Run To Rome

“You are not in America, signori.” Casale cast a pointed glance at Ben’s hand and held out his own. “Per favore. Your cooperation will expedite the location of your sister.”

“Ben,” Rachel urged in a confused whisper.

Reluctantly, he placed the keys in the man’s palm. He told himself that things were different in a foreign country, but couldn’t shake the feeling something wasn’t right. Casale departed with the keys, and Mariucci directed them to an unmarked, black vehicle parked on the opposite side of the road.

Rachel slid into the back. Ben hesitated. He turned to scan the spot where he’d last seen Halli. Mariucci stepped forward, his stocky build blocking Ben’s view and confining him inside the triangle of the car, the door, and his body.

“I assure you, signori, we will find your sister.”

Ben looked into the man’s eyes. He sounded confident and determined. Releasing a sigh and giving a tired, grateful nod, he slipped in beside Rachel, who hugged herself as she chewed on her thumbnail. She hadn’t done that in years—not since dealing with their parents on a daily basis.

The door slammed, enclosing them in the dimness of black tinted windows. Rachel grabbed his hand and he placed their clasped fingers on his thigh, covering both with his other hand as the engine turned over with a soft purr.

“Halli’s fine,” he murmured, hoping it wasn’t an empty assurance.

Rachel sniffed and attempted a smile. “She’s probably waiting at the hotel, making copies of her itinerary for us. You know she brought a copy.”

“Probably,” Ben agreed. And if she was, he’d follow the blessed thing to the minute.

Mariucci appeared at the left front window and greeted the driver by the name of Nino. As they spoke in low tones, it occurred to Ben that the man behind the wheel was not dressed in a police uniform. The unease in his stomach did a slow roll and he sat up a little straighter.

Through a pair of black framed glasses, Nino’s gaze met his for a brief instant in the review mirror. The glittering darkness of the man’s eyes sent a shiver of apprehension along Ben’s spine. He cut his gaze to Mariucci, but the man’s emotionless smile failed to reassure. His knee started a rapid bounce.

The front passenger side opened and another man slipped inside. Shoulder-length dark hair, olive complexion, identical in appearance to the driver in that he wore no police uniform. The hairs on Ben’s neck prickled, standing straight on end as the car started forward. Gut instinct made him reach for the door handle.

The locks clunked shut.

Ben pulled free from Rachel’s grip and felt for the door lock while yanking on the unresponsive handle. The second man turned around and poked his hand through the opening between the front seats. Sunlight through the windshield glinted on the black casing of a gun.

Rachel’s shriek pierced his ears a second before she muffled the cry with her hand. Ben shifted in front of her in a hopeless attempt to s

hield his sister as he met the cold gray gaze of the front seat passenger.

“Shut her up,” the man growled in accented English even though Rachel had already gone silent.

“What’s going on?” Ben asked. Strain roughened his voice, but he had no control of the terror currently gripping his muscles and robbing him of coherent thought.

“Your sister Halliwell has something we want. Until we find her, you are our collateral.”

Chapter 3

Trent keyed in his security code and drove into his small estate after the gates swung open. They closed behind them, as silent as the rigid woman in the opposite seat. She hadn’t spoken since the moment he’d uttered the word murder. Hadn’t asked a single question, hadn’t moved a single muscle. He suspected she was in shock, despite her insistence that she hadn’t seen anything.

It was better this way though. Bold as his statement had been, he wasn’t prepared to answer any questions. Not now that the immediate threat was gone and the reality of Lorenzo Roselli’s murder had set in.

Whether Halli caught the crime with her video camera or not, he knew the retired cop was dead. The recording wire his friend had been wearing, the recording he’d been listening to and slipped into his pocket, had caught every word up to that fatal moment of Lorenzo’s last gasping breath and beyond.

And yet it still wasn’t enough. None of it would convict the scumbags on behalf of his brother or his friend Lorenzo. There’d been no names spoken other than the ones Lorenzo himself whispered toward the mic. Not one slip-up by the men at the villa to corroborate Lorenzo’s valuable information about the smugglers.

Trent parked in the garage, his hands tight on the wheel as the overhead door reversed direction until it rested against the concrete floor. Would he ever be able to enter this house again without needing a moment to prepare? He’d give anything to go back in time six months ago and refuse his brother’s request to use the villa while filming a new documentary about endangered animals sold on the black market.

If he’d said no, without a free place to stay, Sean wouldn’t have been able to afford the trip to Italy. Their father had warned him Sean was tackling a dangerous subject, but his younger brother had wanted to make a difference. He needed to make a difference to get himself out of his spiraling depression, and had convinced Trent that if he nailed the documentary, he could save lives.

If only he could’ve saved his own.

The vision of their father’s grief ravaged face at the funeral swam before him, but Trent shoved aside the memory and turned toward Halli. He couldn’t help Sean anymore, but maybe he could make up for it by keeping this woman safe now. Responsibility weighed on his shoulders, forcing him to take a deep, silent breath before slipping back into character.

Unfortunately, character didn’t quell the sudden tremor in the hand he reached across the seats toward her shoulder. “Come on inside, sugar. We both could use a drink.”