black gondolas were scarce at this early hour—because of the lack of rolling suitcases and cameras among the people moving around the city, Zoe guessed most of them were commuting to work.

  The views of the palazzos fronting the Grand Canal were spectacular, even in their crumbling state. All that salt water seemed to do a number on the stucco surfaces and most of the buildings looked a bit ragged around the edges with flaking patches. There was an abundance of graffiti, too. Not on the scale she’d seen in Naples where no building seemed to escape the ugly scribblings, but it was evident in Venice, too. While Zoe soaked up the atmosphere of elegant decay, Jack searched the map they’d picked up at the tourist office in the train station.