Elusive (On The Run Book #1) (22 page)

They looked at each other and
spoke at the same time. “Eddie.” Zoe’s tone was more accusing. Jack’s voice
held a questioning note.

“Did she know about Francesca? The
whole story? Her death and everything?” Zoe asked.

“Yes,” Jack said with a sick look
on his face.

“She must have told Connor what
happened. He was in contact with her, right?”

“No, I ordered the paperweights—”
He stopped and closed his eyes for a second. “I introduced them, at a business
expo in Vegas. Connor and I were there, and we ran into Eddie. She had a table
with upscale promotion products. That’s where Connor first saw the
paperweights.” He shook his head as if he were arguing with himself. “But
Connor didn’t order the paperweights. I did. And we only needed one order. We
didn’t have enough clients to need a second box.”

“But Connor had a box in his apartment...”
Zoe trailed off as she made the next connection. “Which came from Murano
Glassworks through Eddie to Connor,” Jack said, heavily. “So they had some sort
of smuggling thing on the side. Eddie must have told him outright about
Francesca. Neat little triangle,” Jack said, severely. “Too bad I was at the
center of it and had no idea.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Zoe
said slowly, working it out. “It doesn’t fit with his notes about the
disguise...why would he write that down if he knew the woman in the shop was
Francesca? And why all the trips here? Why all the time watching the shop?”

Zoe shook her head, “No, I think
he figured it out. I bet Eddie told him what happened, how the assignment went
bad and how Francesca died, but then something happened that drew his attention
to the woman in the shop. Maybe Eddie let something else slip that made him
suspicious that Francesca wasn’t really dead. Or maybe he overheard something.
Whatever happened, he started digging around on his own to see what he could find
about Francesca. He had her date of birth and death. He was researching her,”
Zoe said, tapping the journal. “And he was watching the woman in the shop,
taking notes and pictures. He must have sent me those photos as a backup. I was
connected to him, but not in an obvious way. It wouldn’t be like sending a copy
to his e-mail or his home. I can really see him doing it, Jack. He wouldn’t let
an opportunity to make some money go by. Maybe he was going to use it to
blackmail you...or her. She’d be the better target,” Zoe said.

“And he ends up with a bullet in
the head,” Jack said somberly.

“That would explain why they
wanted to kill you, too. If they suspected Connor had told you about her. If
you knew Francesca was alive...”

Jack nodded. “Besides being a tidy
way to explain Connor’s murder, it would make sure I didn’t threaten her.”

Zoe was still thinking about
Francesca and her staged death. “How would she do it?” Zoe asked, frowning. “It
must have been risky. How would you fake your own death and start a new life
somewhere else?”

“I never did see her body,” Jack
said. “They pulled her body—a body—out of one of the lakes near Naples. She was
identified with dental records. As far as why?” Jack shrugged, doing a good
imitation of the hotel clerk’s Gallic shrug. “Her husband was...a hard man. Her
life wasn’t easy. He would never have considered divorce.”

Jack zeroed in on movement at the
glass shop. “Got to go,” Jack said and squeezed her hand as he stood, his gaze
fixed on the street where Stubby Guy was walking away from the glass store in
the opposite direction of the
campo
.

“You’re going to tail him again?”

“This is the best break we’ve had.
The more information we have on both of them, the better off we’ll be. Stay
here,” he said, then slipped though the tables.

“Stay here,” Zoe muttered to
herself, irritated. He sounded like a dog trainer. What was next? Fetch? She
swiped the box off the table and slipped it into the plastic bag. She wasn’t
going to stay put. She couldn’t stay at the same seat for hours on end. That
wasn’t blending in. She knew Italians lingered over their food, but she’d only
had a bottle of water. Better to stroll the
campo
,
window shop, and then settle down at the other café across the square. She
could keep an eye out for Jack from there.

She sidestepped through the tables
and went to gaze into the window of a shop with a display of leather-bound
notebooks and hand-made Venetian paper. She squinted in the light and reached
for her sunglasses, but realized she had left them on the table. Zoe turned to
go retrieve them, but a woman bumped into her, throwing her off balance.

The woman exclaimed, “
Boun giorno
,” and clasped her
shoulders, pulling her in for the traditional Italian greeting of a kiss on
each cheek. Zoe tried to pull away, but the woman held her arms in a tight grip
just above the elbows.

“Finally. I thought he would never
leave,” the woman said as she linked her arm through Zoe’s, cinching them
tightly together. She spoke in perfect English, the syllables drawn out with
the leisurely pace of a Southern accent. It took Zoe a second to work it out.
It was a wig, she realized. Looking out at her from under the sleek black bob,
it was Eddie’s brown eyes fringed with her impossibly long lashes.

––––––––

EDDIE gestured with her pointy
chin at the campo. “Don’t get any ideas about yelling to anyone,” she said, and
Zoe felt something poke her in the ribs under the arm that Eddie had plastered
to her side. “Yes, that is a knife,” Eddie said conversationally.

“So many complications with
guns—noisy, bulky, so difficult to travel with,” Eddie continued. “Knives, on
the other hand,” Eddie put some pressure on the knife and Zoe felt a hot
needle-like prick skewer into her side as Eddie said, “are quiet and quick. If
you make a sound, I’ll stab you. In through your ribs, puncture your lung, and
then a twist up to your heart in seconds. I’ll be gone, and you’ll be past
saving before anyone even realizes what happened,” Eddie said. “Understand?”

Zoe managed to nod, her pulse
thumping. The knife tip was still in her side. With each step, little jabs of
pain radiated out from it.
Eddie.
Here with a knife
. Zoe tried to work her mind around that fact, but
her brain didn’t seem to be working very well. The street looked fuzzy. Zoe
felt light-headed.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie said as she
turned them in the direction of the glass shop. “It’s just a small puncture. A
bit like a shot, don’t you think? It’s only so you know I’m serious.”

Zoe swallowed hard and forced
herself to concentrate on breathing evenly in and out a few times. Her vision
cleared, and she scanned the faces of the people they passed as they walked,
but each person was in their own world and didn’t make eye contact. “Don’t be
nervous,” Eddie said, strolling along at a slow pace. “I’m not going to kill
you—unless you do something stupid like yell. I’d
like
to kill you because you’ve been such a
headache. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time.”

Eddie’s annoyed, almost petulant
tone cut through Zoe’s fear, leveling it off. The jolt of fright still had her
pulse pounding, but the sheer panic she’d felt receded. “Pressing appointment?
Another friend to betray?” Zoe asked as they turned onto the Street of Shops,
and Eddie steered them toward the door to Murano Glassworks. Eddie looked at
her scornfully but didn’t reply.

Zoe tensed, thinking she would
twist away when Eddie reached out to open the door, but a customer exited
seconds before they reached the door, and Eddie deftly swept them through the
open door and locked it behind them before Zoe could attempt to break away.

Once again, the shop was empty.
The bells tinkled overhead, their cheery sound an odd contrast to the mix of
fright and anger buzzing through Zoe. “How does Francesca manage to stay in
business, if she’s never in the shop? Oh that’s right, glass isn’t really her
business...or yours either.” Zoe gave a tentative tug, trying to pull away, and
Eddie gouged the knife in a bit deeper, sending a pulse of pain through her
side. Zoe sucked in a breath. Okay, she wasn’t going to make a break for it
here, not with these thick walls, and Eddie looked like she actually hoped that
Zoe would try and run away so she could go for her full-throttle with the
knife.

Eddie ignored her and marched them
between the glass displays. Zoe’s hip tagged a shelf and a glass bowl fell,
shattering behind them, but Eddie plowed on around the counter and through a
door to a hallway.

“Don’t feel like talking any
more?” Zoe licked her lips, which had gone dry and tried to get her breathing
back to a normal pace. “You were so talkative before.”

“Shut up,” Eddie said, and Zoe
could tell she was speaking through gritted teeth. The hallway was gloomy and
even though her eyes hadn’t fully adjusted, Zoe could make out more dark wood
paneling, intricate stucco decorations of angels in flight over two heavy
doorways, and another more massive Venetian glass chandelier. Eddie shoved her
toward the back corner of the hall, away from the ornate doorways, and it was
only as she got closer that Zoe realized there was a door fitted into the
paneling. It wasn’t latched because Eddie shoved it with her shoulder, and it
creaked open, releasing a musty, damp scent.

Eddie loosened her grip on Zoe’s
arm and transferred the knife to her back as they marched down a short set of
stone steps set against a brick wall into a room that must have once been an
interior dock for goods arriving at the
palazzo
.
A strip of opaque water filled the center of the room. A small flat-bottomed
boat with low sides bobbed gently in the water. At one end, sunlight glinted
off the water undulating below two high wooden doors that were bolted closed
over the entrance to the canal. The bright light was such a contrast to the
darkness of the rest of the room that it hurt Zoe’s eyes, leaving a bright
imprint when she looked away. The stairs didn’t have a handrail, and Zoe found
herself leaning toward the rough brick of the wall that snagged her sleeve as
they descended.

The air was cooler and thick with
moisture. Dim, uncovered light bulbs hung from a high ceiling over a stone
floor that ran on each side of the swath of water. Mirroring sets of steps on
each side of the floor disappeared down into the water. The water slapped
gently against the bottom steps, which were covered with a vibrant green moss
that surged languidly back and forth with the movement of the water. At the far
end of the stone flooring, cardboard boxes were stacked several deep on wooden
pallets. A battered metal desk, which seemed to be turning slowly orange with
rust, was set against one wall near the stairs. A mess of papers, folders,
tape, small boxes, and a bottle of hand gel were scattered across the desktop
under a lamp. An old-fashioned wooden desk chair was slowly rotating in front
of the desk, as if someone had stood up from it only seconds ago.

Eddie whipped the chair around and
shoved Zoe into it. “If I’d had my way, you wouldn’t have left Vegas,” she
said, spitting her words out with such intensity that the wig tilted forward on
her head. She jerked it off and tossed it on the desk, then ran her fingers
through her pixie cut. “You or Jack. It was the perfect opportunity—” Her fine,
blond hair stood on end around her head, which combined with her furious
expression, gave her a crazed look.

“Now, Eddie, do not work yourself
up.” The Italian-accented voice came from the area with the boxes. Zoe didn’t
want to look away from Eddie. She heard the sharp click of shoes on the stone,
then a set of high-heeled boots came into view at the corner of her vision. Zoe
swiveled in the chair a millimeter. Francesca held a large cardboard box in one
hand and a roll of tape in the other.

“This will be better, you will
see. There will be no trace, no blood...” she said, her gaze straying to Zoe as
she spoke.

Zoe swallowed. It was her blood
they were talking about. Francesca was eyeing her in an assessing way as if she
wasn’t a person, but merely a composite of various parts—blood, hair, flesh—all
things to be contained and removed without leaving a trace of her presence.

“Too late for that,” Zoe said,
touching her side. Her fingertips came away red. A drop of blood slid off the
tip of one finger and plopped onto the arm of the chair.

“No, no, no!” Francesca dropped
the box on the floor. Her hand shot out, and she grabbed Zoe’s wrist, cranking
it backward away from the chair. Her grip was tighter than Eddie’s had been.
Francesca shot an exasperated look at Eddie and sent a stream of Italian her
way, gesturing animatedly with her other hand that held the tape. She switched
to English. “Now I will have to get rid of the chair. Get me a towel.”
Francesca flung the tape onto the desk with a disgusted expression, then waved
at Eddie to get moving.

A faint smile curled up the
corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Told you she was trouble.” She disappeared up the
stairs. Zoe eyed Francesca while they waited. Francesca didn’t make eye contact
or loosen her grip. Zoe’s fingertips began to tingle. She rotated her wrist.
Francesca squeezed and cut her a warning glance. “Do not make this difficult.
You will regret it.”

Zoe believed her. Francesca spoke
quietly, but a fierce determination underlined her words. It almost made Zoe
wish it were Eddie—knife and all—who was holding her arm. Eddie was so furious
that she was about to lose it. A few more goading comments might have done it.
No chance of that with Francesca. Even in the middle of her yelling fit, she
had been rigidly controlled, aware of exactly where Zoe was and everything
around her.

Eddie trotted down the steps and
tossed a towel in Francesca’s direction. She caught it, wiped the blood off the
chair, wiped Zoe’s fingers as if she were a child who’d been caught making mud
pies then pressed it to the small dark circle of blood at Zoe’s side. Francesca
folded Zoe’s arm at the elbow and pressed it into the folded towel to hold it
in place. Zoe flinched as the pressure hit the wound. Francesca didn’t blink.

She stepped back, studying the
floor around the chair and the stairs in a methodical way and, apparently
finding them clear of any blood, nodded her head in satisfaction. She
vigorously pumped the hand gel into her palm, then massaged it into her hands.
She returned to Zoe and took the plastic bag with the paperweight that she was
still clutching from her hand. Then she worked the messenger bag off Zoe’s
shoulder carefully—obviously not out of concern for Zoe. She was only making
sure she didn’t have more blood to clean up later.

Francesca opened the plastic bag,
then held it out to Eddie, who was returning from the far corner of the room, a
rolling suitcase bumping along noisily behind her. The knife was gone, Zoe saw.
Probably stowed away in some pocket or pouch in her suitcase.

“There,” Francesca said shortly.
“The rest is in the box upstairs on the floor.”

Eddie ripped the bag from her
hand, checked inside as if she didn’t believe Francesca, then glowered at Zoe.
“You sure you don’t need any help?” she asked to Francesca’s back. Francesca
was bent over the desk where she’d dumped the messenger bag.

“No. Go.” She swished her hand
through the contents. Zoe watched Francesca’s fingers glance off of the makeup
bag where she’d put the memory card. Thank goodness it wasn’t a transparent
plastic bag. She forced herself not to stare at it. Although, if she thought
there was a chance she could offer it to them in exchange for walking away, she
would have done it in an instant, but she knew they weren’t going to let her
leave. Besides, whatever scam they had going, she knew Francesca’s real
identity. Any doubts about what Zoe knew would be gone the minute Francesca
opened the passport.

“I will take care of it.”
Francesca’s long fingers sorted quickly through her meager items—she avoided
touching the wadded tissue, pushed the hairclip and breath mints to the side,
and plucked out the wallet and passport.

Zoe wondered how long it would be
before Jack returned to the café. Would he realize she was missing right away,
or would he assume she’d gone for a walk or to snoop around on her own as she’d
done last time? Hopefully, he’d assume she’d gone back to the glass shop, but
even if he went to the shop himself, it was locked. The chances of him finding
his way to this back room were small—miniscule even—especially since he didn’t
even know she was here.

Her plan had been to meander
around the
campo
and window-shop. He might assume that was what she was doing. She couldn’t
count on Jack to find her. She didn’t even know when he would get back to the
campo
. He might not even know
she was missing for hours. And then what would he do? He couldn’t very well go to
the police and report her missing. Zoe felt a tightness in her chest as the
frightening weight of being on her own sunk in. She had to figure something
out...even if it was jumping in that vile water and swimming away. She knew how
to swim. Could she make it to the water and swim out under the door before they
reacted?

“You’re sure?” Eddie asked,
reluctantly.

“Yes. Go or you will miss your
flight.” Francesca pulled a cell phone from her pocket. She made a call, said a
few words in Italian, then hung up.

“This can’t be like last time,”
Eddie said, her gaze steady on Zoe. “No mistakes.”

Francesca spun toward her. “
I
have not made any mistakes.
You were the careless one, the one who babbled. It wasn’t enough that you
wormed your way into my new life. You had to jeopardize everything.” She walked
forward as she spoke, and Zoe tensed. They were focused on each other.
Unfortunately, they were directly in front of the stairs. The only other way
out was the water. She’d heard stories about the canals—how the disgustingly
dense, brackish water was full of bacteria and who knew what else. It would be
her last resort, she decided and glanced back at the women.

Eddie’s shrill tone cut into her
thoughts. “You needed me,” she shot back. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t. You
needed a contact in the States. Two years ago, you were happy when I figured
out who you were and what you were doing.” Eddie yanked up her suitcase and
climbed the stairs, talking over her shoulder. Zoe tensed, turning the chair
slightly so that she faced the water more directly. “Don’t blame me for
Connor,” Eddie continued.

Zoe moved her feet, positioning
them so she could leap from the chair. Eddie said, “He would have figured it
out on his own. He was half-way there anyway. I only filled in the last blank.
He knew you weren’t who you said you were, just like I’d figured it out before
him. It was your precious
Stefano
who botched killing him.” Zoe felt her tense calf muscles quiver. “You’re quite
a pair, you know. For someone who is trying to stay hidden, you’re not doing so
well. Terrible, in fact.”

A quick glance at Francesca froze
Zoe into place. Francesca had pulled a small black handgun from her pocket. She
pointed the barrel squarely at Zoe’s chest.