Run To Rome

“Honey, because of me, you didn’t get shot,” he retorted. “Did you really think you could record those guys and get away with it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“They saw you across the water with your camera.”

“I was filming the swans.”

He frowned at her like she’d grown a second head. “Swans?”

“Yes, swans. You know, big white birds with a long neck and—”

He braked sharply, and she was grateful for the seatbelt that kept her forehead from connecting with the dash as they came to a full stop.

“You weren’t videotaping the villa?”

“No. I saw it, even zoomed in on it, but…”

She trailed off with a flash-vision of the person bursting through the villa door. And the man staring at her from the window. Were they the same person? Suddenly it dawned on her why the window had looked odd. It hadn’t been shiny from the sunlight glinting off the glass, but dark, as if the glass was no longer there.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck tingled. Trent Tomlin leaned closer, his dark head blocking out the sun. The vision of the man in the window made Halli shrink back against the passenger door.

“You didn’t see anything else?” Trent Tomlin prompted.

Her hands trembled. She clasped them together in her lap, absently fiddling with the Velcro adjuster on his cap. After the past ten minutes and the sharp tension in his voice, she was afraid to ask her next question, but forced the words out anyway.

“What do you think I saw?”

He gave a brief glance behind them and yanked up on the hand brake lever. His knuckles brushed along her leg as he reached down into her space. She flinched in alarm, but with her camera now fisted in his large hand, he simply resettled into his seat. He powered it on and hit rewind.

Three seconds later he swore under his breath. “You got another battery?”

“I left the case in the car.” With Ben and Rachel.

More swearing. He shoved the camera at her and snatched his cap from her death grip. After settling it low over his brow, he released the hand brake, shifted the idling car back into gear and hit the gas.

Her head bounced off the headrest as the car shot forward. Dumbfounded, she stared out the windshield. Comprehension dawned and this time she purposely let her head thump back as she squeezed her eyes shut in dismay. Stupid idiot. She’d just missed a chance to escape. Movie star or not, apparent rescue or not, she didn’t actually know the man. He could be a serial killer for all she knew. Unlikely, sure, but only an hour ago she’d have also said being abducted by him was unlikely. Unlikely did not mean impossible.

What did seem impossible was getting back to her family. The further he drove, the more lost she’d be. Because even if she got away, she hadn’t seen any city name signs where they’d pulled off the road and had no idea where they’d left her. Her English

/Italian dictionary also sat on the back seat of the blue rental.

“Where are you going?” she asked after a minute of silent berating.

“To my house.”

“Your house? Shouldn’t we go to the police?”

“La polizia?”

His perfect Italian accent threw her for a moment.

“No can do, sweetheart.”

“People shot at us! All we have to do is show them your car.”

He maneuvered around a corner, their speed sedate compared to earlier. “We can’t trust them.”

“We can’t trust the police?”