Dirty Thief

“Where is he?” I breathe, barely moving my lips.

“He should have just passed you… You don’t see him?” Freddie’s voice is laced with confusion. “Hang on… Wait… This doesn’t make any sense. His phone just lit up on the outskirts of town headed into the foothills near Pointe de la Veille!”

Looking over my shoulder, I growl into the headpiece. “It was the fucking cat!” I’m running full speed back to the Mini I left at the curb.

“What?” Cal breaks through. “What cat?”

“A fucking cat. The bug must have somehow got wiped off or rubbed off by a cat. He wasn’t near me.” I’m at the car, jerking my keys out. “Freddie, pull him up on the satellite. I need to know what he’s driving. I’m headed that direction now.”

The small car hums to life, and I wheel it onto the highway, putting the pedal down. “Where are you, Freddie?” I shout.

“Just a few seconds… I’m trying to get a visual.”

“I’m on the bike headed your way,” Cal says.

“What about André?” I ask, and the young guard’s voice is suddenly with us.

“He got past me. I tried to hold him, but he’s weirdly strong. He took off in a tan Fiat.”

Finally useful, I can’t help thinking. “Good work, André. Stay at the hotel and let us know if he comes back. We’re following him.”

“I’m having a hard time getting a satellite visual in this weather,” Freddie says. “His phone has gone out of range again, but the last time we had him, he was heading northeast on the Boulevard d’Italie. He’s somewhere near Pointe de la Veille.”

“He’s headed toward Italy,” I say, and I hope we’re all thinking the same thing—the second victim was Italian. “Watch the border crossings. Let me know if his passport appears in their database.”

“We’re flying blind here,” Cal says. “I’m going to pull out of the weather until we have more information.”

“I’ll cut my speed as well,” I agree. “There are at least three bars between our last sighting and where I am now. Cal, do a pub crawl. Freddie, keep your eyes on the screen and let us know the moment he appears.”

“Roger,” Freddie says.

My stomach is tight, and I’m afraid we’ve lost him. This is the worst-case scenario. Our bug has fallen loose, and our vision has gone dark. All we can do is wait and hope when we do find him, it’s not too late.

Chapter 26

Ava

The clouds have grown thicker, hiding the moon, and it’s raining when I quietly roll my Vespa out of the garage. It’s nine forty-five, and I’ve done my best to slip past each of the solemn guards stationed around the gated courtyard.

I’m wearing black boots and a black, belted trench coat over my dress, but my head is uncovered. I take the patterned scarf from around my neck and fold it in a triangle to put over my hair. It makes me look like someone out of an old movie. Zelda would appreciate this, I think to myself in a poor attempt to calm my nerves.

The small gun is in the pocket of my coat, and it rests heavy against my thigh. I can do this. I’ve been in worse situations. I’ve been present when a man was killed, stabbed with a knife. I can do this.

I’m through the final gate, passing the round, concrete posts that serve as barriers on the circle drive in front of the palace. It’s the first hurdle of my journey cleared, but I’m not able to relax. I’ve only just begun.

Kicking my scooter to life, I lean forward against the rain, blinking fast as drops of salty water hit me on the cheeks like tiny pellets. The only good thing about the rain is the streets are clear. I’m not dodging pedestrians or even worrying about paparazzi. It’s as if the whole city has decided tonight is the night to stay inside.

Still, I stop at every streetlight. Every quiet moment, I can feel the beating of my heart. Fear-laced adrenaline circulates through my bloodstream, but I won’t turn back. I think of Ramona’s solemn face. I think of her strangled and lying in that seedy apartment dead for days as vagrants sifted through her trash out front. I think of Grace and her determination in spite of everything.

Traveling backwards in my mind, I conjure the memory of me as a little girl. I remember the feelings of lying in that bed paralyzed as Dwayne Vega put his sweaty, fleshy palms on my small legs. I remember my breath leaving my lungs and how hard I struggled to stay out of my body, to go to that safe place in my mind.

All these memories keep me going on the slick, rainy streets, the smell of rain in my nose, but the one image that solidifies my resolve is my sister, the person who would never back down. I remember her smashing that lamp over Dwayne’s head and taking my hand, running us out of there. We never stopped.

We’re stopping now.

* * *

Pointe de la Veille is a tiny peninsula at the very back of a small park on the northwestern most corner of Monagasco. It’s one of the only public parks in our small nation, and as such, it’s closed at night. However, it’s not gated, so I drive my bike past the empty guard shack into the tall trees.