by Kim Foster
He raced up an exterior staircase and back onto the rooftop, Reilly uncomfortably close behind.
Two rooftops lay before him—a choice. One was perfect for parkour, new tiles in a tight pattern, but it was a less direct route to the Canal; the other roof’s tiles were old and fragile-looking. But it was a direct path to the Grand Canal and the Scalzi Bridge. Ethan took a deep breath and vaulted onto the old rooftop. He struggled to keep his balance then started sprinting.
Reilly didn’t hesitate. He leapt the divide.
Shit. Ethan would have to turn and face him. Fine. He was bigger and stronger than Reilly. He could take him down. As long as he was right in his guess that Reilly wouldn’t actually shoot him. Ethan turned abruptly to face his pursuer.
Reilly’s eyes went wide—he hadn’t been expecting that. There was a slight wobble as he pulled up to a stop and readjusted his footing. The tile under Reilly’s feet, instead of merely wobbling, cracked and gave way completely. Then all the tiles underneath Reilly collapsed like sliding cards, folding into a pack and taking Reilly with them. He slid straight down the rooftop and all the way into the cold canal below.
Ethan wasted no time. He turned and fled across the lone rooftop that stood in the way of the Grand Canal. When he reached the edge, he glanced down and saw Esmerelda in the powerboat, far below. She stood and signaled to him.
And then he spotted Reilly, again, dripping wet and climbing onto a lower balcony. Did the man ever give up? He pulled out a gun from his waistband and pointed it directly at Ethan.
Okay, maybe he’d changed his mind about the capturing-him-alive thing.
It was a long shot; Ethan wasn’t sure he’d take it. And then, Reilly’s glance moved toward the canal, locking on Esmerelda, who was waiting in the boat far below. He readjusted his aim.
A shot rang out. Esmerelda’s head snapped to the side as blood and tissue spurted out of her skull. She slumped and her body flopped, lifelessly, over the side of the boat and into the water.
“No!” Ethan roared.
He ran straight down the rooftop toward the water and leaped into the air.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jack and Felix slipped through the lanes and side streets of the Castello region of Venice, sticking to the shadows, moving quickly. As far as Jack could tell, nobody was pursuing them. He glanced with concern at Felix, breathing heavily beside him. They needed to get to the safe house.
He heard muffled sounds coming from far away—an urgent shout, perhaps—but nothing specific. His earpiece, unfortunately, had come loose and fallen out when they were making their escape through the window.
Now he had no idea what was going on with the others, and that worried him. One thing he did know, however: it was because of Ethan’s actions that he and Felix had managed to get away.
Jack heard a gunshot. The sound ricocheted through the misty air from far away, closer to the Grand Canal. Jack closed his eyes as dread clamped around his gut—could that have been Cat? Or . . . Ethan? He didn’t care for Ethan Jones, but that didn’t mean he wanted him shot. Especially not after he’d taken additional risk to draw Caliga away from Jack and Felix.
Lanterns glimmered in the dark waters of the canals. The smell of fish and salt was less potent at night than in the full heat of the day. Jack took a sidelong glance at Felix’s beaten face.
They had to keep moving. Jack couldn’t do anything to help Ethan or Cat right now. The most important thing was getting Felix to safety. They made a sharp left turn and after a few more minutes were nearly at the safe house. Almost clear.
They entered a small alley. In the shadows of the tall buildings, Jack spun and faced Felix. His burning questions would not wait one minute longer. It was time for some answers.
“Why?” Jack demanded. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I had a brother?”
Felix’s eyes popped wide with shock. He said nothing. Then he looked away for a long time, and when he looked back, his eyes had grown dark. “You already had everything. Do you really think you deserved to have even more?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Our father chose you. He chose to be with you. Me and my mother—we were tossed aside.”
Jack opened his mouth in retort, then quickly closed it.
Felix spat into the gutter beside them. “Sure, he visited once in a while. Maybe you remember him being away from time to time.”
Jack did remember that. All those times Jack’s father, the great John Robie, had been away on “business.” He’d later learned that business typically involved the execution of high-stakes burglaries. But . . . maybe that hadn’t been the case every time.
“And sure, he taught me one or two cool things,” Felix said. “Enough to pique my interest in his line of work. When I got old enough, I did my own detective work and figured out where his real home was. We were living in New Jersey at the time. It sure wasn’t the South of France, I’ll tell you that.”
Jack’s father had moved the family to Saint-Tropez on the French Riviera. That was where Jack had grown up, attending exclusive American schools for ex-pats.
Felix’s voice cracked with emotion. “Do you have any idea how devastating it is for a kid to realize his father has a whole other life? And one that he prefers?”
Jack felt renewed disgust for his father. How could he have abandoned Felix? There were so many questions that would remain unanswered. Felix stood in front of him, with fists in tight balls at his sides. Jack’s chest ached.
“By the time I figured out the truth, your mother had been dead for years,” Felix said. “But our dad had remarried. I overheard a conversation with my mother once. He said you were going through a difficult stage. That you wouldn’t be able to share him with anyone else. He needed to fix things with you, first, before bringing another kid into the family.”
“But that never happened,” Jack said in a low voice, looking down.
“No. It never did.”
In a blinding flash, Jack remembered a fragment of conversation with his father, years ago. His father had said something about “growing” their family. Jack hadn’t wanted to hear anything he had to say at that time. He was in such a dark place with his father at that point, having just learned about his secret profession. The betrayal of that had been fresh and raw, and Jack would have been damned before he let John Robie get something he seemed to want.
And then, another memory surged. John Robie’s will being read as Jack sat in an expensive leather chair in the lawyer’s office. The solicitor had mentioned a small amount going to somebody or other in New Jersey. Everything else had gone to Jack. He had assumed the person in the States was some kind of old friend, or shady colleague or something. He’d been so shaken up by the sudden death of his father, and the unwanted inheritance, he hadn’t bothered to look into it any further.
Jack’s gut twisted. It looked like John Robie hadn’t been the only monster in his family. A selfish adolescent boy had hurt people, too. Because of his rage and angst, Jack had ensured Felix’s rejection. It was, at least in part, his fault.
“Felix, I can’t change any of that. I wish I could, but I can’t.” But maybe he could still make up for it, somehow. “You’re getting home safe. I’m going to see to that.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I gripped the seat as Atworthy took the speedboat around a corner. We were almost at the Grand Canal. Once we got to the bigger waterway, the artery of the city, it would be much easier to move quickly and get away.
As we arrived at the mouth of the canal, however, something caught my eye: movement, on the rooftop of a building that overlooked the canal.
It was Ethan.
I jolted upright with alarm. What was going on? He was supposed to be far away from here.
I followed Ethan’s line of sight. Down in the Grand Canal was a speedboat with Esmerelda at the wheel. She was looking up at him, waiting for him to . . . jump?
A shot rang out, shattering the pe
ace. Esmerelda’s head snapped back and blood spurted out of it. It was a direct hit. In slow motion I saw her body collapse and fall over the boat’s edge into the water with a splash.
“NO!” I screamed, and heard an echo of the same sound coming from the rooftops. The air left my lungs. In the next instant Ethan leaped into the air, jumping off the rooftop. He hit the water and swam several quick strokes to the side of the boat. He was up on board in a second. My heart slammed against my rib cage, expecting him to be shot also, any moment. But there was no second shot. Where was the shooter?
A boat rounded the bend, coming fast. Caliga. It was like staring at a terrifying movie. Ethan was scanning the water, frantically searching for Esmerelda’s body.
“Ethan, just go,” I hissed into my earpiece. “There’s nothing you can do.”
There was no response. But I knew Esmerelda was dead. She had been shot in the head, an unsurvivable hit.
At last Ethan grasped the steering wheel and the boat roared forward. He sped off, away from Caliga and away from us.
I spotted a familiar figure standing beside a motorcycle on the bridge Ethan sped underneath. Raven hair flapped in the breeze coming off the canal.
Brooke had seen everything. She must have grabbed that motorcycle and raced straight here from Caliga’s palazzo. She stepped forward, and the lanterns on the bridge illuminated her face. Her expression was one of unmistakable horror.
“We have to get out of here, Catherine,” Atworthy said. I nodded, wordlessly. He pushed the throttle forward and we moved swiftly away. He quickly got us lost in the canals.
Once I found my voice, I gave him directions to our safe house. As we made our way, the scene of Esmerelda getting shot replayed in my mind, like a grisly loop.
I couldn’t help thinking about my mother.
“It was my fault,” I mumbled. “Esmerelda was helping us—helping me.” I turned away, hot tears burning my eyes. “How many more people are going to get hurt because of me?”
Atworthy glanced over his shoulder at me. He hesitated a moment before speaking. “Esmerelda knew what she was doing. You didn’t force her into anything. She was here in Venice because she wanted to help. Plus, it was part of her job.”
I said nothing, staring behind us at the rippling wake from our boat. Within minutes, we arrived at the safe house.
On my instruction, Atworthy brought me to the secret entrance. It was a gate, a glassblower’s studio, deserted and dark. The boat pulled up to the tiny campo. “It’s this way,” I said.
“I’m not coming in,” he said. “I’ve stretched the bounds of my cover too much as it is. It would be difficult to explain if I didn’t show up to give my lecture at the conference tomorrow.”
I nodded numbly. I couldn’t ask him to risk any more. And for Atworthy, simply being in Europe was dicey. He was in the witness protection program, having fled from France years ago and the people who wanted retribution for his desertion as an assassin.
A minute later he was off again, steering the boat through the darkened waters, heading back toward the Grand Canal.
I slipped through the gate and into our safe house.
Jack and Felix were inside. I felt a small ripple of relief when I saw Felix, rescued and safe. But it was not enough to overpower the tremendous feeling of despair over Esmerelda.
At the sight of me, Jack knew something horrible had happened. His eyes took me in, scanning over my body quickly, and he looked relieved to see I wasn’t injured. He immediately grabbed me and held me in a very strong embrace. “It’s over. You’re safe,” he said. And then, “What happened?”
I squeezed my eyes tight. He put a hand on my head, stroked my hair, but said nothing for a moment. Then he pulled back and looked in my eyes. “Tell me.”
He watched me steadily, holding me up with that rock-solid gaze, as I described what had happened to Esmerelda. He remained quiet, but I saw sadness and fury cloud his eyes.
Ethan wasn’t there yet. He’d be arriving any second. I hoped he would, anyway. I knew he would have to take a more circuitous route to shake off Caliga. I prayed he would be able to do that. The image of Esmerelda being shot, her body dropping into the deep, dark Venetian waters, flashed in my mind again.
But my despair soon turned to a cold, hard determination.
Caliga. They had to be stopped.
Chapter Thirty-Four
In the safe house, Jack forced himself to watch Cat’s eyes steadily as she told him about Esmerelda’s murder. He knew she needed him to be strong, and the sight of her so distraught, wet and shaking in her scuba suit, flared every protective urge he possessed.
And then her expression slowly changed—he could see it happening in her eyes, as she gazed back at him. He watched her anguish compress into something fierce.
“I need to contact Gladys,” Cat said abruptly. “And Templeton. We need to plan our next move—”
“Cat,” Jack interrupted gently. “Just breathe. It’s been a hell of a night. Why don’t you take a minute for yourself, okay? We’ll figure everything out soon enough.”
Cat hesitated and then nodded. She excused herself to the washroom. Jack watched her walk away and raked a hand through his hair.
A minute later, Ethan arrived. “Were you followed?” Jack demanded sharply.
Ethan shook his head. He was still damp from his swim in the canal, and his eyes looked haunted. There was no need to discuss Esmerelda’s death. They all knew the situation by now.
Cat returned to the main room, and Ethan looked quickly at her, suddenly hopeful. “The ring?”
Jack flinched. Cat swallowed and shook her head, then told them the whole story of what had happened in the vault. Jack’s eyebrows lifted when she got to the part about Brooke. “So Brooke Sinclair is fully Caliga now?”
Cat nodded. And then hesitated. “Well, I’m not sure about fully. After Esmerelda was shot—I saw her face. She was there, she’d raced to the Grand Canal, probably in pursuit of me . . . and she saw what happened to Esmerelda. And there was no mistaking her revulsion.”
Everyone was silent a moment.
“I don’t think she knows what she signed up for, joining them,” Cat said.
“Well, perhaps she didn’t,” Jack said, “but she does now.”
Ethan turned to Felix. “Who’s in charge? Is it Reilly?”
Felix shook his head. “Reilly is high up, but he’s not the man at the top.”
“So who is?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know,” Felix admitted. “They spoke of him, but they didn’t use his name. And I never saw him. I don’t even know if he’s here, in Venice.”
Ethan pursed his mouth and exhaled hard. “So what now?” he asked. “Do we try again?”
Felix shook his head. “You won’t be able to try in Venice again. They’re taking the ring out of here tonight.”
“To where?” Cat asked.
“Singapore,” Felix said.
Cat’s forehead furrowed. “Why Singapore? What’s their plan? And how did you learn all this stuff, anyway?”
“They assumed I didn’t speak Italian,” Felix said, shrugging. “They were wrong.”
“So what do we do now?” Cat asked, looking around at everyone.
“We have to go,” Ethan said, with a determined set to his jaw. “Esmerelda would want us to continue.”
Jack, who had been merely listening to all this, sat back in his chair and looked pointedly at Felix. “Well, you are not going anywhere.”
“Like hell I’m not,” Felix blustered.
Jack crossed his arms firmly. “I didn’t fly across the globe to rescue you, only to have you put yourself in the exact same goddamn position.”
The room went silent.
“Wait—what?” Cat said after a moment, looking between the two of them with astonishment. “You came to rescue . . . him?”
Ethan and Cat exchanged a bewildered glance.
Jack said nothing. Felix glared at him. “He’
s my brother,” Felix said.
Cat’s head spun to face her trainee. “He’s what?”
Jack shrugged. “Half brother, technically.”
“And I am going to Singapore,” Felix said.
“Fine. Then I guess I’m going, too,” Jack said. “We’ll go to Singapore. Just to assess the situation. And then we’ll walk away, if we have to. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
At that point, Cat’s phone beeped. She tore her eyes away from the standoff and glanced down.
“Hang on, Gladys,” she said, answering the call. “We’re sorting something out.” She looked questioningly at everyone. “So, am I safe in saying . . . we need four tickets to Singapore?”
Jack and Felix continued glaring at each other.
“Wait,” said Ethan. “Is there any chance we can stop them before they leave Venice? Before they even go to Singapore?” He looked to Felix for an answer.
“Maybe. If we act fast—”
“It’s going to have to be really fast,” Cat interrupted. “You might want to look at this.” Cat turned the screen to face everyone and it flickered to a real-time CCTV shot of a helicopter landing on the campo outside Caliga’s palazzo. Everyone watched as the Caliga team loaded into the chopper. There was little doubt they were decamping right then and there. But Jack noticed Brooke was not among them.
“There’s no way we can catch them,” Cat said, her voice tense. Jack knew she was frustrated. She was never good at hiding that.
“They must be taking the helicopter to the airport,” Ethan said.
Jack nodded. It would be Marco Polo Airport, on the mainland, about four miles north.
“So, Gladys, can you get us four tickets on the next flight to Singapore?” Cat asked.
“Not a problem,” she chirped. The sound of computer keys clicking came over the line. “It’s not a frequent flight path, though. There might be a delay of a day or two . . .”
