Elusive (On The Run Book #1)

by Sara Rosett

  “I will take care of it.” Francesca’s long fingers sorted quickly through her meager items—she avoided touching the wadded tissue, pushed the hairclip and breath mints to the side, and plucked out the wallet and passport.

  Zoe wondered how long it would be before Jack returned to the café. Would he realize she was missing right away, or would he assume she’d gone for a walk or to snoop around on her own as she’d done last time? Hopefully, he’d assume she’d gone back to the glass shop, but even if he went to the shop himself, it was locked. The chances of him finding his way to this back room were small—miniscule even—especially since he didn’t even know she was here.

  Her plan had been to meander around the campo and window-shop. He might assume that was what she was doing. She couldn’t count on Jack to find her. She didn’t even know when he would get back to the campo. He might not even know she was missing for hours. And then what would he do? He couldn’t very well go to the police and report her missing. Zoe felt a tightness in her chest as the frightening weight of being on her own sunk in. She had to figure something out...even if it was jumping in that vile water and swimming away. She knew how to swim. Could she make it to the water and swim out under the door before they reacted?

  “You’re sure?” Eddie asked, reluctantly.

  “Yes. Go or you will miss your flight.” Francesca pulled a cell phone from her pocket. She made a call, said a few words in Italian, then hung up.

  “This can’t be like last time,” Eddie said, her gaze steady on Zoe. “No mistakes.”

  Francesca spun toward her. “I have not made any mistakes. You were the careless one, the one who babbled. It wasn’t enough that you wormed your way into my new life. You had to jeopardize everything.” She walked forward as she spoke, and Zoe tensed. They were focused on each other. Unfortunately, they were directly in front of the stairs. The only other way out was the water. She’d heard stories about the canals—how the disgustingly dense, brackish water was full of bacteria and who knew what else. It would be her last resort, she decided and glanced back at the women.

  Eddie’s shrill tone cut into her thoughts. “You needed me,” she shot back. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t. You needed a contact in the States. Two years ago, you were happy when I figured out who you were and what you were doing.” Eddie yanked up her suitcase and climbed the stairs, talking over her shoulder. Zoe tensed, turning the chair slightly so that she faced the water more directly. “Don’t blame me for Connor,” Eddie continued.

  Zoe moved her feet, positioning them so she could leap from the chair. Eddie said, “He would have figured it out on his own. He was half-way there anyway. I only filled in the last blank. He knew you weren’t who you said you were, just like I’d figured it out before him. It was your precious Stefano who botched killing him.” Zoe felt her tense calf muscles quiver. “You’re quite a pair, you know. For someone who is trying to stay hidden, you’re not doing so well. Terrible, in fact.”

  A quick glance at Francesca froze Zoe into place. Francesca had pulled a small black handgun from her pocket. She pointed the barrel squarely at Zoe’s chest.

  “This is it for me. I’m done after this shipment,” Eddie said from above them. Her words hardly registered with Zoe. She was too focused on the gun and Francesca’s unwavering gaze that seemed to pin her to the chair. Eddie’s voice had gone peevish, as if she couldn’t stand not to be the center of attention. “You’re too much of a risk,” Eddie said, then pushed through the door and slammed it behind her.

  Francesca rolled her eyes and strode back to the desk where she picked up the passport with her free hand. “She does not mean it,” she said, leaning toward Zoe, like she was taking her into her confidence. She tossed her head in the direction of Eddie’s dramatic exit. “That one, all voice and bluster, but it means nothing. Next week, it will be,” she waved the passport through the air as if she were erasing writing on a board, “as if nothing happened. Normale.”

  “Well, I for one, am glad to see the last of her,” Zoe ventured in an effort to connect with Francesca, which seemed to work because Francesca chuckled.

  “Do not worry about her,” Francesca said, “She is gone. Hand-carrying an important package back to the States. She will not bother you anymore.” She opened the passport. Her eyebrows shot up, her gaze flew to Zoe. “So you do know everything. It is sad. I like you. You have spirit, but—” she shrugged in a what-can-you-do manner, “I cannot let you live. You must see that. Jack either.”

  For a second, Zoe thought of bargaining with her, begging even, but that steely gaze stopped her. Francesca wasn’t going to relent or change her mind. Zoe’s pulse accelerated. Could she jump up, push her over? Grab the gun? Sprint up the stairs? It was almost as if Francesca sensed her thoughts because she paced a few steps away from Zoe. She flicked open the passport and looked at the picture, a hint of sadness flickered across her face. “I wish it had not been Jack,” she said with a small shake of the head. “He took it too hard.”

  “He thought you were dead,” Zoe said. “What should he have done? Forget about it?”

  “Yes. He should have. He cares too much, that one. Too involved.” She rubbed her thumb over the picture as she stared at it.

  Zoe shifted her feet, moving the chair an inch toward the water. If she could get close enough, she might be able to hit the water before Francesca could aim and fire the gun. “How did you do it?” Best to keep her talking, thinking about the past. The huge box Francesca had dropped was between her and the water. If she could edge the chair slightly backward she’d be able to make straight for the water.

  Francesca looked at her consideringly for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “It was not hard. I told Jack I thought someone suspected I was an informant. The next meeting I had...a friend follow me. Jack saw it and began to prepare,” she said, lifting the passport.

  Zoe waited until she focused on the passport then shifted her toes and moved the chair again. “Once he believed I was in danger, it was easy. I did not go to the next meeting and did not reply to his attempts to contact me. He assumed I’d been caught. I was on a train to Milan.”

  “You make it sound so easy. What about your husband?”

  “I was not stupid. I picked a time he was out of town,” she said scornfully. “I had been saving for years—all the money Jack and Roy paid me, I saved it all. So considerate that they paid in cash. I had been planning it for years.”

  “What about the body? It was identified as you.”

  She laughed as she tossed the passport back to the desk. “You have not been in Italy very long, if you do not know that anything can be bought. A little money to the right people and,” she waved her fingers, “all the forms were filled out with my name. Witnesses swore they saw me die. The body was beyond recognition. All that mattered was the paperwork.”

  “But who was she?”

  Francesca said sharply. “I do not know.” She seemed to make an effort to calm herself. “It does not matter,” she said with forced briskness. “She was nobody. Nobody missed her.” Her gaze drifted up to the ceiling and the dim bulbs. “I never speak of it...although, I dream of her sometimes. More and more, lately.” She nodded as she strode a few steps closer to Zoe. “It is good that I speak of it to you. Now, maybe I will sleep better.”

  “How could you sleep better?” Zoe asked, incredulous. Forgetting about her stealthy chair shifting, she said, “You’re planning to kill me and Jack. It’s guilt keeping you awake! Don’t you see that? If you kill me and Jack, it will only make it worse.”

  It was like a shutter descended over her face. “It must be done. I will not lose everything.”

  Faintly, bells jangled. “That will be Stefano,” Francesca said, a look of pleasant satisfaction settling on her face. “With Jack. I knew he would come once we had you. Always playing the knight.”

  The small circle of the gun barrel dipped slightly as Francesca looked up the stairs to the door. Zoe lunged, s
hoving the box at Francesca as she ran. There was a clatter of metal on stone. Zoe didn’t look back.

  A crash and shouting sounded behind her, but she was only vaguely aware of it. Too far. I’m too far. Something solid collided with her leg, tangled with her foot, and brought her down.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  STUNNED, Zoe lay without moving, as she tried to get her breath back. She’d landed face down, her knees and elbows taking the brunt of the fall. The steps with their coating of moss were only inches from her nose. So close.

  She crawled forward, but strong hands gripped her ankles and yanked her away from the edge. Her chin bumped on the cold tiles, and her vision blurred for a moment. She kicked out, a pain seared through her side where the knife had pricked her, as she struggled to get her hands under her body, so she could lever herself up.

  Hands on her shoulders roughly dragged her upright into a sitting position on the floor, then clamped her wrists together. Zoe’s vision blurred at the quick change from lying down to sitting up. A ripping sound cut through the air. Two men were encircling her wrists with stiff, sticky packing tape, attaching her wrists to the arm of the rolling chair. Foggily, Zoe realized it must have been the chair that brought her down.

  Part of her mind wondered why Francesca hadn’t just shot her. Maybe she was a bad shot or it could be her issue with blood. Maybe she didn’t want to have to clean it up. Shooting someone would be messy, and she definitely seemed paranoid about blood.

  Zoe blinked at the men laboring over her with the tape. There was something wrong with the image. They were moving in tandem. She blinked a few times and they merged into one man. Stubby Guy.

  He sent her a cold look with his dark eyes as he spoke over his shoulder to Francesca in Italian. Zoe was glad she didn’t know what he was saying, but she suspected it was that Francesca should have shot her. Zoe looked beyond him to Francesca, who was standing with the gun pointed at Jack. He was lying motionless at the bottom of the stairs. A mixture of relief and fear hit her as she looked at him.

  Stubby Guy gave the tape a final twist, then crossed to Jack, gripped his heels, and dragged him toward her, his head bobbing on the stones. Stubby Guy—Stefano—Zoe remembered, released Jack’s feet, and they thumped to the ground. His head lolled toward Zoe.

  Jack got the same treatment with the tape. Stefano wrapped Jack’s wrists and bound them to the other arm of the chair. Jack’s upper body was beside her, his legs extended on the opposite side of the chair. She could see his chest moving a fraction. Stubby Guy strode over to Francesca for a low-voiced consultation.

  Zoe rested her forehead on her knee. Pained flickered in her kneecap when her head made contact, but at this point it only slightly registered. So this was it. They were going to kill them, then dump them, probably at sea. Zoe wasn’t much of a religious person, but she figured if there ever was a time to pray, this was it. She had no idea of what to say or how to go about praying. Help me, was about all she could come up with before her thoughts flashed to her family and friends, her mother, Aunt Amanda, Helen, even Kiki. They’d all worry about her, wondering what had happened to her. And they’d go on worrying. They would probably never know what had happened.

  The chances of their bodies being found were miniscule. And if they were found, would they be able to properly identify them? Helen would be devastated. And Mom, Zoe thought. Poor, messed up, Mom. She would thrive on the attention in the beginning. Zoe had no doubt that when the news reached her about her disappearance, Donna would milk the situation for all it was worth. She’d be the distraught mother with the missing daughter, a tragic situation. But what about later when it became obvious that Zoe wasn’t going to be found? Would Donna completely lose it? She was self-centered, but she did love Zoe in her own misguided, crazy way. Zoe had separated herself from Donna’s toxic lifestyle—the constant cameras and attention seeking, the neediness—Zoe had decided it was better to keep her distance. Phone calls on holidays were about the extent of their contact. Well, if you didn’t count every time Donna called and pitched a new show idea at Zoe. But even though she couldn’t be around her mom all the time, Zoe didn’t want this to be it.

  There was a thickness in her throat. In a matter of hours, maybe less, they would be dead.

  A whisper floated to Zoe, barely audible above the slap of water. “Hey, it’s not that bad. No, don’t look up. Keep your head down.”

  Zoe shifted her chin and looked under her arm. Jack smiled at her, a lopsided, upside down grin. “You okay?”

  “Not really.”

  “Yeah. I’m not happy with our situation either.” He spoke low, barely moving his mouth.

  “You were right—that’s Francesca. I got a good look at her before Stubby Guy pushed me down the stairs.”

  Zoe risked a quick glance at Francesca and Stefano, who were talking in raised voices now. Francesca was pacing back and forth, dumping the contents of Zoe’s messenger bag into the large cardboard box. Stefano was trailing along behind her, waggling the gun at Zoe and Jack, trying to talk over Francesca. She shook her head, tossed the blood-spotted towel into the box, and then picked up another flattened box. She opened it and folded the flaps down.

  “They’re going to put us in the boxes, weigh us down, and dump us at sea,” Jack said. “The debate is whether to kill us before we go in the box or knock us out and let the sea do the work.”

  Jack continued in a low voice, “I hate to say it, but it is clever, using the boxes. They won’t be seen transporting bodies, just the boxes, which must be a normal activity for them.”

  Zoe said, “It’s either that, or it’s because Francesca can’t stand the thought of us sprawled on her floor, contaminating the place. She seems to have a germ phobia and an obsession with keeping things clean. She doesn’t want to get blood on anything.” A rending sound cut through the air as Francesca yanked the tape across the flaps of the box.

  “Less worry for them that way about our death being traced back to them,” Jack said.

  Francesca muttered a curse, tossed the empty tape dispenser on the floor, and slammed through the desk drawers quickly, searching their contents.

  Zoe shifted, blinked and tried to get a grip on her emotions as she said, “Eddie was here, too. She found me in the campo and brought me here, but I think she’s gone now.”

  “Let me guess. She used a knife?” At Zoe’s nod, Jack let out a sigh audible only to Zoe. “She’s got a thing for blades,” he said. Zoe twisted, and Jack saw the dark circle of blood, now sticky and beginning to harden, on her shirt. His face went hard.

  “Don’t worry about her. It was enough to scare me and get me moving, but I think it’s stopped bleeding now. It’s not deep. It annoyed Francesca, too. Anyway, that’s the least of our worries. Eddie is taking some special shipment back to the States. It’s what we thought. They’ve got some sort of smuggling set-up between her and Eddie. Connor was involved, and he got suspicious about Francesca. I guess Francesca sent Stub—er, Stefano to take care of it—meaning you and Connor—but you got away.”

  “And I ran straight to Eddie, who told Stefano exactly where I’d be—first at The Strip where he tried to arrange that car-on-pedestrian accident, then at Connor’s apartment,” Jack said, disgust with Eddie evident on his face even in his whispered words.

  In her peripheral vision, Zoe saw Francesca march up the stairs. Stefano followed her, looking over his shoulder at them. Jack had his face turned away and hadn’t moved from his prone position. Zoe kept her head tucked to her knees. The door closed and Jack sprung up. They dragged the chair to the desk.

  “They’ve gone for more tape,” Zoe said as she crawled along, her kneecaps screaming with each impact.

  Jack used the toe of his shoe to open the lowest desk drawer near him, then angled his foot so that he could shove everything around inside. “Nothing but paper,” he said moving quickly to the other two drawers.

  Zoe angled herself up as high as she could, surveying the desk
top. “No scissors or letter opener, but there’s a few big paperclips.” Zoe used her nose to drag several across the desktop, then twisted the chair so that her hands were directly under them. She nudged the paperclips with her nose. Several slipped through her fingers and pinged onto the floor.

  Jack was wiggling his foot, working off his shoe. “Hold still,” Zoe said, sharply. “I can’t believe we’re doing this...all our hopes hanging on paperclips,” she muttered as she shoved another paperclip over the edge. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy, but she managed to pinch it between her thumb and first finger as it fell.

  “Excellent,” Jack said. He went back to moving his socked foot around, scraping it over the bumpy floor.

  Zoe concentrated on not dropping the paperclip and tried to pry one section of it back. Her fingers felt like sausages. When she managed to get one piece at a right angle, she stabbed at the thick layers of tape awkwardly. This was going to take a while.

  “Ah,” Jack said as he used his foot to drag a forgotten pen from under the desk. Jack gripped it with his toes and brought it to his hands, performing a move that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a yoga class. He twisted his foot back into his shoe, then went to work with the pen, trying to work it into an angle where he could puncture the tape.

  The room was silent except for the lap of water on stone and the tiny popping sound of each puncture. Zoe could feel sweat gathering on her forehead as she concentrated. Press, puncture. Move a millimeter lower. Repeat. Endlessly.

  She’d perforated a zigzagging line of holes about an inch long, but Stefano had been extra generous with the tape, winding it around and crisscrossing her wrists several times in wide arcs, so there were several more inches to go. Zoe wasn’t sure how much time had gone by when she heard something. She raised her head. Voices. Definitely voices.