A Brilliant Deception (17 page)

E
than wasn’t surprised Reilly could leap the roof tiles as deftly as he could. Of course—the man was a burglar, first and foremost. Rooftops were his office, as they were for Ethan.

“Esmerelda, you there?” Ethan said into his earpiece. “I need an extraction.” He changed direction, sliding halfway down the rooftop, to a lower building abutting the palazzo.

He imagined the blueprint of the palazzo, steering clear of the room where Felix was being held. He needed to draw Reilly away from Felix and Jack making their escape.

There was silence except for Ethan’s breathing, loud in his ears, as he tried to put distance between himself and Reilly. Where the hell was Esmerelda?

Then came a crackle in his earpiece. “Get to the Grand Canal,” Esmerelda’s voice burst through the static. “Anywhere near the Scalzi Bridge. I can pick you up there.”

Okay, he could do that. Meanwhile, he would continue heading in the opposite direction from Jack and Felix. If he could lead Reilly off for a while, that would help them get away.

He raced along the spine of a rooftop. He stayed light on his feet like a cat. One slip the wrong way and he’d go sliding down the tiles into the water.

He ran and leapt across a small canal, landing on a rooftop on the other side. He almost lost his balance; the tiles on this roof were crumbling and wobbly. He slid halfway down, then regained his footing. He swung down quickly onto a lower rooftop, sprinted along it for a few minutes, then climbed back to the upper level. He caught a glimpse of the shimmering water of the Grand Canal. He was getting close.

And then he saw Reilly, running at him from a different rooftop, at an angle designed to cut him off, to stop his route to the Grand Canal. The man was perfectly designed for this kind of activity: lean, aggressive, and agile.

Ethan jumped across another tiny canal, heart thundering, and pulled himself down into a loggia, out of view. In a few steps he lunged across the open-air loggia and out through the other side. Where to go now? He needed to get away from the last point where Reilly had seen him, then he could surface at another location.

If he went down to street level, would he be able to find his way to the Grand Canal? Venetian streets and canals were a rabbit warren—he couldn’t be sure his sense of direction wouldn’t fail him.

He ran along another low balcony ledge for several feet, then leapt across to a neighboring villa, staying low. After another block like this, Ethan peered over the roof’s edge and hauled himself onto the rooftop.

Reilly was nowhere to be seen, and neither were any of the other men Ethan knew had been following along on street level. He then realized he wasn’t hearing any gunshots, either. And—now that he thought about it—Reilly hadn’t fired at him once since leaving the palazzo, even when he’d been within range.

Had Reilly changed tactics? Perhaps now he wanted to capture him, if he could. For information, or whatever else they could get out of him.

But the idea of being merely captured by Reilly and his team, and not killed, offered very little comfort. Ethan ran across the rooftop spines, sprinting now, trying to get as far away as possible. Then Reilly popped up in view, much too close.

Ethan made an abrupt turn and sprang to a neighboring roof. Reilly followed, made the leap. Ethan saw his face: pure, snarling hatred.

Reilly followed the same path as Ethan now, and he was gaining on him. The shouts from the other members of Caliga down below on the streets filtered up to Ethan’s ears. They were fanning out, covering the area. Ethan’s mouth went dry as he faced the fact that his window for escape was narrowing.

He raced up an exterior staircase and back onto the rooftop, Reilly uncomfortably close behind.

Two rooftops lay before him—a choice. One was perfect for parkour, new tiles in a tight pattern, but it was a less direct route to the Canal; the other roof’s tiles were old and fragile-looking. But it was a direct path to the Grand Canal and the Scalzi Bridge. Ethan took a deep breath and vaulted onto the old rooftop. He struggled to keep his balance then started sprinting.

Reilly didn’t hesitate. He leapt the divide.

Shit. Ethan would have to turn and face him. Fine. He was bigger and stronger than Reilly. He could take him down. As long as he was right in his guess that Reilly wouldn’t actually shoot him. Ethan turned abruptly to face his pursuer.

Reilly’s eyes went wide—he hadn’t been expecting that. There was a slight wobble as he pulled up to a stop and readjusted his footing. The tile under Reilly’s feet, instead of merely wobbling, cracked and gave way completely. Then all the tiles underneath Reilly collapsed like sliding cards, folding into a pack and taking Reilly with them. He slid straight down the rooftop and all the way into the cold canal below.

Ethan wasted no time. He turned and fled across the lone rooftop that stood in the way of the Grand Canal. When he reached the edge, he glanced down and saw Esmerelda in the powerboat, far below. She stood and signaled to him.

And then he spotted Reilly, again, dripping wet and climbing onto a lower balcony. Did the man
ever
give up? He pulled out a gun from his waistband and pointed it directly at Ethan.

Okay, maybe he’d changed his mind about the capturing-him-alive thing.

It was a long shot; Ethan wasn’t sure he’d take it. And then, Reilly’s glance moved toward the canal, locking on Esmerelda, who was waiting in the boat far below. He readjusted his aim.

A shot rang out. Esmerelda’s head snapped to the side as blood and tissue spurted out of her skull. She slumped and her body flopped, lifelessly, over the side of the boat and into the water.

“No!” Ethan roared.

He ran straight down the rooftop toward the water and leaped into the air.

J
ack and Felix slipped through the lanes and side streets of the Castello region of Venice, sticking to the shadows, moving quickly. As far as Jack could tell, nobody was pursuing them. He glanced with concern at Felix, breathing heavily beside him. They needed to get to the safe house.

He heard muffled sounds coming from far away—an urgent shout, perhaps—but nothing specific. His earpiece, unfortunately, had come loose and fallen out when they were making their escape through the window.

Now he had no idea what was going on with the others, and that worried him. One thing he did know, however: it was because of Ethan’s actions that he and Felix had managed to get away.

Jack heard a gunshot. The sound ricocheted through the misty air from far away, closer to the Grand Canal. Jack closed his eyes as dread clamped around his gut—could that have been Cat? Or . . . Ethan? He didn’t care for Ethan Jones, but that didn’t mean he wanted him shot. Especially not after he’d taken additional risk to draw Caliga away from Jack and Felix.

Lanterns glimmered in the dark waters of the canals. The smell of fish and salt was less potent at night than in the full heat of the day. Jack took a sidelong glance at Felix’s beaten face.

They had to keep moving. Jack couldn’t do anything to help Ethan or Cat right now. The most important thing was getting Felix to safety. They made a sharp left turn and after a few more minutes were nearly at the safe house. Almost clear.

They entered a small alley. In the shadows of the tall buildings, Jack spun and faced Felix. His burning questions would not wait one minute longer. It was time for some answers.

“Why?” Jack demanded. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I had a brother?”

Felix’s eyes popped wide with shock. He said nothing. Then he looked away for a long time, and when he looked back, his eyes had grown dark. “You already had everything. Do you really think you deserved to have even more?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Our father chose
you
. He chose to be with you. Me and my mother—we were tossed aside.”

Jack opened his mouth in retort, then quickly closed it.

Felix spat into the gutter beside them. “Sure, he visited once in a while. Maybe you remember him being away from time to time.”

Jack did remember that. All those times Jack’s father, the great John Robie, had been away on “business.” He’d later learned that business typically involved the execution of high-stakes burglaries. But . . . maybe that hadn’t been the case every time.

“And sure, he taught me one or two cool things,” Felix said. “Enough to pique my interest in his line of work. When I got old enough, I did my own detective work and figured out where his real home was. We were living in New Jersey at the time. It sure wasn’t the South of France, I’ll tell you that.”

Jack’s father had moved the family to Saint-Tropez on the French Riviera. That was where Jack had grown up, attending exclusive American schools for ex-pats.

Felix’s voice cracked with emotion. “Do you have any idea how devastating it is for a kid to realize his father has a whole other life? And one that he prefers?”

Jack felt renewed disgust for his father. How could he have abandoned Felix? There were so many questions that would remain unanswered. Felix stood in front of him, with fists in tight balls at his sides. Jack’s chest ached.

“By the time I figured out the truth, your mother had been dead for years,” Felix said. “But our dad had remarried. I overheard a conversation with my mother once. He said you were going through a difficult stage. That you wouldn’t be able to share him with anyone else. He needed to fix things with you, first, before bringing another kid into the family.”

“But that never happened,” Jack said in a low voice, looking down.

“No. It never did.”

In a blinding flash, Jack remembered a fragment of conversation with his father, years ago. His father had said something about “growing” their family. Jack hadn’t wanted to hear anything he had to say at that time. He was in such a dark place with his father at that point, having just learned about his secret profession. The betrayal of that had been fresh and raw, and Jack would have been damned before he let John Robie get something he seemed to want.

And then, another memory surged. John Robie’s will being read as Jack sat in an expensive leather chair in the lawyer’s office. The solicitor had mentioned a small amount going to somebody or other in New Jersey. Everything else had gone to Jack. He had assumed the person in the States was some kind of old friend, or shady colleague or something. He’d been so shaken up by the sudden death of his father, and the unwanted inheritance, he hadn’t bothered to look into it any further.

Jack’s gut twisted. It looked like John Robie hadn’t been the only monster in his family. A selfish adolescent boy had hurt people, too. Because of his rage and angst, Jack had ensured Felix’s rejection. It was, at least in part, his fault.

“Felix, I can’t change any of that. I wish I could, but I can’t.” But maybe he could still make up for it, somehow. “You’re getting home safe. I’m going to see to that.”

I
gripped the seat as Atworthy took the speedboat around a corner. We were almost at the Grand Canal. Once we got to the bigger waterway, the artery of the city, it would be much easier to move quickly and get away.

As we arrived at the mouth of the canal, however, something caught my eye: movement, on the rooftop of a building that overlooked the canal.

It was Ethan.

I jolted upright with alarm. What was going on? He was supposed to be far away from here.

I followed Ethan’s line of sight. Down in the Grand Canal was a speedboat with Esmerelda at the wheel. She was looking up at him, waiting for him to . . . jump?

A shot rang out, shattering the peace. Esmerelda’s head snapped back and blood spurted out of it. It was a direct hit. In slow motion I saw her body collapse and fall over the boat’s edge into the water with a splash.

“NO!” I screamed, and heard an echo of the same sound coming from the rooftops. The air left my lungs. In the next instant Ethan leaped into the air, jumping off the rooftop. He hit the water and swam several quick strokes to the side of the boat. He was up on board in a second. My heart slammed against my rib cage, expecting him to be shot also, any moment. But there was no second shot. Where was the shooter?

A boat rounded the bend, coming fast. Caliga. It was like staring at a terrifying movie. Ethan was scanning the water, frantically searching for Esmerelda’s body.

“Ethan, just go,” I hissed into my earpiece. “There’s nothing you can do.”

There was no response. But I knew Esmerelda was dead. She had been shot in the head, an unsurvivable hit.

At last Ethan grasped the steering wheel and the boat roared forward. He sped off, away from Caliga and away from us.

I spotted a familiar figure standing beside a motorcycle on the bridge Ethan sped underneath. Raven hair flapped in the breeze coming off the canal.

Brooke had seen everything. She must have grabbed that motorcycle and raced straight here from Caliga’s palazzo. She stepped forward, and the lanterns on the bridge illuminated her face. Her expression was one of unmistakable horror.

“We have to get out of here, Catherine,” Atworthy said. I nodded, wordlessly. He pushed the throttle forward and we moved swiftly away. He quickly got us lost in the canals.

Once I found my voice, I gave him directions to our safe house. As we made our way, the scene of Esmerelda getting shot replayed in my mind, like a grisly loop.

I couldn’t help thinking about my mother.

“It was my fault,” I mumbled. “Esmerelda was helping us—helping me.” I turned away, hot tears burning my eyes. “How many more people are going to get hurt because of me?”

Atworthy glanced over his shoulder at me. He hesitated a moment before speaking. “Esmerelda knew what she was doing. You didn’t force her into anything. She was here in Venice because she wanted to help. Plus, it was part of her job.”

I said nothing, staring behind us at the rippling wake from our boat. Within minutes, we arrived at the safe house.

On my instruction, Atworthy brought me to the secret entrance. It was a gate, a glassblower’s studio, deserted and dark. The boat pulled up to the tiny
campo
. “It’s this way,” I said.

“I’m not coming in,” he said. “I’ve stretched the bounds of my cover too much as it is. It would be difficult to explain if I didn’t show up to give my lecture at the conference tomorrow.”

I nodded numbly. I couldn’t ask him to risk any more. And for Atworthy, simply being in Europe was dicey. He was in the witness protection program, having fled from France years ago and the people who wanted retribution for his desertion as an assassin.

A minute later he was off again, steering the boat through the darkened waters, heading back toward the Grand Canal.

I slipped through the gate and into our safe house.

Jack and Felix were inside. I felt a small ripple of relief when I saw Felix, rescued and safe. But it was not enough to overpower the tremendous feeling of despair over Esmerelda.

At the sight of me, Jack knew something horrible had happened. His eyes took me in, scanning over my body quickly, and he looked relieved to see I wasn’t injured. He immediately grabbed me and held me in a very strong embrace. “It’s over. You’re safe,” he said. And then, “What happened?”

I squeezed my eyes tight. He put a hand on my head, stroked my hair, but said nothing for a moment. Then he pulled back and looked in my eyes. “Tell me.”

He watched me steadily, holding me up with that rock-solid gaze, as I described what had happened to Esmerelda. He remained quiet, but I saw sadness and fury cloud his eyes.

Ethan wasn’t there yet. He’d be arriving any second. I hoped he would, anyway. I knew he would have to take a more circuitous route to shake off Caliga. I prayed he would be able to do that. The image of Esmerelda being shot, her body dropping into the deep, dark Venetian waters, flashed in my mind again.

But my despair soon turned to a cold, hard determination.

Caliga.
They had to be stopped.