Secretive

by Sara Rosett

  She frowned at him, but his expression kept her from saying anything. His smile never wavered, but there was caution in his eyes, and he shook his head slightly, a tiny movement, but Zoe picked up on it. He clutched her hand in a tight clasp. When she’d met him the other time, he’d taken her hand and deposited a kiss on it in a playful way. He’d been a bit of clown then, but there was nothing playful about the way he gripped her hand now.

  He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. “Yes, um, thank you.” Nico released her hand and stepped away as she rose from her seat. He returned to the kitchen. She left the restaurant without looking over her shoulder.

  She made herself walk a full thirty paces and stopped to browse in two stores before she pulled the coupons out of her pocket. On the back of one was scribbled, “Pig and Rose in twenty minutes.”

  Chapter Nine

  ––––––––

  “THE Pig and Rose?” Zoe muttered. That had to be a pub, but how was she going to find it? She couldn’t afford a smart phone and couldn’t look the name up online. Her very basic phone’s only advanced feature was the now rather antiquated ability to flip open. She scrambled to the index of her guidebook and found a listing for the pub along with an address. Smart Travel was right—their guidebooks really were the best. She asked a shop clerk for directions and walked through the carnival atmosphere of the streets around Covent Garden. She dodged a mime, navigated around a magician, and a man painted head-to-toe in copper, who sat motionless on a box in the pose of The Thinker while tourists took pictures.

  After two wrong turns, she found the pub and slipped inside. It was dim and packed with tourists. As her eyes adjusted, she spotted Nico at a table along the wall. He had changed out of his apron and chef’s pants into a sweater and a pair of dark jeans. She moved slowly to join him in case he waved her off since he clearly hadn’t wanted anyone to know she knew him at the restaurant. But this time he smiled as he stood and kissed each side of her face, lingering a bit longer than was strictly necessary as he whispered, “You look as beautiful as you did that day in Pompeii.”

  She pulled away. “Good to see you haven’t lost your ability to flirt.” His grin widened, and he pulled out a chair for her as she said, “You were so serious back there—you had me worried.”

  His smile faded. “It is serious. Why did you not come sooner?”

  Zoe had been unwinding the scarf from her neck. She stopped. “You were expecting me?”

  “Yes. Jack sent you a message this summer. He said you would understand and come.”

  She draped the scarf over the back of her chair along with her coat. “Then he should have chosen a more reliable messenger,” Zoe said, exasperation at her mom lacing her tone. “I didn’t get the message until this week.”

  Nico threw his hands up and let out a stream of Italian. A few heads turned their way, and he immediately quieted down. He shook his head. “No matter. You are here now.” Nico tapped the screen on his phone a few times, then showed her a picture of a dark sky lit with a forked stroke of lightning. “Now he will know you are here. Tomorrow, go to this website, Pinterest. Look up “Brianna Smith,” and see what has been posted to this board, ‘Favorites.’ He will send you a message.”

  “Wait. What are you talking about? The jet lag must have caught up with me because I thought you said something about Pinterest.”

  “Yes, that is correct. We use it to communicate.” Nico tapped the screen. “It is too dangerous for us to call one another or send emails. The pictures are codes,” he said slowly as if explaining something to a child.

  Zoe shook her head. She’d heard about groups using message boards and websites to communicate, but Pinterest? “Okay. I guess that would be the last place someone would expect Jack to post a message. I’m lightning, you said?”

  “Yes, Jack said it was...how do you say? Just right? Appro...”

  “Appropriate?”

  “Yes.” He repeated the word with a suggestive little lift of his eyebrows.

  “Stop that. I’m too old for you,” she said.

  “Age does not matter in affairs of the heart. All is permitted in love and war.”

  “Still working on your idioms, I see.” She took the phone from him and scrolled through the other pictures. There were some of trees, clouds, a high-speed train, another of a movie poster. “So each one of these means something specific?” Nico nodded. “And how will I understand what Jack posts? What’s the code?”

  The corners of his mouth turned down as he shrugged. “Jack said you will understand it.”

  Zoe rubbed her head and muttered. “More codes.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Zoe pushed her hair behind her ears and sat up straight. “Okay. Tell me about Jack. Where is he?” Nico shrugged. “You don’t know? Well, what has he been doing for the last six months?” Another shrug. “Oh, come on. You expect me to believe that Jack sent me this elaborate, risky, and vague message that leads me to you, who I actually manage to stumble into, and the only thing you know is a pin board website?”

  Heads swiveled their way again as Zoe finished in a screechy tone. Nico put his hand on her hers, but there was no flirting this time.

  Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “Have you actually seen him?”

  “Yes. Briefly.” Nico’s face was serious. “He came to Naples, to ask for my help.”

  “But why would he do that?” Zoe could understand Jack’s reluctance to return to the US, where the fraud surrounding GRS was still under investigation, but why would he go to Nico for help?

  “I do not know the details. All I know is that he wanted me to get your ring so he could send it to you. He said you would understand it was from him.”

  “How did you get it? I figured it was lost at the bottom of the canal.”

  “No, it was with the other evidence in Venice. I asked a friend for a favor and,” Nico spread his hands, “now there is no evidence that the polizia ever had it.”

  Zoe shook her head. “How can that happen? I mean, you can’t just go in and remove evidence from the police.” Nico’s face was bland and unconcerned. “Can you?”

  “They should not have kept it. It should have been returned to you. There was no need for them to keep a wedding ring. You are upset that I took it.”

  “Yes. I’m in enough trouble already.” She felt the weight of the ring on its long chain under her shirt shift against her chest as she moved. “I don’t need to add stealing evidence to my list of possible illegal activities.”

  “No one will ever look for that ring. It is fixed. It was not among the things found in the canal. You Americans worry about such small things.”

  “You’re laughing at me,” Zoe said, amazed.

  “Yes. It is not something you should worry about.”

  Zoe stared at him a moment, then said, “Okay. Fine. You paid off someone to steal it and fix the records. I hope they keep their mouth shut.”

  “They will. I paid them well. Besides, they do not want to get on the wrong side of my family.”

  “All right,” Zoe said and realized she was fingering the chain. She snatched her hand away. “Then, let’s get back to Jack. Why did he disappear?”

  “That is for him to tell you, not me.”

  That statement made Zoe pause. Nico seemed to know inside information. Jack said it was the reason he had recruited Nico back in Naples. “So you know what happened, and you’re not going to tell me?”

  He concentrated on the table as he spoke. “Many things in Italy are not as they appear. There are...how do you say...movements under the water?”

  “Undercurrents?”

  “Yes. That is the word. Sometimes unseen forces move things.”

  “Who? Who would do that? Everyone involved in the incident is accounted for...” Zoe’s voice trailed off. All the players that we knew of, she silently amended. Maybe Costa had been involved?

  Nico picked up his phone from the table and became very focused on it as
he murmured, “It is hard to know who has that influence.”

  “Nico,” Zoe said in a voice she used when she found Torrie’s labrador noshing on tissues out of the trashcan. “Was it Costa? Was he involved?”

  “I cannot say anything else.” His tone was firm. The subject was closed.

  Zoe threw herself back in her chair. “So many secrets.”

  He ignored her words, asking instead, “What would you like to drink?”

  “A coffee. Black.” She was already jittery. A little more caffeine couldn’t hurt.

  Nico returned a few minutes later from the bar, carrying an American coffee for her and a beer for himself. They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks then Zoe said, “So why are you here in London?”

  “My family has owned the restaurant for ten years.” He motioned with his chin in the direction of Covent Garden. “My uncle got sick and the family sent me to help him.”

  “I see. How long have you been here?”

  “Five months.”

  “Interesting timing.”

  He didn’t say anything, just smiled and sipped his beer.

  Zoe watched him over the rim of her cup. “Fine. Don’t tell me anything. I’ll figure it all out on my own. I’m very good at that.”

  “That is what Jack says about you.”

  Zoe looked at him sharply. “Jack said that?” Jack wasn’t exactly free with his compliments.

  “Yes. He also says you are a pain in—” A person moving through the tables, jostled Nico’s chair and he broke off.

  “No need to finish.” She set her cup down with a click. “So, you’re here in London, helping in the restaurant...” she let her voice trail off and raised her eyebrows.

  Nico arranged his face into an expression as innocent as a cupid in an Italian fresco. “What are you asking?”

  “Well, surely you have other concerns? You’re not here to just make pizza, are you?”

  He pulled away, placing a hand on his chest. “Just to make pizza? You slander the heritage of my homeland.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re carrying on the fine tradition of authentic Neapolitan pizza making and...what else? I’m sure there are some undercurrents in your family business, too.”

  He sent her a quick smile. “We would not be Italian, if we did not have other interests besides pizza. We’ve diversified.”

  “I bet you have,” Zoe muttered into her cup. Nico pretended not to hear her. She swiveled toward him as she had a thought. “Would any of these interests involve computers or software? Technology?”

  He shook his head. “No, we are not much in that line. Our focus is more on ...solid items. Why?”

  “I need to talk to someone who knows about tracing bank transfers. I thought I had found someone here in London, but that may not work out.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dave Bent. He’s a consultant who works with the police. This whole thing that’s blowing up again around Jack involves some money that was transferred out of his business account. If I can get someone to help me figure out where the money went, then I might be able to convince the police that I didn’t move it to some secret offshore account.”

  Nico leaned back. “Oh, that is easy. You don’t need someone who works with the police. You need someone who knows the illegal side. You need Ares.”

  “Ares?”

  “A code name.” Nico pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote on a napkin then handed it to her. “You can contact him through this email.”

  “He can do that, track bank transfers?”

  “Yes,” he said, swelling up a bit at the doubt in her tone. “Remember, it is what I do best, knowing things.”

  She put the napkin in her messenger bag. “How much does he charge?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Right. Maybe there’s a reward for that money,” she said on a sigh. “That’s probably the only way I’ll be able to pay him.”

  “Perhaps he will give you a discount.”

  “Because I know you?” Zoe asked.

  “No. Because you are a beautiful woman.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes and settled her messenger bag on her shoulder as she stood. “In that case, I’ll be sure to ask for the pretty woman discount.”

  ––––––––

  “I’M heading out.”

  Mort looked up from his keyboard. Sato shrugged into his suit jacket and pulled his keys from his pocket. “You staying much later?”

  “No. Just finished these notes. Why?”

  “You know, day before Thanksgiving. Lots of people heading out early.”

  Mort glanced around the office and realized it was quieter than usual. Most of the desks were empty, and the background buzz of conversation and ringing phones was missing.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” Sato asked.

  Mort removed his half glasses and looked fully at Sato. “We’re having friends over. Turkey, dressing, whole nine yards. You want to come over?”

  “God, no. I have tickets to the game,” he said, referring to the Cowboys’ Thanksgiving Day football game. “Just making sure you weren’t getting a turkey sandwich at Subway.”

  Mort gave him a sharp glance. He didn’t think anyone knew about that awful first holiday season after his daughter died. Those had been dark days. His wife Kathy had pulled out of the darkness first, little by little, seeming to find solace in working with the cancer society. It had taken Mort much longer to return to some sort of skewed reality.

  “Wait. Where’s that note?” Mort patted the stack of files then pawed through the papers on his desk. “Kathy wants me to pick up something on the way home...” He checked the floor.

  Sato pulled a sticky note off the monitor. “Sage?”

  “Yeah. Sage.” Mort took the note and slipped it into his breast pocket along with his glasses.

  Sato slapped Mort on the shoulder as he turned for the door. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Mort replied as he stood. He put one arm into his suit jacket and hit the refresh button on his email before he threaded his other arm through the sleeve. Nothing else on the silver car that Zoe had seen. He had put out some inquiries, but nothing had popped up. The CCTV footage from the airport had been a bust as well.

  He put the files away then pulled up the address for Martha Baumkirchner in Farmers Branch. It wasn’t on the way home, but he was sure he could find a store near her house that sold sage.

  ––––––––

  IT was late afternoon, but darkness was already descending as Zoe left the pub. The temperature had dropped, and the air was heavy with the scent of ozone. She was glad she had an umbrella tucked into her messenger bag. It looked like she would need it before she got back to the hotel. She could feel her hair expanding exponentially as it absorbed the moisture in the air. Zoe was a block away from the pub when she realized she didn’t have her scarf. She did an abrupt about-face and a tall man, with salt and pepper hair, slipped quickly into a shop selling T-shirts and touristy kitsch. “Sam?” she muttered under her breath.

  She walked slowly by the shop, but didn’t see anyone inside who looked like Sam. She continued on, keeping her pace slow as she made her way back to the pub. That was twice she thought she’d seen Sam.

  Before she stepped into the pub, she looked behind her, scanning the street, which wasn’t packed, but there were enough people that she couldn’t be absolutely sure he wasn’t there somewhere. Nico had left the restaurant, and their table was empty. She located her scarf, which had slipped to the floor behind her chair, and made her way back to the street. She walked in the opposite direction, pausing to look in shop windows occasionally. Despite the gray day, she could see reflections in the windows. She was facing a display of Christmas party dresses when she saw the man’s silhouette in the reflection. She moved to another shop. The display of goods for sale didn’t even register; all she saw was the familiar outline mirrored in the window.

  She
watched for a moment. The man was turned away from her, looking into another shop window. She chewed on her lip for a moment. She could run, try to lose him, but if it was Sam...she let her scarf, which she’d been holding, slip to the ground. As she whipped around to pick it up, she got a good look at the man.

  “Sam!” she called as she snatched up her scarf and dodged across the street. She watched him, sparing only a quick look at the traffic, and saw a flash of astonishment that he quickly masked with a smile.

  Chapter Ten

  ––––––––

  “ZOE what a pleasant surprise,” Sam said as she reached him.

  “I don’t think it’s much of a surprise. You’re following me. Why?”

  “Following you? What are you talking about? I have a meeting in half an hour. I’m just killing time until then.”

  Was she wrong? Impulsively, she took a stab in the dark. “Like you were killing time earlier near the Leicester Square tube station? Like you just happened to be on the same flight to London as I was. That’s a lot of coincidences.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she mentally second-guessed herself. She could almost hear Helen’s voice saying, don’t rush to judgment. Helen was all about measured, thoughtful decisions. Zoe wasn’t. She had a sinking feeling. If she’d walked on for a little longer, watched him a bit more, she might have seen him turn into a building for his meeting.

  Sam looked at her for a moment, then threw up a hand. “Okay, look, you’re right. That is a lot of coincidences, but I’m not following you now.”

  “Now?” She edged back a step. Was he FBI? Or—worse—was he working with the guys in the white van? What did she know about Sam, really? He paid his rent on time, spoke with a soft tone, and had gorgeous brown eyes. “You mean you were following me?”

  Sam ran his hand through his hair. “Zoe, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  A fine mist sprinkled down, and the pavement began to darken with the moisture. Zoe took another step back. “Seems to be a pattern with you.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said, his expression wounded. “I didn’t think you’d even talk to me if you knew the truth.”