Chapter 26

Joe

I lunged forward, grabbing the doorknob with both hands and using all my grip and muscle power to keep it from turning. I had to brace my back against the wardrobe and reinforced the door with my leg.

Nancy muttered and jiggled the doorknob. I could feel it rattling on the other side, but my hands kept it steady on the end that mattered. She groaned, obviously frustrated.

"Helena, did you lock this door?" she asked, trying not to sound annoyed. I knew that tone.

"No," came the muffled reply from the journalist who didn't care enough to leave her desk. "It vasn't locked a moment ago…"

"Well I've been gone for a couple of hours," she reasoned, trying the doorknob again. I tightened my grip. "Maybe you locked it without realizing."

Helena laughed. Muted. Annoyed. "I find zat very unlikely."

I could almost hear Nancy rolling her eyes. Yeah, through the door. Then I heard another voice—this one was intentionally stifled, slightly familiar, and belong to a guy. Probably the "boyfriend" that Helena had mentioned earlier. My hands involuntarily tightened around the knob.

"Can't you pick locks like this?"

He sounded lame. I wanted to punch him. For no reason. His voice was familiar. He was the guy I saw a few days ago. I'd heard him addressing Nancy as soon as I'd walked her back to the Ca and slipped out of sight.

"Yeah, but…that's kind of patronizing." Nancy whispered in reply.

"How so?" the boyfriend asked, sounding lamer than before.

Nancy didn't reply. Instead she just said, in a louder voice that didn't need to be concealed from Helena, "I'm going to go ask Margherita if she has a spare key for this room."

Footsteps. They drifted away from the door and I breathed a sigh of relief as my muscles let go of the tension.

That was way too freaking close.

Now was the time to get out of here—while Nancy was still gone. She would be back with Margherita in a few minutes, to find the door perfectly unlocked and probably tick Margherita off in the process. I didn't care, though. Nope, all I cared about was getting out of there. So I shoved open the balcony door and stepped onto the railing, launching myself up onto the highest roof again.

I headed for the front of the building, mapping out my next move. I would jump at the stair landing and get out of there, unnoticed by even our resident detective and journalist. All systems were go. But then I remembered the sunglasses in my pocket.

I needed a plan. I'd already decided that I was going to be the one to follow that note and take the bugged shades with me, but I hadn't decided what to do about Nancy in the meantime. Keeping her out of the way meant keeping her from finding out. She couldn't know where I was going. It was impossible for me to keep her distracted. Unless I had someone do it for me.

A door opened, and then slammed shut. I felt my defenses jump to alert. The sound came from the altana below me. I crept to the edge of the roof and looked down, taking extra caution to not be seen, especially by the old lady, who had a perfect vantage point.

Nancy was the one who'd emerged from the door, and behind her trailed the guy I'd heard talking to her downstairs. I couldn't help but analyze him—from his white Nikes, to his varsity jacket, to his combed hair, to his squinted, dumbfounded expression, to the way he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking around at the potted plants like he didn't care about anything ever. I didn't like him.

By that point, I wasn't even listening to what Nancy was asking Margherita. I knew that she was requesting the key, I knew that Margherita wouldn't have it on her person and even if she did, I knew that she wouldn't give it to Nancy. I knew that she was going to ditch her tanning session for at least a few minutes and disappear through the doorway with Nancy. I knew that the boyfriend, having as much awkward body language as he did, wouldn't follow. I knew that he would stay up on the altana by himself and wait for Nancy to come back. He might even pretend to interest himself in the succulents. And when all that happened, I knew exactly what I had to do.

So I waited. I waited for the sound of Nancy's apologies to muffle themselves down the staircase and the slow-swinging door to sink shut. I glanced over the edge of the roof and found everything exactly as I'd anticipated—the boyfriend, standing there with his hands still in his pockets. He was even loitering near a wall. I almost laughed at how unbelievably easy this was going to be. But I didn't laugh. Because then he would've seen me and been all scared and that would've just killed my vibe.

Instead I threw myself over the edge of the roof and landed softly on the altana, right behind him. My reflexes were naturally faster than his. Before he even had the chance to turn around, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and locked my other hand over his mouth, slamming him back into the terra cotta wall. He was freaked—and with good reason. I didn't even tear off my shades to lessen the creeper look. No, in fact, I purposely left them on. For aesthetics.

I braced one arm over his chest and pinned him hard against the wall. Not moving my hand. Getting a good long look at his face and deciding whether or not he'd be able to keep his mouth shut on his own.

"One word and you die." I whispered, just to scare the crap out of him. I then slipped my hand off his face, allowing one of the stupidest questions to come out.

"Who are you? A cop?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "That was actually five words but I'll forgive you. No, I'm not a cop—were you expecting one to tackle you any minute now?"

"What? No—"

"Then listen up because I don't have much time," I threw a quick glance around the altana, then focused back on the boyfriend, who was almost squirming under my grip on his shirt collar. "Nancy's in trouble."

"What do you mean?" He looked genuinely concerned. Sort of giving me the urge to punch him again.

"I mean, she was supposed to go somewhere tonight—somewhere that's not safe. The bad guys in this case she's working on—they're going to try and capture her. Kill her. You understand?"

He nodded quickly, eyes wide.

"But I'm not going to let that happen. I've taken her tracking device and I'm going in her place. But Nancy can't know anything about this, you got that? Not one single thing. If she learns about what I'm going to do, if you tell her—" I nailed him harder against the wall. "She will die. And it will be all your fault."

He looked scared. Good.

"That means you're going to have to keep her out of the way," I explained, keeping my voice low. "That means you're going to have to take her out tonight—to dinner or something—and keep her out for as long as you possibly can. Keep her distracted. Understand?"

He nodded again. With a little more intent this time.

"Good." I sighed out the rest of my breath, not realizing how it was getting caught inside. I took one hand away, but still kept him pinned at arms' length. "Remember—if she follows me, she dies. If you tell her, you die."

Footsteps. Two sets. I heard them on the stairs, muffled by the door, which was still shut but wouldn't be for long. I dropped my hold on him altogether, taking a few quick back-steps to get to the edge of the altana.

The boyfriend just looked at me like I was a ghost about to vanish into thin air. I wasn't quite the former, but I was the latter. Nancy swung open the door, but I'd already jumped off the roof and landed on the street below. I was already out of there. Out of sight.

I'd found myself in life-or-death situations before. Lots of times, in fact. But they were always unexpected. Sometimes I could sense trouble stirring in the air like a future storm, but those times were rare. It was usually a surprise attack—someone would pull a knife, or a gun, or a bomb would explode, or Frank and I would get knocked out and tied up, or all of the above. I actually liked it that way, believe it or not. I was better at thinking on my feet. Strategizing wasn't really my forte. My reflexes were usually better than my plans.

But that night, I had to make a plan. I was going to take the sunglasses and leave at sunset. I was going to walk to Casa dei Giochi (because if anything weird was going to happen, I was seriously doubting that it would occur on a gondola.) If I arrived safely at Campo Santa Margherita, then I would walk into the club. If still nothing weird happened, I would…probably…well I didn't know what I would do. I could punch somebody in the face and run away. That usually worked for a diversion. (It was also a diversion that Frank highly disapproved of. But, flying solo like I was, I could totally get away with it.)

So there. I had a plan. Although I kind of formulated it while I was walking to Casa dei Giochi and I kind of hadn't run through every eventuality—but heck, it didn't matter. One of two things could happen—I could either die, or I could make it out alive. I was dearly hoping that it would be the latter.

The temperature was dropping with the sun, making everyone run for the hills (or at least their little Italian houses, which looked incredibly inviting just then. All I wanted to do was knock on someone's door and be like, "Can I come in and have dinner with you, instead of going off to die by the gun of a smuggler thief person somewhere?" But I couldn't.)

I was halfway there. The streets were familiar, but starting to look strange in the dark. I saw shadows out of my peripheral that didn't exist. I heard footsteps on side streets that were merely echoes of my own. I tried to work the tension out of my shoulders. I neared the narrow opening to a back alley. I reached up to pull the shades off my face. Then a hand grabbed me and locked over my mouth.

My back slammed into the wall, emptying the air from my lungs in one blow. But that wasn't enough, apparently, because the guy who'd grabbed me decided to slug me in the stomach while I was pinned there. I was ready for it, and almost didn't feel a thing. I let him think that I was out for a second, faking a pained double-over, and then snapping back up to punch him in the face.

He cursed, and with those precious three seconds, I got my bearings. I was in a u-shaped alley behind a small square building. The guy who'd grabbed me had managed to drag me pretty deep into the shadows, where no one from the street would be able to see us. But he wasn't the only one. There were two others—one of them masked, the other wearing street clothes and a hood. I was hoping the masked guy would be next—he was totally scrawny-looking. But the long trench coat and fedora implied no brawling on the ground.

The hooded guy lunged, but I ducked out of the way. I tried to turn around and see where I'd left him, but then two hands latched onto my arms and threw me against the wall. It was stucco. I felt it slice into my face like cat scratches. My vision blurred, but I could see a shadow coming on my left. It was the first guy—he was kind of small, but fast. He was going to attack me at the knees, kicking me to the ground. I threw myself backwards before it could happen—sending the hoody dude staggering back as well.

The first guy saw what I did there and jumped to plan b, which was tackling me to the ground. He was fast, but I was faster. I threw a kick and jumped out of the way. He didn't go all the way down, but just kind of stumbled and gripped his ribs for a second. Then the hooded guy slammed me into the wall again. My head made contact a little too hard. I could hear a faint ringing in my ears and the backs of my eyes ached.

Two hands were pressing down on my shoulders, holding me against the wall. Come on, a voice inside me groaned, get with it. He was waiting. So was the other guy—the fast one who was still recovering from my well-aimed kick. They didn't have to wait for long. I launched myself forward, smashing through their barricade in a total rebel ATAC move that neither one of them saw coming. I was free for about two seconds, and had to decide which way to run. The masked dude with the fedora was still standing exactly where I'd last seen him—near the entrance to the alley. Why the heck isn't he helping take me down? I didn't have time to think about it.

There was another exit to this alley on the other side of the building we were behind—I'd seen it from the street. So while everyone was diverted, I ran for it. The corner was sharp, and right beyond that, where I'd anticipated a beautiful wide opening delivering me into the arms of the street, there was a gate. A tall, metal gate with razor ribbon winding the top.

I cursed under my breath, feeling my patience give out. Climbing it was my only option. I latched onto the cold metal ribs of the gate, grappling for some kind of grip with my Conversed feet. I failed to find it. I slipped. A hand grabbed my ankle and dragged me down. It was the hooded guy again. Man, he was on top of his game.

He kneed me in the side, just when I wasn't expecting it, leaving an ache in my ribs and no air in my lungs. In my moment of weakness, he slammed me against the wall once more. This time his hands were chaining my wrists over my head. My vision was blurry and the darkness was disorienting, but in that split second, I got a glimpse of his face. He was the guy I'd seen earlier, leaving notes at the Ca.

"Fausto!" the other guy shouted, not ten feet away.

My captor glanced up at the sound of his name, freeing one of my wrists in time for him to catch the object being thrown to him. I couldn't see what it was in the settling dark. But I could feel what it was as it kissed my forehead—a circle of cold metal right between my eyes. The feeling was almost familiar. I was about to use my free hand to give him a well-deserved throat jab, but now that was out of the question. Because now I had a gun to my head.

"Move one muscle and your brain is a bullet-case, my friend," he whispered, a satisfied smile finding his face.

I exhaled, feeling my heartbeat finally starting to calm down. I was forcing it. I had to think. I had to focus. I had to get out somehow. Even in the dark, I could see something drawn on the barrel of the gun—a number 6. The cuts on my right cheek were deeper than I'd first anticipated. I could feel where an important vein had been torn and was now pulsing out blood, dampening my skin.

I could see the first guy out of my peripheral, watching this like it was a silent comedy. I wanted to get a better look at him. I wanted to see if I could identify him. But I didn't want my brain to be a bullet-case. So I didn't move.

He glanced down the alley, where the fedora dude must've still been standing. Then he nodded and turned to Fausto, taking one step closer.

"Remember your orders." He said. Slight French accent.

Dang, could he actually be—

"I know, Nico." Fausto answered my question for me.

"Don't use my name." Nico hissed. "Not here."

Fausto turned back to me, his brow lowering slightly and the sick breed of smile returning. "Don't worry," he said in a low, raspy voice that was unmistakable. "I'm not gonna kill you. I already promised someone else the honor."

A tight swallow slipped down my throat and out of my peripheral vision I could see someone turn the corner and come into better view. Fausto glanced over at the fedora dude, who was standing in the dark, a complete silhouette. I struggled to make out a face, but everything was shades of foggy blue and almost-black. Then fedora dude took off his fedora—and I suddenly realized that he was actually a she, as volumes of black hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

"Well said, Fausto." She nodded slowly, not moving an inch farther.

American accent. It was familiar, like in a dream. I remembered it. Gina. She gave me one more opportunity to hear her voice. Two words.

"Let's go."

Those two words were apparently a cue to knock me out. Fausto grabbed my shoulders and whiplashed my head into the wall. I heard the contact echo through my skull. A pain shot through my eyes, tearing, screaming, letting go of consciousness. Then came the distant ringing in my ears. Familiar. Numbing.

I was out.

FlightFeathers: We're finally getting into the exciting stuff! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you so much for reading as always! :)