Blonde Ops (10 page)

Dante held the heavy wooden door open for me, then followed me in. There were a few scattered rustic tables where people were eating and drinking and a small bar over against one wall.

“
Eh, Dante! Come sta?
” someone called from the bar: a sweaty, muscular guy who needed a shave, wearing a stained apron.

Dante grabbed my hand and pulled me along as he wound his way through the tables.

“
Adriano! Come sta?
” he said, and a warp-speed conversation in Italian followed. Adriano nodded at Dante and then at me and disappeared into the back. Dante's hand slipped out of mine and found its way to my shoulder to guide me to a table.

“I ordered for both—okay?” he asked.

“Sure.” I took my seat. The table was small, and once he sat down, we were close. If he leaned on his elbows, and if I did too, we'd be close enough to …

Kiss?

Slow down, cowgirl!
I scolded myself. But it didn't stop me from thinking about it. A lot. And when he smiled at me, I thought about it even more.

A flash of fire came from the back, followed by a sizzle. And then the smell of fresh, hot garlic and shrimp wafted right to my nose, making me hungrier.

A number of people waved or called hello to Dante, and by the time he talked to all of them, Adriano came out of the kitchen and plunked a plate on the table. On it, a small pile of golden triangles nested in a tangle of shredded basil leaves.

We decimated the polenta as more small dishes were brought out: paper-thin meats, and then a huge seashell piled with shrimp and scallops decorated with fresh herbs.

“This is so much food.”

He raised a hand. “This is my cousin's place.” Dante patted his chest. “He takes care of family.”

Between bites, I learned about Dante's family and heard funny stories about when he was little. I told him about my various schools, skimming over the unfavorable reasons why I left each one. He didn't question why there were so many, and the conversation drifted to music we liked.

At one point I glanced at my watch. Two hours gone?! Somehow the laws of time weren't behaving; the night was moving too quickly. While there wasn't an official curfew, it wouldn't do to draw the attention of Candace or the agents by strolling in late. When the last plate was cleared away, I searched my bag for my wallet. Those euros were itching to be spent. But Dante shook his head.

“No, Bec,” he said, ignoring my protests and refusing to let me leave anything. I felt bad; as Taliah pointed out, how much could a delivery guy make?

“Adriano would be insulted if I paid. And if
you
paid?” He looked horrified. “
I
would be insulted!”

I gave in and closed my pack. When we got up to leave, Adriano called, “
Buonasera, Dante! Riportare la tua capelli bella rosa amica!
” He had a twinkle in his eye.

Dante made a goofy face at Adriano, making me laugh again as he led me outside. “You have nice time, yes?”

“Yes!
Sì!
” I smiled. “What did Adriano say?”

He laughed and turned a dark shade of pink. “He tells me to bring back my friend with the pretty, rose-colored hair.”

It was my turn to blush. I headed for the Vespa, but Dante grabbed hold of my hand. “You have to go back so soon?”

I thought about it. Did I have to go back yet? If Parker weren't in the hospital, I'd probably be out on the town with her right now—it wasn't
that
late. Candace might not notice I wasn't in the hotel—if she was even back. I shook my head. “No. Not yet.”

That heart-melting grin again. “Good. I'll show you
my
Roma.”

The restaurant sat in a tiny courtyard with a plain-looking marble cube in the middle.

“The big piazzas have fancy fountains, but even the little ones have something to look at. This one used to be a well,” said Dante, walking me over to it.

Close up, it wasn't so plain. The stone was marble with gray and white veins streaking through it. Unlike the street, it was pristine, as if it was regularly cleaned. Blurred words and figures of people in togas had been carved into it a long time ago. Now the details were softened by weather and time.

Holding hands, we walked around the piazza. Every time he paused and looked at me, I felt almost breathless, as if I were suspended on the top of a roller coaster, in that dizzying moment before the fall. At last we stopped, and we faced each other.

“How long are you staying in Italy?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said, and I stared into his eyes, so blue, like pooled water in a fountain. “I'm supposed to stay with a friend of my mom's who worked for the magazine, but she was in an accident, so I'm not sure what will happen.”

His face fell. “I'm so sorry.”

“No one will tell me what happened or where she is because—” I stopped. Probably because the First Lady was coming. Now that I thought about it, it seemed like suspicious timing. Was that why I thought I saw agents everywhere? Did they think that someone would try to get to the First Lady through one of us? Did they think
I
was a security risk? Was my record actually coming back to haunt me, as Dean Harding threatened?

Dante's brow wrinkled. “When did this happen?”

Coming out of my paranoid reverie, I shook my head. “The day before yesterday.”

“Morning?”

I tilted my head. “I think so, why?”

“Was it a car accident?”

The skin on the back of my neck prickled. “Yes.”

He looked back at the café. “Adriano's brother Nunzio drives the
ambulanza
. They cleared an accident not far from your office yesterday morning.” He shook his head. “Americans. They don't know how to drive in Roma. They think the roads are bigger than they are.”

My heart lunged into my throat. It
had
to be her. What were the odds? American, a car accident near the hotel, and on the same day that Parker didn't show up for work?

“Do you know where she is?”

“I'll ask Nunzio and he'll find out for you.”

I threw my arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you!” I felt better with the thought that I had a good chance of finding Parker now. So much for the Secret Service and their protocols—I had friends with connections on the local level. For the first time since Parker disappeared, I felt … hopeful.

We pulled apart. The lights around the piazza glowed like little moons in the deepening blue velvet dusk. Dante's gaze held mine.
Closer …

And as if on cue, music started to play—but not a romantic, a “Bec is in Rome, about to enjoy the most romantic kiss of her life” music. It was a twangy melody with a reggae beat, cutting into the night, the mood, and my brain. Total buzzkill.

It was the phone Parker gave me before she went AWOL.

 

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR
THE EDGE-Y GIRL

No one wants to kiss alligator lips! Always cover yours with a balm or gloss to keep them irresistibly soft.

10

Who dared to interrupt my Juliet moment?

I sighed, reluctantly backed away from Dante, and fished in my pack for the phone. The screen glowed out with a number I didn't recognize. If it was Sophie …
that
might be awkward. I hadn't gotten around to finding out how she felt about Dante. I slid my finger across the screen to unlock it and answered the call.

“Hello?” I said.

Nothing.

“Hello?”

There was a bit of a crackle on the line, and then, at last, a voice practically blared out of the speaker.

“It's about time,” a man growled. The words came out deep and gravelly, and with a bit of an accent I couldn't place. Not like Dante's. It wasn't Aldo, Ugi, or the designer Gianni either.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted my chance.

“What went wrong?” he demanded.

“You tell me.”

That
was Candace.

“I gave you all the information I had,” he said.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it. The call was live, but clearly it wasn't meant for me.
I should hang up—

“Ortiz is a good agent,” Candace answered him sharply, “and there's no reason for anyone to believe it was a hit. It's too soon.”

A hit?

As in an
assassination
attempt? My hand gripped the phone tighter.

The man let out a short harsh laugh. “I have good reason to believe what happened to Parker Phillips was definitely no accident, timing aside.”

I felt my knees tremble at the mention of Parker's name. My breath caught and I pressed the phone tighter to my ear. I must've looked upset because Dante frowned at me, a wrinkle of concern on his brow. I held up a finger, motioning for him to wait.

“Tell me how you know,” Candace demanded. “From the initial evidence I saw, it was unavoidable.”

“I can't discuss this over the phone. Meet me at the warehouse on the river at Passeggiata di Ripetta. Look for the Arturo i Fredo Transporto sign. Nine thirty.”

“See you then.”

And the call ended.

Passeggiata di Ripetta.

I repeated it over and over in my head to commit it to memory. Then I looked at Dante. “That was Candace,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I have to get back.”

“It's too late for work. She's
pazza.
Crazy.” He made little circles next to his temple with a finger.

I might have found that funny if I hadn't overheard that call. Was Candace crazy—or crazy dangerous? Why did the stony-voiced man say that Parker's accident wasn't one? Who would want to hurt her?

There was Serena. She seemed more pleased about taking over
Edge
than concerned about Parker's condition—until Candace's surprise appearance.

And Ortiz—but would she hurt—almost
kill—
Parker and put her own life at risk just to help Candace be in charge of
Edge
? Would Secret Service agents do that? It seemed so over the top …

… unless they weren't really Secret Service agents.

But they had badges!

I had no way of checking if they were real without raising a lot of suspicion. Could it be a deeper conspiracy of some type? Either way, I'd find out more by going to that meeting.

I questioned my sanity, but someone hurt Parker and they needed to pay. And if that someone was Candace, I was going to make sure she got taken down, alligator pumps and all. I looked at the phone. The meeting was at 9:30—that gave me forty-five minutes to get there. I dragged Dante back to the waiting Vespa.

“I can't be late, Dante, we have to go. Can you take me to the Hotel Beatrici?” I didn't want him to drop me off at the warehouse because there would be questions I couldn't, and wouldn't, answer. I knew that Dante would insist on staying with me, and I didn't want to involve him in what could be a dangerous situation, or put him in a position to rat me out. And how could I be stealthy with a gorgeous hunk driving a noisy electric yellow Vespa?

“
Sì
.” He looked a little downcast that our date was over. Hopefully there'd be another one soon.

The ride back to the hotel was chilly, and I snuggled against his broad back for warmth. The city was no quieter than it'd been when I'd left the office; people were still everywhere, walking, chatting, and sipping espresso from tiny cups or dark wine in deep goblets on sidewalk tables.

When he skidded to a stop near but not in front of the hotel, I jumped off and strapped his extra helmet onto the Vespa, then stepped back.

“
Arrivederci
, Bec,” he said softly, his eyes shining in the lamplight.

“
Ciao
, Dante.”

With a smile, he buzzed out of sight.

No kiss, but still, a
bella notte
—while it lasted.

Quickly I walked a block away from the hotel to find a cab, not wanting to bump into the agents, or even any hotel staff who could run to Candace tattling about my comings and goings.

I hailed a taxi.

“Passeggiata di Ripetta by the river,” I said to the driver. Scanning around, I was pretty sure no one saw me.

As soon as I shut the door, the cab took off with a squeal and a lurch that slammed me into the back seat. The old guy who picked me up at the airport was agile; this woman was a lunatic on a suicide mission. She took a hard right that sent me sliding across the seat so that I almost hit the door. I gripped the seat belt and tried hard not to think about car accidents—with Parker on my mind and this daredevil, that was pretty much impossible.

She slowed only when we reached the river; I could see the lapping water between the buildings as we rolled past warehouse after warehouse. I waved my hand for her to go a little farther in case she didn't understand. I didn't want to get out too near the meeting place.

“I got you,” she said in English, then looked over her shoulder at me. “Interesting tourist site.”

I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a disapproving look on her face.

“Be careful,
bambina
,” she said. “You want I wait for you?”

There were no people or cars or cabs out here. And who knew what was lurking in that warehouse besides Candace and whomever she was meeting?

“
Sì
,” I said. “I won't be long.”

I hoped.

She nodded, cutting the engine and shutting off the lights as I slid out. I heard the click of the door locks.

Staying in the shadows, I walked around the warehouse, and spying the faded Fredo Transporto sign, I knew I was in the right place. Around the corner of the building, I passed cracked windows grimed over with soot and dirt and eventually found a door. After a quick glance to make sure no one was around, I ran up to it and stopped in dismay. It had an electronic keypad lock. Cracking this would cost me extra time that I didn't have. Lucky for me, it was a cheap setup. I didn't have the equipment for disabling a more sophisticated system. Carrying the necessary tool in my luggage, even if I had it, would have instantly gotten me yanked out of the security check into a room for a full body search and interrogation.