Run To Rome

“Halli, you’re exhausted; I can see it in your face. Things won’t magically be over once you’re at the consulate. You need to get some sleep.”

“I won’t be able to sleep.” She thought of how she’d almost passed out at the police station, but at that point, she’d considered herself safe. Now he was going to leave her alone after multiple reminders that the bad guys were still out there, guns at the ready. Shoot first, ask questions later.

“You’re safe. Fix yourself something to eat and just close your eyes to rest,” he suggested.

Mutely, she shook her head, imploring him with her eyes to take her along. He keyed in the security code and gently but firmly pushed her away.

“Make me something, too, would you? I’m starving.”

Without waiting for an answer, Trent stepped into the garage and shut the door between them. Halli reached for the handle, then pulled back and swung around to face the kitchen. With one arm hugging her stomach, she pressed her other hand hard against her lips to still the tremble in her fingers. Both hands clenched into fists as she fought the emotions trying to turn her into a helpless puddle of terror.

All she needed to do was think things through calmly, rationally. He’d be back soon and they’d leave for Milan. At the consulate she’d get the help she needed and—

Her gaze swept the room for a phone. There! On the far wall. She could call Ben! Her fingers shook as she dialed his cell phone number.

Answer the phone, Ben. Please, answer.

By the eighth ring it switched to voice mail. Thank God it wasn’t the Italian recording like earlier when Trent had informed her cell service around the lake could be spotty after she’d gotten her hopes up. At the sound of her brother’s voice, she dissolved into tears, left a somewhat hysterical message asking why and where they were, but when her words came out garbled beyond recognition, she hung up mid-sentence.

Determination made her reign her emotions back under control and the second message was a bit more successful; she apologized for the blubbering, told him she was okay, and she’d try the hotel.

The front desk of the Grand Hotel confirmed Trent’s claim that no Sanders had registered yet. Halli hung up, new worry gnawing at her gut.

Why haven’t they checked into the hotel by now? When they came back and didn’t find me, the next logical step would be to check in at the hotel and wait for me there. They had to come back to look for me, so where are they now?

She redialed the hotel and left a message for Ben in case they showed up later. Then she called his cell phone, forced herself to remain calm as she waited for the voicemail to kick in, and left a third message.

“Me again. Not sure where you guys are or what’s going on, but I’m okay.” She laughed, knowing Ben would when he listened. “Yeah, I know, not so believable after the last two messages...but really, I’m fine, so don’t worry about me. I’m going to the Consulate General in Milan. It’s like an embassy. Meet me there in the morning by ten. I’ll wait out front for you.”

She hung up the phone and slumped into a nearby chair, relieved to have a solid plan in place once more. Ben and Rachel would meet her in Milan and everything would be okay.

Energy drained from her like she’d pulled the plug in a tub. God, Trent was right, she was exhausted. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since arriving in the country.

He had plenty to eat in his refrigerator, but in the end it was easiest to just warm a can of Spaghetti O’s. At last, something familiar.

As she ate, she thought about Trent’s hesitation when she’d questioned his part in the situation. And he’d swiped her camera on the way out, taking with him the only tangible evidence she had of this entire unbelievable day.

After he’d refused to explain his involvement.

“I need you, sweetheart, it’s as simple as that.”

Why did he need her if he had the video? What use was she to him? None of it made sense.

The canned pasta in her stomach churned, and what was left in her bowl lost its already limited appeal. She returned to the kitchen, dumped her leftovers in the garbage and deposited her dishes in the sink. Leaning back against the counter, she gripped the edge so hard numbing tingles shot through her fingers.

How is he involved in this whole thing?

Impulse propelled her to the drawer where he’d stashed her purse and camera. A quick rummage revealed nothing of significance and she slammed it shut before moving on to another one.

Halli worked her way through the house, not quite knowing what she was looking for, but somehow the systematic progression of her hasty search kept her in a semi-state of calm. Taking action instead of letting things happen gave her a tiny sense of much-coveted control.

One of the bedrooms smelled odd. A combination of fresh paint and the scent of new carpeting mingled in the stale air, suggesting it’d been closed up for awhile. All the drawers and closets were empty save one. When she saw men’s clothes along with boxes of cameras and film equipment, something clicked in her mind. Trent’s brother had been a documentary film maker, just like their father, Greg Tomlin.

Her gaze scanned the room again, this time comprehending the fresh paint and new carpeting. Of course. This must have been where he’d died. The furnishings looked new. As if they’d been hastily replaced,

instead of someone taking the time to find antique pieces like in the guestroom she’d used earlier.

The hairs on the back of her neck pricked and a chill raced down her spine. Backing up, she rushed from the room and slammed the door, unable to stomach the thought of Sean Tomlin’s lifeless body on the bed as the newspapers had reported.