by Kim Foster
Jack climbed over the edge and gave Ethan the food he had carried up in a backpack. Ethan spread it all out on a tray.
“You ready?” Ethan asked.
“You bet.”
Jack nodded to Ethan, then pulled his ski mask down over his face. He continued climbing from there, up to the roof and over, in the direction of the room where Felix was being held, on the top floor.
Ethan wore a different kind of disguise; his features were covered by a fake mustache, a bushy brown wig, and horn-rimmed glasses.
They knew Felix’s location because late last night, Gladys had been able to hack into and control a surveillance satellite. Infrared showed the one figure that wasn’t moving throughout the house like the others. A figure that must have been tied down.
They also knew two guards were stationed outside the room. It was the guards Ethan would be dealing with tonight.
Ethan crept in through the main corridor and climbed one flight of stairs, carrying the food-laden tray. Applying his persona like a stage actor, he strolled toward the guards, who were playing poker. They weren’t in uniform but wore jeans and T-shirts that clearly showed why they had been hired for the job—muscle power.
The guards immediately looked up as Ethan came into view. The larger one had icy blue eyes. Unusual for an Italian. “Who are you?” the larger one asked—in English. Good, Ethan thought, they’re not local. That would help.
Ethan put on a heavy Italian accent. “I am with Italian branch of Caliga. They let me in downstairs.”
Their suspicion immediately fell away at the sight of the bread and cheese and cured meats. Ethan put the tray down on the table in front of them.
As the guards began to eat, Ethan scanned for CCTV. There was only one camera. He would need to take that one down.
While the guards chewed and laughed noisily, Ethan surreptitiously folded a pellet gun underneath his arm and shot at the CCTV camera. Ethan coughed at the moment the lead pellet went ping, smashing the glass. The guards didn’t notice, digging into the food as they were.
He tried not to smile. His next task was to get the keys. Then he would have to get out, before the guards started to go down from the tranquilizer in the food. The inherent problem with knocking out two guards was that one would go down first. The one with the faster metabolism, the smaller one, whatever. But it was impossible for them to both go out simultaneously.
Ethan spotted the keys resting on the belt of the smaller guard, the less alert-looking one. Ethan reached forward to pour coffee for the man, and flubbed it, dribbling coffee on the man’s shirt.
“Oh, merda, I am sorry—” Ethan dabbed at the guard’s shirt with a napkin. That was the moment he lifted the keys.
The guard looked pissed about the coffee, but there was no flicker of anything else. He hadn’t detected the lift. Ethan looked at his watch. He knew Jack would be in position at the window right outside Felix’s room, would be breaking in any second. Ethan would let him know once the guards had been neutralized. Only a minute more—
The smaller guard began to sway. The larger guard gave him an odd look. “What’s wrong with you?”
And then, the larger guard, as predicted, looked at Ethan with suspicion. “Did you put something in this?” he said through his teeth. “Who are you?” The man stood, narrowed his eyes, and put a hand on his gun holster.
Ethan needed to stall. He had to delay the inevitable physical confrontation as long as possible. “What are you talking about?”
The first guard slumped forward, face-first onto the table. The larger guard looked at him at first with surprise, then with rage before lunging toward Ethan. Ethan backed up. He held his hands up, placating the approaching guard. “It wasn’t me. I just brought the tray they gave me. I have no idea what’s going on.” Shit, it was taking an awfully long time for the tranq to take effect on this one.
A second later, someone was thundering up the stairs. There was no time for Ethan to do anything other than turn, as the newcomer appeared on the landing: Sean Reilly. The son of a bitch thief who’d taken the Lionheart and Felix.
Ethan’s heart dropped into his stomach. Reilly would see the truth in Ethan’s disguise in a second. Not to mention the unconscious guard slumped on the table. The standing guard grabbed his weapon and pointed it at Ethan. “Who are you?” he repeated.
Ethan had no choice but to raise his hands while the guard searched him and removed the gun Ethan had tucked in his waistband.
Reilly’s eyes flicked around the scene, absorbing everything. “Get the keys,” he hissed. “Somebody must be in there, extracting the prisoner.”
Ethan clenched his teeth, thinking fast. Reilly was always two steps ahead. It was what made him a notable adversary.
The guard reached for the keys that were supposed to be hanging on the other man’s belt. He then looked at Ethan with cold murder in his eyes, his gun pointed at Ethan’s head. “Keys. Now.”
Through his earpiece, Jack had heard Ethan making small talk with the guards. He climbed silently through the window, hoping Ethan’s charm would give Jack a few minutes to get Felix out of there. Now it seemed like things had hit a snag. A major snag. He needed to move fast.
The room consisted of crumbling, bare plaster walls and scoured hardwood parquet floors, and it smelled of sweat, salt, and mildew. In the center was Felix, handcuffed to a chair. His face bore bruises, and there was dried blood around his nose. His head flopped to the side but his chest rose and fell.
Jack’s throat constricted at the sight of Felix, chained and beaten. Had he been drugged? How was it possible Jack hadn’t even known of his own half brother’s existence until a few days ago?
He approached Felix. There was a chance he was only sleeping, in which case he could wake at any second and holler. When Jack was close enough he pushed his ski mask off his own face and crouched right in front of Felix. He covered the man’s mouth.
Felix immediately gave a muffled shout through Jack’s hand, and his eyes popped open—instant recognition flooded through Jack. His father’s eyes. It almost threw him off his game entirely.
“It’s okay,” Jack hissed. “I’m with Cat and I’m getting you out of here. Be quiet.”
Felix nodded and Jack released his mouth. Jack untied the ropes that bound Felix’s feet and arms. His wrists remained linked with handcuffs. Jack scanned the room for a ring of keys left somewhere, but he saw nothing. He’d have to pick the lock. As he worked, Felix watched him carefully, eyes wide. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Felix said in a low voice.
Jack looked up. There was something in Felix’s tone. “You know who I am,” Jack said. It was more of a statement than a question. Felix nodded.
Jack got the handcuffs loose and they dashed for the window, just as shouting came from the corridor and hammering reverberated on the door. Jack couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but it didn’t matter. They had to get out now.
Ethan dove away, ready to feel a bullet smash through him. But there was no shot, no sound. The next sound was the guard hitting the floor, unconscious. At last, the tranq had taken effect.
Ethan used that as his window of opportunity to get away. He turned and sprinted up the staircase, as Reilly shouted into his walkie-talkie: “There’s an intruder. The prisoner is making a getaway attempt . . .”
A few seconds later, shots rang out as Reilly fired after him.
Ethan flew up the staircase. At the top, a window was open, its shutters flung wide due to the summer heat. He climbed through it in a heartbeat, hearing Reilly thundering up the staircase after him.
Ethan swung himself outside, scaled a short distance upward, and hauled his body onto the roof. If he were lucky, Reilly wouldn’t have seen him slip out this way.
“Barlow—do you have Felix? Is he secure?” Ethan whispered.
“Yes, we’re out the window. Heading toward the boat. You?”
“Got a little trouble. But I’m going to make my way to the ext
raction point. It may take me a few extra minutes, so you two go ahead, get Felix out of here.”
Ethan deftly leapt from roof to roof, feet searching for steadiness on the clay tiles. He moved as quickly as possible, moonlight lighting his way, heart pounding, eager to get as much distance as possible from Reilly. He focused on his breathing. Almost there.
A shot zinged by his head, barely missing him. He dropped low and glanced over his shoulder. Reilly was closing in on him.
Chapter Thirty
I stared at Brooke in disbelief, trapped in the vault room. How could she? Caliga was the enemy.
“Why, Brooke?”
She shrugged. “They are a different organization than when Sandor was in charge. They’ve really cleaned house, Cat. They’re not so bad—”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear it. You sound like you’ve been brainwashed.”
She smiled. “I’m not surprised you feel that way.”
I flicked a glance behind her. I needed to find a way out of here. “Are you really telling me the reason you’re working for Caliga is because they’re ‘not so bad’?”
“You’re right. The most important reason? I like to be on the winning team.”
My mouth curled in distaste. “Even if it means that people get hurt?”
“Cat, we operate in the criminal underground. Sometimes people are going to get hurt.” A hint of disgust flickered across her face. “You’re a criminal, too. You’re delusional if you think you can function in this world and still have lily white hands. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”
I clenched and opened my fingers. I didn’t like how much sense that made.
I needed to stall so I could figure out how far she would go to stop me. “Why does Caliga want this ring so badly?”
“You know I can’t tell you that. Suffice it to say, however, we have big plans. It’s really exciting, Cat. You would love it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why is it only you here, anyway? Where’s your whole ‘winning team’?” I asked.
“They didn’t think you would be down here already.” Brooke shrugged. “They underestimated you. I was the only one who knew you’d be here.”
In spite of myself, I felt a small glow of pride at that. And discomfort that she knew me so well.
“Anyway, here’s the deal. You can’t have this ring, Cat.”
“Because you’re going to stop me?”
“Yes.” And then Brooke pulled a gun on me. “This is your chance to join us.”
“You know I’m not going to do that.”
She nodded, expecting my answer. I took stock of the distances. I could make it to the open hatch—it was just a few feet to my left. But I wouldn’t have time to put on the oxygen tank and connect it to my breathing mask. Plus, if I made a move, there was a good chance Brooke would shoot me, despite our history.
“So what are you going to do? If you let them capture me, you know they’ll probably kill me.”
I could see a flicker of hesitation in Brooke’s eyes. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through. Maybe she didn’t know what her next move should be.
But I knew what mine would be.
I sprinted toward the hatch and immediately dove straight into the open square, plunging into the icy water without my oxygen tank.
I could make it. I had to. I’d needed the tanks because I had to hover for a while, cutting through the floor. But all I had to do now was swim straight out to the surface.
I swam hard, legs kicking powerfully. I knew the adrenaline blast from my escape would only last so long, and I had farther to swim. I prayed I wouldn’t experience a dizzy spell or get disoriented before reaching the surface. My legs tired and my lungs felt like they were going to implode. I tried to keep calm, to preserve energy and oxygen. At last my head broke the water’s surface and I gasped for air. I had made it.
But there was a big problem.
The alarms were clanging in Caliga’s palazzo. Lookouts carrying semiautomatics ran along the upper edges of the building, scanning the canal. I floated in the water, like a bobbing cork for target practice. I was about to take another breath and duck down under the water’s surface when, out of nowhere, a speedboat appeared. It roared up beside me. Shit. I was caught.
But then I heard a voice I recognized. “Get in!” Atworthy—my professor—hollered. He tossed me a line and reached his hand down.
I scrambled onto the boat. The ruckus continued on the roof, but it seemed they weren’t looking for me. Which meant they were probably looking for Jack, Ethan, and Felix.
In an instant Atworthy maneuvered the boat away, and worked on getting us lost down canals.
“How did you get here?” I shouted over the engine.
“Remember, I still have a lot of connections. There was chatter about a thief getting herself into some trouble with Caliga. I tried to get in touch with you on your cell, but I kept getting a message about the number being unavailable.”
“And so you came to Italy?” I said in disbelief.
“I happened to be here for a conference on European Literature this week,” he said. “I’ve known Venice was Caliga headquarters for quite some time,” he said.
I heard his words, muffled as they were through my waterlogged ears. But it was too much to process. And I was too exhausted to question it.
I needed to know what was happening with Ethan and Jack. I pulled my earpiece out of my waterproof pack, and fitted it into my ear. “Ethan, Jack—can you hear me? Do you have Felix?” I barked.
There was no answer for a long time. I started to panic. And then, I got a crackly response. “Affirmative! I have him.” It was Jack. “We’re heading to the safe house. Jones is still on the rooftops, trying to shake a tail.”
I bit my thumbnail, trying not to worry about Ethan. The relief over Felix caused me to slump back in the seat and exhale.
“Do you have the ring, Cat?” Jack asked.
I closed my eyes against the crush of defeat.
“No,” I said, hating the way it sounded.
Jack was quiet a moment, then said, “Never mind. You’ll get another shot.”
We disconnected after agreeing to meet at the safe house.
Atworthy slowed now, gliding through the tangle of canals, switching back and forth. The engine came to a low rumble, to attract a minimum of attention. But we kept moving, which improved my comfort level.
“Where am I taking you?” Atworthy asked.
I gave him directions to the safe house. At the next crossing, he steered the boat in the new heading.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ethan wasn’t surprised Reilly could leap the roof tiles as deftly as he could. Of course—the man was a burglar, first and foremost. Rooftops were his office, as they were for Ethan.
“Esmerelda, you there?” Ethan said into his earpiece. “I need an extraction.” He changed direction, sliding halfway down the rooftop, to a lower building abutting the palazzo.
He imagined the blueprint of the palazzo, steering clear of the room where Felix was being held. He needed to draw Reilly away from Felix and Jack making their escape.
There was silence except for Ethan’s breathing, loud in his ears, as he tried to put distance between himself and Reilly. Where the hell was Esmerelda?
Then came a crackle in his earpiece. “Get to the Grand Canal,” Esmerelda’s voice burst through the static. “Anywhere near the Scalzi Bridge. I can pick you up there.”
Okay, he could do that. Meanwhile, he would continue heading in the opposite direction from Jack and Felix. If he could lead Reilly off for a while, that would help them get away.
He raced along the spine of a rooftop. He stayed light on his feet like a cat. One slip the wrong way and he’d go sliding down the tiles into the water.
He ran and leapt across a small canal, landing on a rooftop on the other side. He almost lost his balance; the tiles on this roof were crumbling and wobbly. He slid halfway down, then regained his footing. He
swung down quickly onto a lower rooftop, sprinted along it for a few minutes, then climbed back to the upper level. He caught a glimpse of the shimmering water of the Grand Canal. He was getting close.
And then he saw Reilly, running at him from a different rooftop, at an angle designed to cut him off, to stop his route to the Grand Canal. The man was perfectly designed for this kind of activity: lean, aggressive, and agile.
Ethan jumped across another tiny canal, heart thundering, and pulled himself down into a loggia, out of view. In a few steps he lunged across the open-air loggia and out through the other side. Where to go now? He needed to get away from the last point where Reilly had seen him, then he could surface at another location.
If he went down to street level, would he be able to find his way to the Grand Canal? Venetian streets and canals were a rabbit warren—he couldn’t be sure his sense of direction wouldn’t fail him.
He ran along another low balcony ledge for several feet, then leapt across to a neighboring villa, staying low. After another block like this, Ethan peered over the roof’s edge and hauled himself onto the rooftop.
Reilly was nowhere to be seen, and neither were any of the other men Ethan knew had been following along on street level. He then realized he wasn’t hearing any gunshots, either. And—now that he thought about it—Reilly hadn’t fired at him once since leaving the palazzo, even when he’d been within range.
Had Reilly changed tactics? Perhaps now he wanted to capture him, if he could. For information, or whatever else they could get out of him.
But the idea of being merely captured by Reilly and his team, and not killed, offered very little comfort. Ethan ran across the rooftop spines, sprinting now, trying to get as far away as possible. Then Reilly popped up in view, much too close.
Ethan made an abrupt turn and sprang to a neighboring roof. Reilly followed, made the leap. Ethan saw his face: pure, snarling hatred.
Reilly followed the same path as Ethan now, and he was gaining on him. The shouts from the other members of Caliga down below on the streets filtered up to Ethan’s ears. They were fanning out, covering the area. Ethan’s mouth went dry as he faced the fact that his window for escape was narrowing.
