“Me? Never.”
“This Drexel chap sounds like very bad news.”
“He is,” Tracy said seriously. “But he knows things, Antonio. Things I need to know.”
“For God’s sake be careful.”
“I will.” Tracy hugged him. “I promise.”
The next step was to figure out how to get access to the Villa Michele, without alerting Hunter, or anyone else, to her presence. So far Tracy had seen no sign of MI6, the CIA or Group 99, but she knew for a fact that all three were devoting considerable resources to finding out what she already knew. It was only a matter of time before they showed up at the Lakes. Tracy needed to finish this before that happened, and before Drexel took off again.
Unfortunately, accessing the Visconti’s villa proved harder than Tracy had anticipated. Partly because the house itself was a fifteenth-century fortress, with four-foot-thick, unscalable walls designed to keep out centurys’ worth of marauders. And partly because it was situated on a small island, really just a rocky outcrop, in the extreme southern end of the lake. This meant it was close enough to the shore that anyone approaching by boat would be clearly visible from both of the major five-star hotels in town, as well as a good smattering of private homes along the lakefront. Not to mention the fact that the local police station faced the property almost directly, as if it were daring somebody to try and break in.
Despite these obstacles, within twenty-four hours, Tracy had a plan.
But before she took the final step, there was something she had to do.
BACK AT THE GUESTHOUSE, Tracy called Cameron’s private number from her new Italian phone. She was diverted straight to voicemail.
That’s odd. He must be traveling.
She hung up.
She had called him to say goodbye. And to apologize. And to tell him she loved him. But none of these were things one could say to a recorded message.
Perhaps it’s for the best.
Just as she was turning off her phone, it rang.
“Tracy?” Cameron’s voice was heavy with worry. “Is that you?”
Tracy hesitated. She was already regretting calling him but it was too late now.
“Yes. It’s me.”
“Thank God. I’ve been out of my mind. At least one of you is OK.”
“One of us?”
“Charlotte’s gone missing,” Cameron blurted. “My ex-wife. I’ve had the police here and . . . anyway, none of that matters. Where are you?”
Tracy took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter where I am. I’m safe.”
“You’re not safe! And it does matter.”
He sounded utterly desperate. Tracy felt terrible.
“I called to say goodbye,” she blurted. “And thank you. And I wish you happiness.”
“Stop.” Cameron’s voice became stern. “Tracy, listen to me. We can talk about ‘us’ later. But right now I believe you are in grave danger. You’ve found Drexel, haven’t you?”
Tracy was silent.
“If you’ve found him, trust me, it’s because he wants to be found. It’s a trap, Tracy.”
“I don’t think so,” she said quietly. “I have to go.”
“For Christ’s sake, Tracy, wake up!” Cameron said desperately. “It’s a trap! Hunter wanted you to find him.”