I nodded toward the restaurant, my throat constricting in a visceral reaction. “That’s him,” I choked, my hands involuntarily balled into fists. “The guy who took Keira. That’s Craig Bernard.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Every night, for months, the face of Craig the Psycho haunted my nightmares—the man who came to our party, who drank our booze, who rocked the headboard of my sister’s bed, and who left me with a bathtub full of her steaming hot blood. Now, he was standing before me, the personification of everything that was blazingly putrid in this world, and he was wearing a skinny suit.
A bolt of rage seared inside me, my nails burrowing into the flesh of my palms. His dark blond hair was pulled into a slick, low ponytail, contrasting sharply with the shaggy grunge look he sported on Mother’s Day Eve. His scar was still visible in the light of the restaurant, and his smile looked crooked as he glanced about the tables seemingly searching for someone.
I could hardly breathe. It felt like my chest was being crushed by a boulder. I continued staring, unmoving, until suddenly my hatred swept in and tapped him on the shoulder. Craig Bernard looked my way. As soon as his eyes locked on me, he smiled like I’d made his day.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, faintly hearing Marcus and Julian arguing behind me, but their voices churned into white noise, a distraction I could easily ignore.
I stayed locked on Craig as he moved slowly through the open-air restaurant, never breaking eye contact, weaving past tables, seemingly amused. I longed for a grenade to launch at his cocky face, to erase the dare in his eyes begging me to confront him. He was going to get his wish. I exhaled and straightened my posture as the pianist inside broke into Beethoven’s Fifth Piano Concerto, like he knew the drama about to unfold.
“Screw. Him,” I hissed as I yanked off my golden heels and tossed them at Marcus. Craig seemed to appreciate the gesture, because he smiled. Then he blew me a kiss, just like he had the night of our party, when my sister wasn’t looking. Only this time, I didn’t feel nauseated, I felt fire.
He started running, and I took off after him like a championship sprinter, my bare feet flying over stone pavers, slipping in the rising tide as my yellow dress whipped in the wind. If this was a trap, if this was what Cross had been warning me about, I was running into it. Literally.
“I’m right beside you,” Marcus confirmed as he and Julian kept pace.
I tore down the promenade bordering the Grand Canal. Vendors lined the strip as tourists strolled casually eyeing the colorful feathered masks. Craig slammed into anyone in his way, his stride awkward in his skinny suit pants. Even in bare feet, I was gaining on him fast.
He tossed a middle-aged man to the dirt, sending the crowd into a burst of panic as a cell phone flew into the air. I hurdled the victim lying face down on the pavement, not caring how much glass, rock, or twisted metal my bare feet caught. I didn’t look back.
“Stop him!” I shouted in Italian. “Thief! Thief!” (Yelling “Crazy psycho!” didn’t seem like it would help.)
I splashed through a puddle at least an inch deep, water speckling my dress. I had no idea what I would do when I caught him. Craig was at least fifty pounds heavier and trained to kill; if my confrontation with Luis taught me anything, it was that this was not a sparring match. I could lose. Permanently. Plus, even if I did get in a few hits, I still needed him to tell me where Keira was, and I had no idea how to accomplish that.
But I couldn’t get ahead of myself.
I couldn’t think beyond: Stop. Him. Now.
Craig flew onto a nearby boat.
“Julian, you know that money you got?” Marcus gasped between breaths as Craig revved the engine. “Now would be a good time to use it.” He pointed to the water taxis.
I dove into the first one I saw.
“Via!” I screamed at the driver to go, my pulse racing faster than the motor. “Via! Via! Via!”
Marcus and Julian jumped in beside me.
“Follow that boat!” Julian threw the driver a wad of cash, tucking a cell phone into his pocket.
Our boat took off into the inky night. The only things illuminated were fellow cruisers with their red and white taillights dotting the water like starbursts. I knew exactly which taillights were Craig’s; it was as if I could smell his scent.
“Go! Now!” I hollered, pointing toward Craig’s boat. Adrenaline gushed through me as we zipped across the black water, cool spray smacking my face, the water cooling the blazing heat in my cheeks.
Marcus stepped beside me. “What’s the plan? Follow him? Hope he leads us back to Keira?”
“Bloody hell, he’s a spy! This is crazy! He’s not going to lead us anywhere!” Julian countered.
“Maybe that’s because you don’t want him to,” Marcus accused. “Maybe you’re in on this. Did you tip him off? Is this your family’s doing?”
“Enough!” My eyes stayed superglued to the boat. “We’re going to stop him.”
“How?” they both asked in unison.
“I don’t know, but we will. This is the man who took my sister.” That was all that needed to be said.
Julian grabbed my wrist. “Anastasia, he likely has a gun. This is a trap. You knew it was coming.”
“So you think Craig Bernard was just sitting in San Marco’s hoping we’d wander by?” I barked, disbelieving. “You saw him at that restaurant; he was looking for someone else, a dinner guest, a boss, someone. Not us. Yes, we don’t have a plan, but neither does he.”
“His plan is to kill us,” Julian pointed out.
“If they wanted me dead, I’d be dead! Luis Basso had all the time in the world on that mountain!”
“Yeah, and according to Marcus, he choked and stabbed you.” Julian nodded to the now-healed wound on my arm.
“I didn’t even need stitches,” I retorted, as if that mattered. Wind crashed against my face, tears forming, streaking my cheeks—hopefully from the breeze. “Luis had a gun, Julian, and he didn’t use it. Regardless, what do you expect me to do? Let him get away? You want my sister to stay in shackles somewhere? For all I know, you and your father are the ones who’ve locked her up.” I pointed my finger inches from his face. “You said you want me to trust you? Fine, then help me, otherwise get off the boat.”
We were probably traveling at more than forty miles per hour. Julian couldn’t exactly jump off the boat. I knew that, but at this point, I was ready to throw him off if he attempted to stop this chase. I was going to catch those taillights, and I didn’t need his money to do it.
“I’ve got your back.” Marcus pressed closer to my side as we rocked with speed. Whatever fears I may have developed for motorized vehicles after my parents’ accident oddly seemed to evaporate in the face of my sister’s attacker. Maybe immersion therapy works.
Craig’s taillights continued flying down the canal, racing toward a crowd of gondolas full of couples cuddled side by side with young Italian men gliding their boats through the water using sky-high poles. It reminded me of the picture from Randolph Urban’s office. I couldn’t believe that I took his money, that I blindly trusted him.
What if it isn’t Phillip Stone who has Keira? What if I just want it to be the Stones? This could all be Urban’s doing. Has he been laughing at me this whole time?
Gondoliers hollered as our impending speedboats approached, Craig never veering off course. He sliced into the Venetian traffic jam, splashing waves of white water and nearly capsizing the defenseless tourists. Couples screeched as gondoliers shook their fists, screaming obscenities, and our driver began to slow.
I jumped in his face. “Keep going!” I shouted in Italian.
He continued carefully, ignoring my request.
My eyes shot toward Julian. “Make him go! Now!”
Julian approached the driver, whispering something I couldn’t overhear, and immediately our speed increased. But it wasn’t enough. Our distance from Craig was expanding.
“Julian, if this son of bitch does
n’t drive faster…” I hissed.
Just then Craig made a sharp turn down a dark side canal, and I bounced on my toes, hands waving furiously. “Over there! Go! Hurry!”
Julian instructed the driver, who subtly increased his speed but failed to steer into the same canal.
“What is your problem?” I shrieked in Italian, shoving the man’s shoulders. “Follow him! Now!”
The driver yelled something about taxis being prohibited from traveling in certain waterways, about needing to stick to the Grand Canal, and no matter how much I hollered, nostrils flared, he refused to follow my orders. Julian joined in, also screaming, until Marcus shoved the driver aside and took the wheel.
“Siéntate!” Marcus shouted in Spanish, and I could see he was about a second away from punching the man in the face (which I would have appreciated).
He spun the boat toward the side canal, throttling the engine as he raced perpendicular to oncoming traffic. Craig’s taillights trailed off as he skimmed down the narrow waterway, and before Marcus could veer down the same path, we were jolted by the blare of a deafening foghorn. We swung our heads and spied a large passenger ferry headed our way. Marcus swerved, avoiding a near collision as the massive ferry cut in front, its nearly one hundred passengers snapping pictures of the just-missed crash. I bounced in my bare feet, waiting impatiently for the ferry to pass, only as it did, I peered down the black canal and saw no lights.
“We lost him,” I whispered, a pain piercing my abdomen. I hunched over.
“We don’t know that,” Marcus insisted, speeding into the canal, but I knew it was useless. We were too late.
Craig Bernard was gone.
Chapter Thirty
I collapsed onto my hotel room bed. My yellow silk dress splayed out, stains blotching the hem. All the determination that had kept me going was left on the floor of that boat.
After we lost Craig Bernard in the canals, we went to the only logical place—the flat where Keira was held. Only there wasn’t a single light in a window, nor a swish of a curtain. It was empty.
I dropped my head against my lumpy down pillow and sprawled wide, staring at the mustard yellow watermarks seeping through the hotel’s popcorn ceiling. I’d stood within yards of the man who took my sister, and I let him get away. Cross had sworn they were purposely leading me here, but tonight I’d walked right up to the apartment building where Keira was held hostage and nothing happened—no trap, no evil super spies, and no Keira.
Maybe she’s already dead? A hole ripped inside my chest. Don’t think like this… Don’t think like this… She had to be out there. Somebody wanted something from us, right? We were useful to them. We had to be. Otherwise, they could have killed her in Boston; they could have killed me in Cortona. But they didn’t. Still, that didn’t mean she was okay. I already knew they shoved her into the trunk of a car, I knew two men were holding her. What was she going through right now because I failed her? Yet again.
My lungs tightened. This was my fault. I let him get away. I shut my eyes, a burning sensation building behind my eyelids. I didn’t want to cry. I was tired of crying. I was tired of all of this. I wanted to go back to the way things were. I wanted Keira back. I wanted my parents back. I wanted to be the daughter of two happy engineers. I wanted a normal life. We didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t deserve this.
I dug my teeth into my lips, chewing—hard—hoping the pain would divert my tears.
Don’t cry, I commanded myself, biting harder. Only images flashed behind my eyelids—the bloody tub, Keira’s memorial, her body twisted in a foreign car, my parents’ caskets, the cocky smirk of Craig Bernard. The tears gushed like levees giving way, and I sobbed, curling tight, grabbing my knees, my breath hyperventilating. I had nothing. I had no one. The funk enveloped me, and I let it, curling tighter.
A knock sounded on my door.
I tried to ignore it. It was either Marcus or Julian, and I didn’t know which one I wanted to see less. I had unabashedly lost it on the boat when Craig disappeared. I screamed at them, called them pathetic, useless, cowards. It wasn’t exactly my shining moment, and it wasn’t until Marcus reminded me of the apartment that my head stopped spinning in circles.
Then we sat in the plaza for hours, waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to show, and all the while I didn’t say a word. I wouldn’t speak to either of them, not even when they asked direct questions. Finally, when it hit two a.m., I left. I didn’t say good-bye or where I was going. I just walked away and left them behind. They didn’t follow.
Until now.
“Anastasia?” It was Marcus. “Let me in.”
I scrunched my eyes tighter, trying to will him away. I didn’t feel like apologizing. I wasn’t ready to be sorry.
“I know you’re in there. Just let me in. We don’t have to talk.”
My eyes pulled open and stared at the door. If I stayed alone, I knew I’d sink back into the coma, back into the funk. I wiped at my cheeks.
“I, um, I just want to see…” he stammered. “I don’t know. Let me in. Por favor.”
I hardly had the energy to stand, but I did, robotically. I dropped my bare feet onto the floor and staggered over, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. I turned the knob.
Marcus’s eyes bugged in their sockets. I must not have looked good.
“It’s not over.” He reached for me.
But it was, and I cried harder. Marcus pulled me to his chest, shutting the door behind him. The louder I sobbed, the tighter he squeezed, my tears soaking his fancy new button-down. I nestled my face against the tattoo on his neck, sniffling, trying to compose myself, but it was too hard. I wanted to dissolve into him, to disappear. The loss was overwhelming—my sister, my parents, now Craig Bernard.
“It’s not over,” he said again, stroking my hair. I knew it wasn’t true, but I needed to hear it. I needed to believe it.
I needed him.
I drew a slow, stammering breath and peeled my head from his sweaty chest. I looked up, remembering that train station in Cortona, wanting to erase the pain inside me, wanting to lose myself, wanting to forget what was happening. He seemed to register the new expression in my eyes as I slowly moved toward him. He didn’t pull away.
I kissed him. Hard.
I crashed my body against his and he responded, knotting his fingers in my hair. He pressed me against the wall of the entry, his lips moving against mine. The hot energy oozing from him eased the ache inside me. He moved his leg between mine, clutching me tighter, biting my lip. My breath was ragged as I held on to him, clinging to the passion, clinging for dear life.
Then he suddenly jerked away. And I gazed up, confused and breathless.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he panted. “I don’t want to take advantage…”
“You’re not. I—I just don’t want to feel sad anymore. Make me not feel sad anymore.”
He hesitantly moved his lips toward mine, then paused, barely a whisper between us. I could smell his sweat, feel his breath. I knew he didn’t want to stop.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, leaning his arm against the wall above my head, dark eyes heatedly locked on mine.
I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted him. I thrust myself at him once more, and he didn’t resist. He grabbed me tight, the blood whooshing from my brain. My heart accelerated, but not out of fear or desperation or frustration. I felt something new. I felt excited.
He pressed my head against the wall, my face firmly in his hands. Then he abruptly pulled me toward him and guided me to the bed, kissing me as I stumbled backward. I knew where this was headed, and it was what I wanted. I needed to feel this. His lips moved to my neck, and his hands slid toward the zipper of my dress. Hot tingles flushed my skin.
This is it, I thought. He moaned my name, and I suddenly felt a surge of power. I gripped his hair, kissing him harder.
Then a knock pounded on my hotel room door.
&
nbsp; I groaned, pulling away.
“Ignore him,” Marcus whispered, still kissing my neck.
The knock got louder. “Anastasia?” Julian yelled.
“Ignore him,” Marcus said again, lightly sucking my skin, hoping to retain my attention, but I turned toward the door.
“I have a surprise for you!” Julian yelled enthusiastically, still pounding. “You’ll never believe what I found!”
“Go away!” Marcus yelled, his voice winded as he forced himself from me and glared at the entry.
“Anastasia?” asked an awkward female voice.
Charlotte.
A smile sprung to my face that I didn’t know I still had in me. I shoved Marcus’s hands away and darted toward the door, adjusting my dress. I turned the knob and heaved it open.
“You’re here!” I squealed.
Charlotte smiled with the purity of a toddler, her hair messy from hours of travel but her eyes delighted. She looked exactly the same. I knew it had been only about a week since I’d seen her last, but I felt like I’d aged a decade. “Well, you didn’t think I’d let you find Keira without me, did you?”
I flung my body at her, wrapping my arms around her chest until they crossed on the other side. “You got my text?”
“Obviously. Sorry for the late hour, but getting a last-minute flight out of Rome was insane.” She pulled away. “And I gotta admit, I was a little surprised to get to the hotel lobby and find Julian Stone.” Her eyes cut toward him.
“She approached me at the hotel bar,” Julian explained. “At first I thought she was hitting on me, which was rather exciting—”
“Then I asked if he stalked you here,” Charlotte interrupted, and I could see from her expression that the verdict was still out.
“We actually gave him a ride. Sorry I didn’t mention it. It’s been a long day, longer night…” My voice trailed off as I grabbed Charlotte’s arm. It felt so good to have her here.
“I want to hear everything,” she said, then looked at Marcus, the flush of his cheeks and the sheen on his skin. Her brain flipped topics. “So good to see you again. You know, you missed a button.” She pointed to his shirt, and he immediately glanced down, eyes alarmed, but saw everything buttoned just right. His cheeks flamed even more as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
Proof of Lies (Anastasia Phoenix) Page 23
