The Gray Ghost (Fargo Adventures 10)

Remi studied the navigation screen, using the toggle switch to zoom out, trying to find an area that might work. Her eyes landed on the Piazza del Popolo and the three streets that branched out from it like a trident. Just beyond it was the Piazza di Spagna, a location she knew quite well.

She pointed to the map. “You know that little street near the trident where we park when we come here to shop?”

“You mean when you come here to shop?” He glanced at the screen. “Sorry to say, it’s not registering in my memory

bank.”

“Funny, Fargo. You’ve waited for me enough times. It’s just down the street from the wineshop you like.”

“That, I remember. What’s your plan?”

“Find a place to park. I draw him out, have him chase me, you find the tracking device.”

“I’d feel better if he was chasing me, not you.”

“Except he’s more likely to think I’m the easier prey. Once you find the tracking device, you come pick me up—hopefully, before he catches me.”

He cocked a sandy brow at her. “Hopefully?”

“Just trying to be helpful, Fargo. After all, you didn’t want me to kill him. Assuming you still want to avoid the police . . . ?”

“And where am I picking you up?”

“The top of the Spanish Steps.”

Sam peered at the map on the screen, thought about it a moment, nodded.

When they were a couple of streets away from the Piazza di Spagna, Sam zipped down a narrow street, pulled over, and parked the car, angling it in a space barely big enough. Remi caught a glimpse of the black Mercedes parking at the end of the street, as she and Sam quickly walked the opposite direction, then ducked into the corner wineshop. The advantage—and disadvantage—of their location was that there were no doors, the interior of the shop wide open to both streets, allowing them to see anyone coming from either direction. Sam, his back to the entry, picked up a slim bottle filled with a pale yellow liquid, pretending to read the label. Remi kept watch, seeing Bruno jump out of his car and race down the street in their direction.

“He’s on his way,” she said, catching sight of the bottle of limoncello in Sam’s hand. “Try not to forget, we’re here for a purpose.”

He grinned. “Me?”

Remi stepped out, taking a quick peek, surprised when she saw Bruno racing toward her one moment, then suddenly stop in the middle of the block, searching the crowded street for them. Unsure of which direction they’d gone, he returned to their rental car, intending to wait by it until their return.

She hefted her purse higher on her shoulder, feeling the weight of the three phones in it, wishing she’d had the foresight to leave them in the car. Too late for that, she watched as Bruno settled against the wall in front of their car, clearly in no hurry.

This was not going according to plan.

“Something wrong?” Sam asked, from his position inside the shop.

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Apparently, he’s decided to wait for us.”

Several seconds, then minutes, ticked by.

“He’s just standing there,” she said.

“He knows we need to get back to that car.” Sam returned the bottle of limoncello to the shelf, moved to her side and peered over her shoulder. “You could always go out there and pretend to be lost.”

“That should work. See you at the top of the stairs, Fargo.” She leaned over, kissed him, and went out to the sidewalk, craned her head back, as though searching for a street placard high up on the side of the building. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bruno standing there, arms crossed, staring straight ahead. She stepped out farther, turning around as though lost, but the man remained planted like a Roman statue next to their car, never once turning her way.

Frustrated, she walked past the shop’s entryway, ignoring Sam’s grin, as he watched from inside. “Not helping, Fargo.”

“Maybe less subtle . . . ?”

He was right. She did her best to look like a deer caught in the headlights as she stared at Bruno, shouting, “Sam! There he is! Run!”

Bruno looked up at the sound of her voice. The moment he saw her, he pushed off the wall, sprinting in her direction.