Charlotte Bennardo - Blonde Ops A Novel

In front of us was a four-way divide: left, straight, right, and up a twisting flight of steps.

“Which way do we go?” said Kevin.

I focused the phone light. No red scuff, but I spied a small gleam. Rushing over to it, I picked up one of the golden disc-shaped earrings Mrs. Jennings had been wearing at the interview. It lay on the ground at the bottom of the steps.

“They took her this way!” I started to climb, but Kevin pulled me back.

“What if they have guns?”

I was not glad he thought of that little detail, but we couldn’t stop here. “Then we have to be extra careful.”

“So let me go first,” he volunteered, but I scooted up before he could do anything, and the stair wasn’t big enough for both of us at the same time. I heard him mutter something about ballsy interns. That almost made me smile.

I led the way as we crept up a long, crumbling spiral staircase. It was too dark to see the top, and the dull light from my phone barely illuminated the decaying stone. I prayed for another sign. I almost didn’t see the next red scrape. Unless you looked for them, the scuffs were hard to spot. Either Mrs. Jennings was dragging her feet on purpose to leave a trail or she was putting up a good fight. She knew the CIA, Secret Service, and Italian police would be searching for her.

The kidnappers probably knew the trail well enough that they didn’t need the light—and weren’t looking for signs marking the way. If they had known what Mrs. Jennings was doing, they would have stopped her. That might be the case farther along. We’d know soon enough if the trail died.

One of the steps crumbled under my feet, sending down a noisy shower of rocks.

“Watch it!” Kevin yelled, coughing.

“Nice way to help us sneak up on them, Kevin,” I retorted.

“Shut up, you two, before all of Rome hears you!” Sophie whispered fiercely.

“Help!” Taj’s voice came faintly from above.

And I’d never been so glad to hear it.

“Where are you?” I called, “Is Mrs. Jennings with you?”

“Bec? Thank God! Mrs. Jennings is hurt! Come help. Who’s with you?”

“Kevin and Sophie,” I cried, stumbling up as fast as I could. “We’re coming!”

His voice was getting louder, we were getting closer. By now all of us were breathing hard from climbing as fast as we could. I wanted to sprint up the stairs but after all the exertion, my legs were rubbery. I didn’t even want to think about the return trip. Once we got to the top, I’d call Candace and fill her in.

“Hurry!”

I dug deep into my core and forced myself to run up the rest of the way, Kevin and Sophie at my heels.

“Almost there!” I called. My heart was pounding, my lungs screaming for a rest. We rounded a corner and there was another small glint—the other earring by a doorway. I was so glad we wouldn’t have to pry open a manhole. A dark head poked hesitantly through the opening. I lifted the phone up and caught Taj’s face—he looked anxious and shocked.

I scrambled up the remaining steps and bursting through, found myself in a small, tight alley with walls covered in peeling yellow paint and roofed by the blue sky far above—and Taj standing there.

I threw myself into his arms and hugged him to me tightly. I didn’t care what sort of gunk was on me or how terrible I must have looked. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Everything’s fine now.”

Behind me I heard Sophie come up. She gasped.

“What the—” said Kevin, but he didn’t finish. I opened my eyes and pulled away.

Taj was not alone.

Mrs. Jennings leaned against the wall—bound and held around the neck by Ortiz, who was pointing a gun straight at her head.

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL

Want to tone those thighs? Take the stairs—your butt will thank you later.

27

A quick glance around the alley told me exactly where we were: the narrow passage between Angelica’s Bakery and Taj’s way-off-the-beaten-path, hole-in-the-wall hotel. The crookedness of the alley prevented a direct line of sight from the street at either end. Ortiz stood blocking one way, a big goonish guy, the other.

“Mrs. Jennings, are you okay?” asked Sophie. The First Lady’s dress was rumpled and had smudges of dirt smeared on the silky green. Her smile was shaky, though she tried to hide that fact.

“I’m okay.”

Ortiz readjusted her grip on the gun she held to the First Lady’s head. Sophie’s indrawn breath next to me proved she was as riveted as I was on the pressure Ortiz’s finger was put in on the trigger.

“Don’t anyone do anything sudden or stupid,” Ortiz warned.

“Please do what they say,” Mrs. Jennings pleaded before directing a defiant gaze at Taj. “This won’t end well for any of you. Let me go before anyone gets hurt.”

The other guy laughed.

Kevin swore softly. I realized that one of us should’ve stayed behind in the tunnel until we knew what the situation was. Now there was no way any of us could go back for Candace or the police, even if we could find our way through the tunnels. What I wouldn’t give for Dante to show up now with a pack of cousins. That Swiss Guard would work. Or Nunzio the ambulance driver. He looked like he could manage a takedown. Anyone! Please!

Taj’s eyes didn’t flicker with regret or indecision. “No. It’s too late for that. Now everyone move away from the door. Slowly,” he ordered.

“How did you know we were even here?” I demanded, stepping away from him.

“A little falling rock told him,” said Ortiz. “And the yelling too. Not so quiet, are you?”

“I mean, that we’d follow you.”

Ortiz gave me an incredulous look. “If there’s one thing we’ve learned about you, Juliet, is that you have a knack for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and then figuring things out.”

Disappointment and then rage rippled through me, and I guessed that Candace didn’t have a clue that one of her agents had gone rogue.

I tried to piece together what happened in front of the office; someone threw a smoke bomb—I guessed it was this new guy—then Taj hustled Mrs. Jennings into the sewer. If he had to fight Varon off, he had the element of surprise. Ortiz lingered behind once Mrs. Jennings was snatched, giving false directions and making sure that no one could interfere with what they were planning, including me. She took off down the alley to meet up with Taj, this guy, and the captive Mrs. Jennings.

I assumed that meant that she had a hand in Parker’s accident. Did she tamper with the car, or at least know it had been tampered with, and then crash it on purpose—knowing she would walk away and Parker wouldn’t? As agents they would have both been trained on how to survive a car accident—unless, of course, the car had its safety features dismantled. If that was the case, having me show her how to control the car was just a big show. She wanted to see how much I’d be able to figure out, then shadow me to make sure I couldn’t cause trouble. I scowled at her, but she only curled her lip and motioned with her gun.

“Follow Taj. Nice and easy, and real quiet. Remember I have the lovely First Lady in a choke hold and I can break her neck in a second—not that I want to,” she added.

How polite. She didn’t want to kill the First Lady—just threaten her, kidnap her, and possibly paralyze her.

We had little choice but to do as Ortiz said and follow Taj when he opened a little door in the hotel’s wall and started climbing up a straight, narrow staircase.

Oh God, not more stairs! Up, up, up. These were steep and not easy to climb in my shoes with my tired legs. Taj stopped at a landing, then ushered us into a tiny hall, and then a large room with tall windows covered by elaborate grills of scrolled iron. The high ceiling, peeling plaster, cracked molding, and tarnished silver mirrors on the wall gave me the creeps. I didn’t want to die—especially here and now.