by Lisa Harris
She darted under his arm and past him. He hesitated before following her, wondering where she thought she was going.
He followed her into the connecting car, as the train began to suddenly slow down, brakes squealing as it turned another corner.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Joe?”
He glanced behind him. Talia stood behind him, carrying their backpacks. “I told you to stay in your seat.”
“I didn’t want to leave our bags, but I panicked when I saw you leave our train car. Did she say anything?”
“No, but her expression did when I told her I was FBI. And I think she just stopped the train.”
Glass doors opened ahead of them. She hadn’t just stopped the train, she was getting off.
He could see the lights of the next station ahead as the train slowed to a stop. He hesitated before jumping off the train to follow her.
“Joe…”
He could still see the woman as she ran alongside the tracks. How was he supposed to protect Talia and go after their suspect at the same time? But he needed to know who this person was.
“Stay on the train, Talia.”
He started running after the woman. Seconds later, two officers wearing polo shirts came around the bend, their weapons pointed at him. He stopped, then glanced behind him to where Talia stood out of breath, her eyes wide in horror.
“Talia…”
“The two of you need to come with us now.”
SEVEN
“I’ve told you everything I know.” Talia squeezed her hands in her lap until her nails bit into her palms. How had a simple train ride north turned into such a nightmare? “There was a woman on the train that looked familiar. I’d been followed earlier today. My apartment broken into. We thought she might somehow be involved. We just wanted to speak with her.”
“What happened next?” The officer who had been questioning her for the past twenty minutes sat back in his chair and spoke to her in Italian, his gaze unwavering.
“I don’t know.” She slid to the edge of her seat and tapped her feet against the ground. “Agent Bryant left to ask her some questions. I came behind him a minute later. Then she pushed the emergency button to stop the train.”
“And when the train stopped?”
“She got off.”
She glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall. Every minute here meant another minute they weren’t looking for the paintings.
A second man opened the door and signaled her interrogator to step out of the room.
The following minute alone was almost as bad as the barrage of questions. All she could hear was the ticking of the clock. Her feet tapped against the tiled floor. She had no idea where Joe was or what they were asking him.
I need some wisdom, God.
She needed for them to let her go.
This time both of the men stepped into the room.
She dropped her hands to her sides and stood up. “Can I go now? Please.”
“Not yet.” He nodded at the first man. “We have a few more questions we need to ask you. It’s regarding the murder of your husband.”
Talia felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. As if she’d just fallen into some dark, tunnel in Alice’s Wonderland and there was no way out.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “My husband? I don’t understand what he has to do with any of this.”
“Please. Just sit down.”
Talia sat back down on the cold metal chair and felt the walls of the interrogation room close in around her. Her heart pounded inside her chest. Her hands felt sweaty. How had a this turned into an interrogation about Thomas? She let out a sharp breath. She’d been here before. It might be a different country and a different city, but it felt like the exact same room. The same looks shot at her by the uniformed men sitting on the other side of the table, staring at her as if she was guilty.
The questions had come in a steady stream the night Thomas died. Had you and your husband been having problems in your marriage? What was your financial situation? Did you know anything about the extra money they’d found in a wired account?
She’d sat there answering question after question for what seemed like hours. It wasn’t until later that she’d found out that Thomas had been stealing from drug raids and other confiscated property. He was dead and unable to defend himself, but that hadn’t stopped them from figuring out what he’d done.
At first, though, she hadn’t believed them. She’d tried to convince them that Thomas would never have done something like that. But they’d quickly told her that all wives believed their husbands were innocent and implied she’d simply been too blind to see the truth.
Over the days and weeks that had followed, the reality of what he’d done finally began to sink in. How could she not have seen that something was wrong? Not to have known who he really was? His actions had left her shattered.
And now it was happening again.
“What does my husband’s murder have to do with what happened today? He’s been dead for three years.”
“We had a tip—”
“Wait a minute…what kind of tip?”
The older of the two officers leaned forward and spoke to her in Italian. “We understand that your husband was accused of stealing, including some valuable paintings.”
“How do you know that?”
“We will ask the questions. Is that true?”
Talia blinked back the tears. “Yes.”
“So here’s what I think might have happened. Your husband stole the money and paintings, but was unfortunately killed. But that didn’t stop you from holding on to what you had until you could dispose of the items for a profit.”
She ran her palm across her forehead as they kept asking question after question. It was so hot in the room. Stifling hot. These were the same accusations she’d already heard. She glanced up at the second hand still ticking in the corner of the room. Some of the paint had chipped away along the edges of the ceiling. It didn’t matter what she said. They didn’t believe her.
“That case has been closed for years,” she said. “My husband was found guilty, and I accept that, but I had nothing to with his death or the things that he stole. Just like I had nothing to do with stopping the train.”
She reached for the bottle of water sitting in the middle of the table. Her head was swimming both from fatigue and fear.
The older man took a call, then stood up and nodded at her. “You’re free to leave. For now.”
She hesitated, wanting more information, but she clearly wasn’t going to get it. Instead, she stepped out of the room. Joe was standing at the end of the hallway.
He started toward her. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” Her hands and legs were shaking. She felt weak and unsettled. And she just wanted to wake up from the nightmare.
“What did they want to know?” he asked.
“Questions about what we were doing on that train…and Thomas.”
“Thomas?” Joe squeezed her shoulder before pulling his hand away. “I don’t understand. Why would they bring his case up?”
“I asked them the same thing. They wouldn’t give me a name, but someone called in a tip of some kind. But…” She fought back the emotions, trying not to cry. “It was like—it was like I was there again. The night Thomas died. The same questions and accusations about my involvement.”
“I’m wondering if whoever’s behind this has decided they don’t want you getting to Venice.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He looked past her, as if he was trying to put the pieces together. “Think about it. Someone calls in an anonymous tip. Brings up questions about a murder you were once tied to—”
“And we get stuck defending ourselves to the police.” The theory sent chills shooting up her spine. “But why? Do you think they just want us out of the picture now?”
“Maybe. If they kn
ow we’re heading to Venice, they’ve probably also figured out you have family there. And maybe they’ve concluded that you know the paintings are there.”
“And if they get there first, they don’t have to risk my keeping them for myself or turning them over to the FBI.”
“We need to get to Venice,” he said, turning back to her.
“It’s too late now. The last train has already left, which means we can’t get there ’til tomorrow.”
She looked up at him and drew in a deep breath of frustration, unable to stop the surge of emotions. Exhaustion mingled with panic, making it hard for her to think clearly. They needed to put an end to this, but at this point, she didn’t even know how.
She felt her eyes brim with tears. She started to turn away, but Joe pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of this. But we’re going to figure a way out.”
She gave in and melted against his chest. She could feel her heart pounding against his. Smell the faint scent of his citrusy cologne. She pushed aside the unwanted feelings of attraction. That was a place she wasn’t going.
Her phone rang, and she took a step back—both from Joe and her conflicted emotions—and answered the phone. It was Thomas’s brother. She’d called him when they’d left Rome to tell him they were on their way, then forgotten to tell him they’d been delayed.
“Marco?”
“I was just calling to see what time your train was coming in. I thought you’d already be here by now.”
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “We had a bit of a holdup, but we’ll be on the first train out of Florence in the morning, which should put us in Venice around ten thirty.”
“No problem. I’m heading out on the boat with Celso and a couple other friends for a late dinner, and didn’t want to miss you. Just call me when you get in tomorrow. I’ll be working, but should be able to stop by and let you into the house.”
“I appreciate it.”
She hesitated, wondering if she should say more. But she didn’t want to tell him what was going on. Didn’t want to take any chances of putting his life in danger. The less he knew, the better.
“Is everything okay?” he said. “You sound… I don’t know. Upset.”
“I’m fine. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
Talia hung up the phone, then stared at the cold, white tile of the police station as she walked outside beside Joe. They were stuck in Florence until morning and there was nothing she could do about it for now.
But what if tomorrow was too late?
*
Joe could see the fatigue in Talia’s eyes as they walked out of the station. Darkness had long since fallen over the city, leaving its ancient landmarks aglow in yellow lights and leaving Talia looking over her shoulder.
He searched for what to say to her that would help. He could still smell the scent of vanilla from her hair when he’d stepped over the line and impulsively drawn her into his arms. But he knew how she felt. That fear she’d gone through in the hours and days after Thomas’s death had only compounded with the feelings of betrayal.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“I’ll book a couple of rooms for us to stay in tonight. Then in the morning I’ll talk with my contact in the Carabinieri, see if we can get some answers before we catch our train out of here.”
It was what he did best. Whether it was his job or his personal life, he was used to making strategic plans, and then carrying them out. He glanced at her in the glow of the streetlight and caught the faraway look in her eyes. The tense set of her jaw. Except there were some things he didn’t know how to fix.
They kept walking side by side down the cobblestone sidewalk in silence. A group of musicians played music in a large square that was edged with restaurants and cafés. Even after dark, it was still busy with tourists and locals sitting outside a handful of cafés drinking coffee and eating.
“Do you ever feel like no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the past’s hold?” she asked, breaking the silence between them.
“Yeah, actually. I have.”
His thoughts jumped to Natasha. How often had her lies kept him from taking another chance at falling in love? And then there was the death of his brother. Wanting to find whoever had killed him had become so entwined in everything he did that Joe could hardly see past it anymore.
“Thomas has been dead for three years,” she continued. “And yet the case closed without my ever really getting all the answers. I somehow have managed to come to the point where I could accept everything that happened. But now…it’s all being drudged up again. And the bottom line…” She paused. “The bottom line is I’m scared. Scared of what might happen to my sister and to me. I guess I just want all of this to be over, but I also know that running won’t help. But if I don’t run… I don’t know. I feel like a sitting duck right now.”
Yellow lights reflected off the bridge on the dark water as they approached the river. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t promise that everything would turn out okay.
“My mother used to always tell me I was destined to save the world. I was always rooting for the underdog and believing everyone deserved justice. Both the good guys and the bad guys.” They passed a man playing a violin for change. He tossed in a couple coins as they walked by, unexpectedly stirred by the both the music and Talia’s company. “Sometimes the biggest struggle for me comes when you can’t save everyone. When you can’t stop bad things from happening. It makes you vulnerable and, yes, even scared.”
“Maybe that’s why God is trying to teach me, that there are always going to be both good and bad in this world. That sometimes bad things happen to good people. That loss is as much a part of life as love is.”
“I understand loss, but I know that losing a sibling can’t compare to losing a spouse—”
“No, but you get how hard it is. How life will never quite be the same without that person. I guess it helps knowing that. I found that not everyone knows how to deal with loss or how to help someone else through it.”
“And now?”
“I can see that God’s heart was breaking along with mine. That death was never a part of His original plan, but instead a result of a fallen world.” She let out a low laugh and shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so philosophical. I’m usually not so serious, but this situation has managed to pull me back to a place I’m not sure I want to be.”
“Trust me. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
He kept walking, wondering how he’d allowed himself to let things get so personal. But she was the kind of person he could hold a deep conversation with and come away challenged. It was what he’d missed.
He was right that losing a brother wasn’t the same as losing a spouse, but it was still loss. He understood that there were triggers that transported people back to that place of darkness. That even after all these years and the healing she’d gone through, it was normal for her to struggle with Thomas’s death.
“And that other side of grief. Do you feel like you’ve found it yet?”
“Yes. Not that it’s vanished completely, but there is joy and a renewed sense of living and purpose.”
“I’m sorry for what you’ve had to go through. Losing a husband is hard enough. Knowing how he died and what he was involved in had to magnify the loss.”
“It did. But enough about me. Tell me more about your brother. Were you close?”
He shifted his thoughts back to Ryan. It was still hard to believe he’d been gone already for three months. Sometimes it felt as if it was just yesterday when he’d last seen him.
“It was only the two of us growing up, so while we fought as kids, we became close later on. My parents always wanted more children—I’m assuming some girls—but instead they got stuck with two active boys who pushed the limits and challenged them every waking moment.”
Talia laughed. “Why am
I not surprised?”
“He was always adventurous. He loved travel, reading fantasy and sci-fi. Oh, and he was a huge New York Yankees fan.”
She slowed down beside him, and he compensated to match her steps. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it? All the lights illuminating the old buildings.”
“I’ve traveled some, but this is topping my list of favorite places to visit.”
“Wait until you see it in the daylight. The architecture, statues and churches. There is also an incredible panoramic view from Michelangelo Square. I wish I had time to take you there today.”
“Maybe someday.”
Because he enjoyed seeing the world from her point of view. Things that he might simply walk by and miss. And it wasn’t just because she was a tour guide. There was a passion in her voice as she talked. But the reality of what they were dealing with was evident in her voice, as well. And it brought with it a reminder of what they were facing.
“Would you like to stop somewhere and eat?” he asked, needing a distraction. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”
“I’m not really hungry, but there’s a place nearby that serves pizza and pasta late.”
He glanced at her profile as they started down the narrow street toward the restaurant. He knew she was scared. He was used to dealing with criminal cases, but she was an artist. A tour guide with a love of travel and history. She wasn’t used to dealing with threats on her life. Which meant he was going to have to do everything in his power to keep her safe.
EIGHT
Talia glanced at her cell phone in the darkened hotel room. It was just before six in the morning. So much for a good night’s sleep. She’d been awake since three and had only managed to doze on and off since then. And she’d desperately needed the rest. Her body felt exhausted from both the lack of sleep and the stress. But her mind hadn’t been able to stop running. Too much had changed over the past twenty-four hours. Including having Joe Bryant in her life.
Sitting across from him in the quiet atmosphere the night before had given her a few minutes to almost forget why they were here. Almost. But nothing could erase the events of the day.
It was impossible not to bring up the past. Doing so was like pulling the scab off an old wound. It hurt. And just when she’d begun to feel as if she could stop running and move on with her life.
