Run To Rome

In the hall, as she leaned against the wall to take a couple of deep breaths, her gaze focused on the door at the end, the room she’d heard Trent in earlier when she’d made her escape. A likely place to store things he wanted kept private. Heart still pounding wildly, she hurried across the carpet and twisted the door handle.

There was no doubt it was Trent’s room. One hundred percent male was stamped on the heavy, walnut furniture of the four poster king bed, two dressers, a desk and a black leather chair. On the walls, stark black and white outdoor photos complimented the dark bedding and drapes. The pictures reminded her of Ansel Adams and she wouldn’t be surprised if they were originals.

She made it halfway across the room before a part of her balked at violating Trent’s personal privacy. Then she thought of him ransacking her purse and quickly forgot her hesitation. She started with his dresser drawers, but the only thing of interest she found there were designer boxer briefs and a box of extra-large condoms.

Lovely. Just what she wanted to know.

Mentally blocking the memory of their earlier kiss and the feel of his hard body, she headed for the desk. In the third drawer, she hit pay dirt. Buried on the bottom, a leather bound notebook sat atop a thick stack of newspaper articles. Articles about Sean Tomlin’s suicide. Thumbing through them, she saw a couple she’d read back in the States. She’d been as shocked and saddened as much of the world, especially since it’d never been made public until his death that Trent’s brother had fought a battle with depression most of his adult life.

Though not as renowned as their legendary father, Sean Tomlin’s last two documentaries had garnered rave reviews from critics and audiences alike. Through her job in public television, Halli had watched and respected his work even before he grew in popularity. He’d been a rising star, unafraid to tackle subjects others shied away from. The world had lost something special when he died.

She set aside the clippings from the US publications and the local Italian newspapers, and opened the leather bound book. Inside were pages of notes printed in bold handwriting that matched the note she’d found on the bed after her shower. The first couple pages seemed to be random thoughts jotted down as they’d come to his mind, though after a page, she began to see a pattern.

Paper crinkled in the silent room as she turned the next page, unable to keep herself from reading. She had to skip a section of blank pages before she found what looked like journal entries. They weren’t dated, but it became very clear they’d been started only a few days after his brother’s death.

Halli backed up and sat on the bed, her eyes devouring the less concise, more...passionate handwriting. His words were at turns angry and anguished; at himself, his brother, and his father. The ink was dark, the indents for each letter grooved deep into the paper as if the hand writing them had pressed hard.

More than once, tears welled in her eyes as she read the emotion he’d poured onto paper. This part of his personality was so opposite the playboy image he presented to the public she could hardly believe it was the same person. He’d laid his soul bare in these pages, and suddenly it was too personal.

She reached up with both hands to wipe her wet cheeks before flipping past his journal entries and paging through the rest of the notebook. A page toward the back snagged her attention with a glimpse of organization and she hurriedly located it again. A detailed outline began at the top of one page and continued for a few more pages. An outline of events leading up to and after Sean’s death.

It didn’t take long before Trent Tomlin’s involvement in this crazy situation became crystal clear.

“I refuse to let them kill you like they did my brother and Lorenzo,” he’d told her.

He didn’t believe his brother had committed suicide. He was investigating his brother’s murder.

Chapter 7

Alrigo Lapaglia limped into his lakeside villa, rage simmering in his blood with each stabbing breath he took. Twice the bitch had gotten away. The car chase had caused one hell of a stir with no results. He’d lucked out when his inside guy Stefano called from the Torno police station with the news that a lost American tourist by the name of Halliwell Sanders had turned up at their doorstep. But no more had he had her in his sights, she’d escaped again.

With help.

And he’d gotten hit by a fucking truck.

He was done playing nice. Mariucci and Casale had unsuccessfully questioned the two Americans they’d picked up about who they knew here in town. Apparently, extracting the necessary information would require a professional. The fact that the Halliwell girl had given some story about taking the wrong bus revealed she knew more than she should.

He didn’t care that the bullshit story actually helped him, all he wanted was her and the video, and then she could be taken care of for good.

Alrigo stopped at the door to his office, where his right-hand man sat at his desk. “Where’s Eva?”

Nino Da Via looked up from his laptop and removed a set of black framed glasses as he sat back in Alrigo’s leather executive chair. Placing thumb and forefinger into his mouth, he blew a piercing whistle.

Annoyance and impatience alternately nipped at Alrigo’s heels as he made his way across the room and poured a generous amount of grappa into a tumbler.

“What’s the verdict?” Nino folded his hands across his stomach. “You gonna live?”

Alrigo’s gaze narrowed, not fooled by his partner’s casual pose or tone. He’d banged up his knee and busted two ribs, but didn’t plan to announce the injuries and invite ideas from the more ambitious men in his employ.

Nino’s glance dropped from the ten stitches along his hairline to his knee and Alrigo instinctively straightened. It hurt like the devil without the brace the doc had given him, but now he wished he’d fought the pain more to conceal his limp when he’d entered.

He forced a smile, lifting his glass as he answered the question. “For many long and prosperous years, my friend. I see you got the window fixed already.”

Nino’s nod was as efficient as his actions.

“And the body?”

“I’ll take care of it tonight.”