Run To Rome

“Run!”

Chapter 5

Trent followed Halli out the door. She stumbled and he grabbed the collar of his leather jacket to haul her up from her knees. Too late, he remembered it'd only been draped around her shoulders. The unexpected weightlessness threw him off balance, and he ended up a step ahead of her.

He found his footing, reached back for the hand she stretched toward him, and jerked her back onto her feet. To their right lay a residential area, and to the left, the many quaint shops and businesses that made the village so old-world Italian. Tourists crowded the walkways during the evening dinner hour.

Trent went left, half dragging Halli in his wake. If they could get lost in the crowd, eventually they could circle around to where he'd parked his black Mercedes.

Alrigo Lapaglia and two other men burst through the door seconds before Trent and Halli rounded the corner of the closest building. She slowed up, but Trent pulled her forward. “They're right on our tail, sweetheart, don't quit on me now.”

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Trent took every turn he could, dodging people and vehicles. Twice they narrowly avoided being hit when he glanced behind to see how close their pursuers were.

“You watch where we’re going,” Halli yelled over the ear-splitting screech of tires and blare of the horn after she slammed into his back the second time. “I’ll watch them!”

Working together, they made their way through town. His lungs began to ache, his legs burned, and he could only imagine how she felt, with him yanking on her arm for the last five minutes.

“I think we’ve lost them,” she panted a minute later.

Trent eased up, glancing behind to reassure himself they were safe. The immediate area behind them settled back into a walk after their headlong dash, but a block and a half away, the man in the black leather jacket barreled around a corner and through the crowd in their direction.

Renewed adrenaline surged through his body as he urged Halli back into a dead run. Just before they took another turn, Trent checked their progress. He caught sight of a large white truck in the intersection a block away. It slammed on its brakes, but not in time to avoid hitting Lapaglia. His body flew a good ten feet into the intersection. The scream of an onlooker echoed down the street.

Trent felt no remorse for the man who’d killed his friend and didn’t wait to see if he got back up, either. He took the opportunity to duck into a shop. Halli gave a small squeak of surprise at the abrupt move, then abruptly clamped her mouth shut.

They both fought to catch their breath as she stood close, pressed against his side while he surveyed the place. It was a gift shop, full of that over-priced souvenir knick-knack stuff tourists loved. Small plastic replicas of the surrounding mountains of Lago di Como, various cathedrals, and of course the unmistakable Leaning Tower of Pisa, cluttered a shelf directly in front of them; kept company by a row of key chains and Italy collector spoons.

Trent propelled Halli in front of him, steering her around the displays to get away from the windows. Along the way, he snagged a brown sweatshirt off a rack and tossed it over Halli's shoulder so he could dig out some cash.

His empty back pocket reminded him he’d never grabbed his wallet when he chased after Halli earlier. Just as quick, he recalled stuffing change in his pocket this morning at the espresso shop and pulled out a handful of Euros. For the first time he was thankful for the annoying coins he always felt should be bills.

Halli frowned at the sweatshirt. “What’s this for?”

He leaned down close to her ear while transferring money into her hand. “Pay the girl over there and put the shirt on. Make sure you keep something between you and the window.” Lapaglia may have been hit by a truck, but Trent didn’t want to take any chances.

“Hey—find out if they have a back door,” he whispered after her.

While she took care of the transaction, he stepped behind a mirrored column to remove his coveralls. He couldn’t help watching Halli across the room. She looked small, even next to the petite Italian clerk. Especially now that she wore clothes that actually fit her slender frame.

His gaze lingered on the blue lettering stretched across the front of her tight shirt. What a shame she was going to cover up again. A corner of his mouth quirked up. Back at the house, he'd have bet money she wouldn't wear anything he'd left on the bed. He’d figured out Halliwell Sanders was a little uptight. And that was before he’d found the travel itinerary detailing her trip almost down to the minute.

Wet & Wild was a very nice surprise.

The shop girl leaned close to Halli. The two shared a smile, and the girl said something in heavily accented English. Halli laughed and shrugged. The sound, forced though it was, flowed over Trent's taut nerves, soothing even after it faded away. A genuine laugh from her would be something to enjoy.

Halli caught his eye and motioned toward the back with her head before pulling the new shirt on. Once she’d adjusted the oversized hem below her hips, her smile retreated, leaving worry in its wake. Trent scooped up the coveralls and his jacket and made sure the front window was clear before following.

Out in the alleyway, he tossed the coveralls into a dumpster. “What was so funny in there?”

She frowned up at him from underneath his baseball cap. “I'm playing a part, remember? There's nothing funny about any of this.”

“Right.”

He took the hat from her head with one hand and untied her ponytail with the other. Wispy brown strands settled down around her oval face. A ray of setting sunlight revealed reddish-blonde highlights that he hadn’t noticed before she’d showered. The stunning color contrasted with the brown sweatshirt, making the garment appear even uglier. For just a moment, he had the urge to sift his fingers through her hair, to see if it was as soft as it looked.