The Gray Ghost (Fargo Adventures 10)

46

Remi waited a second or two longer than she should have, just to be sure Bruno saw her turn the corner. Keeping to the middle of the street, where she wouldn’t be missed, she dashed past shoppers ogling the fashions displayed in the windows of the designer stores. Finally, she reached the piazza, turning left toward the Fontana della Barcaccia, only then realizing the bigger danger: disappearing into the midst of hundreds of tourists milling about the boat-shaped fountain and gravitating toward the very steps she needed to get to. If Bruno lost sight of her, he might end up turning back to the car—and Sam.

Somehow, she was going to have to keep him close enough for him not to lose sight of her. But as soon as she found a corridor between people to run through, the crowd swarmed in, closing the gap. Frustrated, Remi stopped at the railing of the fountain, leaning against it, pretending to be out of breath, waiting for him to catch up. The moment he saw her, she jumped back, trying to appear frightened, and darted into the piazza, running toward the Spanish Steps. The one hundred and thirty-five steep stairs, built in 1723, led up to the Trinità dei Monti Church, and the street that paralleled it, where she hoped Sam would be waiting with the car.

She burst out of the crowd and across the piazza, glancing back to make sure he’d seen her. This time there was no doubt. He followed, shouldering aside a camera-wielding woman who got in his way, ignoring her shouting as he raced past, trying to catch up to Remi, who’d already started up the right side of the stairs. About halfway up, she looked back and saw Bruno gaining on her. The purse, with the phones and her Sig Sauer, felt as heavy as a boat anchor. Hefting the bag onto her left shoulder to give the other shoulder a rest, she pushed on, feeling herself slowing from fatigue.

When she surveyed the stairs above, there was no one clear path up. The crowd shifted, people suddenly sitting in front of her, posing for photos, with the twin towers of the church at the top. They paid little attention to Remi as she tried to run past, suddenly having to change course because they changed positions for a better shot with their cell phones or cameras.

Her quads burned by the time she reached the top. A vendor selling cold water held a bottle dripping with condensation out toward her. Not even having enough breath to tell the man no, she looked back, saw Bruno about twenty steps below her, slowing down, but not nearly enough room for her comfort.

Traffic in front of the church was one-way, which meant Sam would have to come from her right on Via Sistina and either continue straight past the church and the Spanish Steps to the left or make a sharp hairpin turn onto Via Gregoriana, which would bring him back the way he came. Certain he’d stay on Sistina, she immediately headed that direction. But as she searched the street, not seeing him or their car, the flaw in her plan became very apparent. Getting through Rome by vehicle could be a nightmare, especially around the more famous tourist destinations. There was no telling how long she’d have to wait.

What she needed was a place to hide. Out of breath, and with no energy to run farther, she ducked into an alcove of one of the shops, hoping Bruno might pass her by. Planting her back to the wall, she leaned over, her handbag slipping from her shoulder. Too tired to do much more than catch the straps, she let the weight of the purse rest on the ground, trying to fill her lungs with air, while she waited. It seemed forever before she noticed a shadow on the ground in front of her, then the sound of heavy breathing, which was almost lost in the heart-pounding pulse in her ears. Without moving, she looked up, saw Bruno blocking her way.

They stood there in a stalemate, Remi hoping Sam would pull up at any moment. But after what seemed an eternity, she realized she was on her own.

“Got you,” Bruno managed as he sucked in air, his sweat-drenched expression one of triumph. He took a step toward her.

Remi swung her purse upward. The bag struck his jaw, the phones and gun making a solid thwack. He staggered back, staring at her for one shock-filled second, when she brought her foot up into his groin. As he crumpled to the ground, crying out in pain, she stepped over him, saying, “But I got you better.”

47

Sam pulled up as Remi stepped out from between two buildings. He gave a tap of the horn, leaned over and opened the passenge

r door for her. “How’d it go?” he asked.

She tossed her purse onto the floorboards as she slid in, wiping the perspiration from her brow. “There were a lot more steps going up than I remembered.” She took a deep breath, then looked over at him. “Did you find it?”

He tapped the center console, where the small magnetic tracking device and its now-removed battery sat in the drink holder. “Tucked inside the bumper.”

“I would’ve tossed it onto the back of a police car.”

“Thought about it,” he said, as Remi closed her eyes, her breathing fast and shallow. “But it might come in handy. If we need them to track us, we can always put the battery back in.”

Sam saw the man at the top of the steps, selling water. Foot on the brake, he idled toward him, rolling down the window. “I’ll take a bottle.”

“One euro,” the man said, holding up the dripping bottle.

“One euro!” Remi said. “I can wait.”

Sam ignored her, digging the coin from his pocket. “Grazie,” Sam said, taking the ice-cold bottle and giving it to his wife. “I’m not the one who just did the three-hundred-step dash.”

“Half that number—and we’re broke, in case you forgot.” She held the bottle up to her neck. “Even so, I love you for this.”

He checked the mirrors, saw Bruno struggling to his feet. “Time to get out of here. Our friend’s stirring,” he said, watching the man lean over, hands on his knees, looking as though he might be sick.

Remi glanced back again. “Hmm. Guess I didn’t hit him hard enough.” She twisted off the bottle top, taking a long drink. “Any thoughts on how we’re going to swing this auction without the buy-in fee?”

“I figured we’d just show up.”

“And what good is that going to do? Even if we could convince Luca to let us in without the money, it’s black-tie. Or need I remind you that your dress clothes are being held for ransom with our jet?”

“We are dressing in black, if that counts.”

Remi’s smile held a hint of devious mischief, as she settled back, buckling her seat belt. “That’s what I love about you, Fargo. Even on a budget, you know how to show a girl a good time.”

* * *