Pieces (The Breakaway #2)

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

  “Not for the US?” she had asked.

  “No, and don’t ask me where I’m going, please. The less you know the better.”

  “But why do you have to leave?”

  “Because it needs to look like we’re leaving together. If the network finds out I’m letting you go, they’ll want to make sure you don’t give the authorities information about this safe house. They’ve set this place up so that any investigations won’t lead back to them, but they don’t appreciate guests who can’t keep their mouths shut. The reason we were allowed here in the first place is because of who I know. I can’t screw that up, so I’m trusting you won’t breathe a word. You already told me you won’t, and I believe you.”

  Naomi tossed and turned in bed, upset with herself for compromising Jesse as well as breaking his heart. What kind of person was she, anyway? At this point, her parents were probably going mad trying to find her, and who knew what Finn was doing? Perhaps he didn’t care. He had Carly. All the same, she had hurt people by leaving the way she did. She felt terrible that none of it had bothered her until now. The shroud she had woven for so many years was finally slipping away.

  When she woke, Jesse had made her a small breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs. She had never tried his eggs before. They didn’t disappoint. For some reason, that made looking at him even harder. He had dark circles under his eyes.

  “Looks like you slept about as well as I did,” she said, adding some pepper to the eggs. They were good, but they certainly weren’t like Eric’s.

  “I didn’t sleep at all,” he answered. Morning sun from the kitchen window fell across the table. It sparkled through Naomi’s juice glass.

  “Jesse,” she said, lifting the glass but not taking a drink. She stared at the rim. “Do you think any of this could have worked?” She looked up to see him watching her. His plate was untouched.

  “I think it might have if I wasn’t such an idiot,” he grumbled. “The truth is I’ve made too many mistakes. I can design entire buildings from scratch. I can break parole and move to another country just fine, and I have no doubt I can hide for the rest of my life without ever getting caught. I’m sure I can even arrange it so I’ll see my father again. But when it comes to you, Naomi, I’m a fool. I make mistakes I can’t fix.”

  She set down her glass and pushed some toast crumbs around the table. Her stomach was rumbling for more food, but she didn’t want to eat anymore. “Maybe I’m the bigger fool,” she said in a faraway voice. “Sometimes the only way out is to take a stand and fight.”

  Jesse blinked. “And that’s what you’re doing?”

  She looked out the window at the sunny gardens and blue sky. “It’s not you I’m fighting,” she answered in the same faraway tone. “It’s me. I feel like I’m taking the first step. I’m sorry I’ve hurt so many people, including you.” When she looked at Jesse again, he was gazing at the floor. His lips were closed tightly and his silence made it clear there was nothing more to say.

  THERE WERE no kisses goodbye. Not even a hug. They took a cab into the city, where Jesse unloaded her luggage and hailed another cab. He paid the driver and instructed him to take her to the airport. Then he nodded goodbye to her as he got back into his cab and she slid into hers.

  Just like that. Clean break. No matter what happened from here on out, things were over with Jesse. After breakfast, he had promised he would never try to contact her again. He didn’t seem upset, but she felt coldness in his voice that had never been there before. She watched his cab drive away.

  When she arrived at the airport, three suited men appeared as soon as she stepped out of the car. One began questioning the cab driver. Another retrieved her luggage from the trunk. They were American, she noticed as they zeroed in on her like hawks to a flopping fish on land. They flashed badges at her—what the badges said, she wasn’t sure—and told her they were from the US embassy. They spoke to her in English and explained she was to follow them.

  Knowing she had no choice, she walked with them through the airport until they reached a conference room where she was instructed to sit at a table. One left the room and the other two sat across from her. She groaned inside, irritated with herself for not spotting something like this from a million miles away. Of course the Italian airlines were being watched, probably ever since her phone text had been traced back to Italy. As soon as her name popped up on a flight, they would find her. Jesse had known it too. She guessed that was another reason why he had left so quickly. He was probably out of Rome by now.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked, determined not to play into their hands, whatever they were planning. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  They looked at each other, their frowns deepening. “We aren’t sure what you’ve been up to,” the smaller man with pockmarks on his cheeks said. “But you’ve been reported missing.”

  “So what? I’m an adult. I can leave whenever and wherever I want.” Her throat was swelling up. She needed a drink of water.

  “We’re concerned you’ve been aiding and harboring a United States fugitive,” the bigger man said, interlacing his fingers on the table.

  Naomi swallowed. Was allowing Jesse to use her money aiding him? Well, of course it was, but she hadn’t known he was a fugitive, and he hadn’t used much of her money. Some of it was his. Of course, if she had taken three seconds to think through things with a clear head before leaving for Italy, she might have figured it out. She swallowed again, keeping her mouth shut.

  “Did Jesse hurt you?” the pockmarked man asked, concern knitting his brow. “Did he take you against your will?”

  Her mouth dropped open, but before she could give Jesse away, she clamped it shut again.

  The bigger man leaned forward and studied Naomi’s face, as if staring at her hard enough would make her lies unravel. She glared at him in response. “As you may already know, Mr. Sullivan likes to use different names. Did you happen to notice what alias he’s using right now?”

  Her cheeks started to burn. She wondered if they were bright red, and tried to calm down. Jesse hadn’t told her about any aliases, but she hadn’t bothered asking. She hadn’t even bothered looking at his luggage tags. She shook her head and tried to look stupid. She didn’t have to try very hard—she was stupid. Very stupid. Despite all of that, she denied ever coming to Italy with Jesse. It was one point she knew she must lie about. She had come to get away, she told the men over and over, but her story began falling apart when they started asking her for proof of where she had stayed.

  “In hotels,” she said, keeping her eyes on the biggest man’s face. He had thick sideburns and eyes the color of dishwater. “I paid with cash. I don’t have receipts or anything, I’m sorry. I don’t even remember the names of most of the places.”

  She could see they didn’t believe her. Far from it. They tried to dig deeper, but she had years of practice answering stupid questions. After an hour, they gave up. At the moment, they had no proof of anything.

  “I’m going to miss my flight,” she grumbled with a glance at her luggage piled in the corner.

  “We’ve contacted your parents,” they responded. “Your father was in Germany, and he’s on his way here to pick you up.”

  That was convenient. He was either there on business or her mother had sent him over with some desperate hope he would come searching for her. For some reason, this irritated the hell out of her. What if she had decided to come to Italy on her own? She was an adult. Nobody could stop her. She didn’t have to wait here for her father like she was some scolded child. The only reason any of this was an issue was because Jesse had broken parole and fled at the same time she disappeared. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands, her jaw tight as she looked at the men and considered telling them everything.

  Then she looked down and relaxed. Telling them would get them nothing except dead ends. Jesse was long gone. The more she thought about it, the more she asked herself what information she really had. She wa
sn’t even sure she could find the safe house again. She could describe it, but Jesse had said that wouldn’t get anyone very far. She could tell them about the apartment in Trastevere. She could find that easily. She could tell them Lalia was part of some illegal underground network. She could tell them about the dance club and how the same network owned that too. None of it would matter. She knew nothing of importance. She realized how much Jesse had kept from her and convinced herself it was all to protect her so that when she looked at men like the ones in front of her, she could easily tell them she didn’t know a damned thing. Because, in reality, she didn’t.

  WHEN SHE saw her father, she realized how much she loved him. He was dressed in a sharp gray suit and a teal-colored silk tie that reminded her of fish scales shimmering under water. He wrapped her in his arms, holding her so tightly she thought he might break her in half.

  “We thought we’d lost you again,” he said, releasing a breath so heavy Naomi guessed he had held it in the entire flight to Italy. She folded into him and wrapped her arms around his solidness. He smelled like mints and ink, like an office. It was comforting and familiar, even though she had never realized he was so familiar to her. He had always been in the background, waiting patiently. She stiffened a little as she realized he reminded her of Finn—that same sort of even-tempered strength. She had missed both of them, Finn and her father. She squeezed tighter, knowing it was doubtful she would ever see Finn again. At least on good terms.

  Her father pushed her away so he could look into her face. His expression was stern. He was clean-shaven, his hair styled like some suave GQ model. “Now, explain yourself,” he demanded, his hands on her shoulders a reminder that she had no way out of explaining things to him. The two men had left the room earlier.

  “I’ll tell you everything later,” she promised, looking into his eyes. “I’d like to go home now. Please?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Later, huh?” He searched her face and then relaxed. “I’ve booked us a flight home. It leaves tomorrow morning, so we’ll have to stay in a hotel tonight. I’ll get that taken care of.” He glanced at his watch. “You’re probably starving.”

  “A little,” she said, shrugging. “I’m tired.”

  He glanced up from his watch. “I’ll bet you are.” He paused, scratching his jaw as a hundred emotions played across his face. He was confused and frustrated and she didn’t know how to fix it.

  “Naomi, I ... I don’t know what to say to you, honey. I know you can run off and do whatever you want— you’re your own person, and I’ve always believed in you—but with your past and this whole thing with Jesse, you understand why it wasn’t exactly appropriate to—”

  “I know, Dad.” She looked away, ashamed. She would forever be ashamed.

  “Honey, it will be okay.” He touched her face and she returned her attention to him. “I’m going to speak with the men who brought you here and sort some things out, and then we can go get something to eat.” He raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”

  “Yes, fine, Dad. Everything’s fine.” She slumped back down into her chair and folded her arms. She had been a fool to think she could handle anything on her own.

  XXV

  THERE WERE TWO LAYOVERS ON THE WAY home. By the time they stumbled off the last flight and made it to the parking garage where her father had parked his BMW, Naomi thought she was going to die. Her father’s car had heated seats. She turned on her heater in an attempt to coax out the tension in her lower back.

  “How do you survive that flight three times a year?” she asked, rubbing her shoulders. She didn’t remember feeling so sore from the flight over to Italy, but at that moment in time Jesse’s presence had kept her from caring about anything else.

  He father laughed. “First-class, honey. Sorry I couldn’t get that for this flight. I booked the first one I could. Only coach was available.” He lifted a hand to his neck. “But I hear you—not fun. I’m tired of sitting and waiting. Maybe we should go for a walk on the beach when we get home. I’m sure your mother would love that.”

  Still feeling sulky over having to be rescued, Naomi kept her mouth shut and slumped in her seat. She wanted her iPod, but it was buried in her luggage in the back. Ignoring her father wouldn’t be a smart decision, anyway. He had been nothing but kind and understanding over everything, even when she was sure he knew she was lying about leaving for Italy on her own. At least he wasn’t forcing anything out of her.

  When they pulled into the garage, Naomi slid out of her seat and shut the door. She wasn’t very excited to face her mother’s wrath. Her father motioned for her to follow him into the house.

  “She won’t bite,” he whispered behind his shoulder, and then winked. “Not too hard, anyway.”

  Naomi smirked and nudged his shoulder. If only her mother could be so laid-back. The garage house entrance led into a small sitting room where Naomi took off her shoes and dropped her purse. Her mother was standing at the far end of the room, her arms folded. Naomi could tell she was fighting back tears.

  “How dare you,” she said in a trembling voice, her eyes like knives boring into Naomi’s skull.

  Her father approached her with both his palms up, as if trying to sooth a rabid dog. Her mother refused to look at him. She kept her glare on Naomi, who stood frozen at the other end of the room.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t do it to hurt you. I texted you. You knew I was okay.”

  “No, I didn’t know you were okay,” she retorted. “That text could have come from anyone—from Jesse— anyone who could have taken you again. How was I to know? And you wouldn’t return my calls. We worried, Naomi ... so much. When I heard Jesse broke parole and went missing, I ran to the police. I hired an investigator. I couldn’t handle you disappearing again. I couldn’t—”

  When she burst into tears, Naomi rushed to her and embraced her. Her father stood to the side, a soft smile on his lips. Surprisingly, Naomi didn’t feel emotional at all. She wanted her mother to know how sorry she was, but she wasn’t about to cry. She was too tired from the journey home, and too sick of thinking about the irreversible decision she had made to leave Jesse. She wanted to collapse and sleep for five days straight.

  Her mother backed away and started wiping the palms of her hands across her wet cheeks. Naomi watched her, not knowing what to say

  “Naomi is tired,” her father said, reaching out a hand to rub her mother’s back. “Let’s all get some rest and talk about everything tomorrow, okay? She’s healthy and safe. That’s all that matters right now.”

  Sniffing, her mother nodded. “I’m happy you’re back,” she said to Naomi, touching her hand.

  Naomi tried to smile, but it was difficult. She knew what was coming next. There would be investigators and drama and more counselors. She had brought it all on herself, so she couldn’t complain. All she could do was drag herself upstairs to her room. For a moment, she stared at her bed and wanted to fall into its depths and sleep for eternity. Then she turned her attention to a desk in the corner of her room. On top of it sat a computer she hadn’t touched in ages. Her laptop was in storage back in Massachusetts. Sitting down at the desk, she buried her face in her hands while she waited for the computer to boot up.

  THE NEXT morning, Naomi rolled out of bed and took a long, hot shower. She stared at the clean, white tiles and noticed the new shampoo bottles—tea and mint, like she always used—the unused bar of lemon-scented soap, a shiny razor just taken out of its package. She knew her mother had told the housekeeper to go to the store to buy all these things. The housekeeper would pick up clothes left on the floor. She would make Naomi’s bed. She would cook dinner. Naomi realized how much she had enjoyed living in her house at Harvard, making her own stupid meals, cleaning up her own stupid messes and picking up her own stupid clothes.

  Leaning her forehead against the tiled wall, she let her tears come fast and hard. Sobs made her chest heave. She remembered all those hours she had spent crying in the shower when she was cap
tive. It had been such a haven, then, but now it was an old ritual she wanted to throw away. She was so tired of feeling sorry for herself. She lifted a fist and hit the wall over and over until her tears stopped.

  Showered and dressed, she went downstairs. She didn’t even know what day it was. Had her parents gone to work? She remembered her father’s words from the night before—Let’s get some rest and talk about everything tomorrow, okay?

  And just as he had said, there they were at the breakfast table, waiting for her. Scrambled eggs—please, oh, please no more scrambled eggs to remind her of Eric!— toast and jam, sausage links, and pancakes. There was also a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. A seed was floating on the top near some frothy bubbles.

  Naomi stopped in the doorway of the dining room. She wanted to turn around and run, or keep walking past the table and out the French doors leading to the deck and trails down to the beach. She didn’t want to face her mother looking at her with a warm, concentrated smile. It was almost too forced.

  “We made breakfast for you,” she said, sweeping her arm in front of the food. “Me and your father. Mindy has the day off.”

  Naomi looked at the fluffy pancakes. “You made all of this yourself?”

  Her father looked up, his smile more genuine than his wife’s. “Of course we did. You know we’ve been trying to cook more since your ... escape.”

  He meant the kidnapping or captivity, but Naomi knew how strange it was to say those things. She walked to a chair across the table from both of them and spread her napkin over her lap. Tension hung in the air, mostly from her mother. Naomi started piling up her plate with more food than she could eat. She cut a piece of sausage and stuffed it into her mouth. Maybe if she kept eating, she wouldn’t have to say much.

  Her mother set down her fork. She gave her husband a nervous look.

  “Are you feeling rested?” he asked Naomi.