Lost in Italy (7 page)

Pushing those items aside, she eyed the other choices of tops and pants spread out on the intricately quilted bedspread, wanting so badly to walk away, but at the same time cringing at the thought of putting her smelly, grimy travel clothes back on.

No
.  She didn’t want a darn thing from the man.

She took two steps back to the bathroom before her resistance waffled.  The material had felt so soft when she’d brushed the lingerie out of the way.  They probably wouldn’t even fit, so, what could it hurt to try them on, right?  Then at least she could wear her old clothes without thinking twice about the clean ones.

Selecting a pair of lightweight jean Capri’s was easy, and they were close enough to her size.  The shirts were another matter.  A blue, backless halter top she tossed aside without a second glance.  The sheer, black button-up blouse was quick to follow.  That left her with a white, V-necked, baby doll T-shirt, size small, the least offensive of the three—
if
it weren’t for the words
Wet & Wild
emblazoned in blue rhinestones across the front.

Considering she’d seen the women the arrogant jerk dated, she was not surprised by the limited options.  At least those women had the body and the confidence for these clothes.  Heck, if she strutted around on Trent Tomlin’s arm, maybe she would, too.

With an annoyed frown, Halli snatched up the underwear and clothes, and returned to the bathroom, reminding herself she had no time to waste.  The Capri’s were a little tighter than she usually wore, and obviously made for someone much taller, but comfortable, none-the-less.  She rolled up the extra length a few times before pulling the white top over her head.

Flipping her damp hair back over shoulders, she eyed herself in the mirror.  The T-shirt sucked tight to every inch it touched; shoulders, chest, stomach and hips.  Her breasts stood out, additionally highlighted by the rhinestones that stretched across the shirt’s velvet-soft material. Good God, if she got cold, the thin satin bra would hide nothing.  Heck, even now, her nipples puckered at the mere thought.

She reached for the hem to take it off when a muted noise reached her ears in the otherwise quiet house.  She paused and held her breath.  Was that the garage door opening?  Chances were Trent was near the garage, too, which put him clear across the house from her.  This might be her only opportunity to escape.

Halli bent down and dug into the pocket of her sweat pants for the photo copy of her passport and stuffed it into the front pocket of her new Capri’s.  A quick flick of her wrist turned the shower back on full blast, and then she scooped up her shoes, ran across the bedroom, and tried the first window.  It didn’t budge.  She bounced across the bed but the pane on the other side was no better.

Muttering under her breath, she hauled butt to the bedroom door and peeked into the hall.  All clear.  She had to get to a door with a security pad so she could key in the four digit code she’d watched Trent enter.  Four years earlier than the year she was born, it was easy to remember.  Once out in the yard, she’d bypass his security gates by going down to the lake and around the wall she’d noticed while he was drinking shot after shot.  From there, she’d head straight to the local police station.

How?

Halli froze as the question expanded in her mind.  How would she get to the police station with no clue where to go and no knowledge of the language?

Stop.
  She fisted her fingers around her shoes and put one foot in front of the other.  Her only choice was to move forward.  She’d figure out the how once she was free.

Her heart pounded in her ears with each silent step along the thick carpet in the hall.  It nearly leapt from her chest when the muted thud of a dresser drawer sliding shut sounded behind her.  Her breath seized.  He was supposed to be by the garage so she could sneak past the bar by way of the double doors leading to the lake.  Clutching shoes to chest, she ran down the hall and made it to the stairs as the door at the end of the hall opened behind her.

Please let him hear the shower and think I’m still in there
.

She rushed down to the first floor, around the corner, toward the bar.  Right there, right next to the whisky bottle that’d almost choked her, sat his wallet.  She had a flash-vision of her dad and mom, smiling proudly at her, Ben, and Rachel after they’d pulled a successful con.  Games, they’d called them.  Once she was old enough to figure out what was really happening, she’d sworn she’d never again do those things.

Cheat.  Lie.  Steal.

Halli hesitated.  All her money was in her purse.  In Trent’s hands.

She grabbed his wallet and bolted for the door. 
This is different
, she told herself.  This was her life, not some game her parents were playing to beat the system.

And it’s not like he can’t afford it, Baby.
The words were true, but as they echoed in her father’s smug voice, they almost made her drop Trent’s wallet.

She gritted her teeth and whispered vehemently, “
Focus, Halli
.”

Stuffing the soft leather into her front pocket with one hand, she hugged her shoes against her ribs and keyed in the code with her other.

Her trembling finger slipped on the fourth little rubber square.

Chapter 4

Halli sucked in a breath, wondering what number she’d actually pressed.

Three excruciating heartbeats later, the light blinked from red to green.  Air whooshed from her lungs, but she had no time to enjoy the relief.

Knowing Trent could spot her at any moment made the sprint past his pool, down some stone steps, across a small immaculate lawn, and finally over the rocky shoreline to the edge of his property seem like a mile. Her headlong rush startled three white swans swimming near the water's edge.

Indignant honks filled the air as they half-ran, half-flew across the water.  Halli cringed as they landed near the large white boat house next to Trent’s dock. 
Stupid swans
.  The darn birds would be the death of her yet.

She waded around to the other side of the wall separating his property from the villa next door and paused to catch her breath while taking stock of her new surroundings.  Past the front of his neighbor’s house there were no gates to block access to the road. 
Thank God.

By the time she reached the sidewalk at the edge of the yard, her feet were dry enough to put on her shoes.  She straightened and searched for something familiar.  Something...
any
thing to point her in the right direction.

Nothing appeared much different from where Ben and Rachel left her.  Pedestrians filled the walkways and cars streamed past.

Her feet refused to move, frozen to the sidewalk.  She took in the activity in every direction.  So much going on, people going about their everyday normal lives, but she was all alone in this foreign country.  Lost.  With no clue which direction to turn.

Her shoulders slumped.  What had made her think she could do this on her own?  She crossed her arms over her stomach, wishing for a reassuring hug from her sister.

That thought brought her up short.  Before the debilitating anxiety fluttering in her stomach could multiply, swell, and take over, she dropped her hands to her sides, squared her shoulders and gave herself a stern admonishment.

Quit being such a wimp.  You’ll fail for sure if you give up before you even try.  You got out of the house, didn’t you?

A loud wolf whistle to her right made her jump.  Two black haired boys waved her over, their wide grins glinting white against tanned skin.  A smile quivered on her lips.  They looked no older than teenagers, but if they knew English, she could ask them directions to the police station.

The cool lake wind blew a damp strand of hair across her mouth and she reached one hand up to tuck it behind her ear.  One of the boys called out in Italian.  She couldn’t understand the words, but the suggestion in his tone was universal.  Didn’t even need the vulgar hand gesture in his lap for translation.

“If you are wet,
fighetta
, we can get wild.”

The other one stood, spread his arms and then pointed to his crotch with both hands. 
Gross
.  She flushed straight to her roots and then the heavily accented words registered.  Halli glanced down at her shirt with the forgotten shiny blue rhinestoned words. 
Frickin’ Trent Tomlin
.  He’d obviously planned to amuse himself from the choices he’d given her, and now she was the one who had to pay for it.

Both the boys laughed and another whistle split the air.  Halli spun away from them to the left, even though it would take her right past Trent’s place.  She was probably screwed either way.

A taxi cruised toward her, its light on top the roof of the car a blessed beacon of reprieve.  She may live in small town Wisconsin, but she’d seen enough movies to recognize that widespread symbol.  She practically jumped in front of the darn thing to wave it down, then ran around to slip into the back seat.

“Police. 
La polizia
,” she implored, interrupting the driver’s rapid, scolding Italian mid-stream.  “
Please
, take me to the nearest police station.”

****

Halli’s fingers clenched on the small plastic cup in her hands.  A conscious effort loosened them again.  The stupid shirt was bad enough without adding an ugly stain of black espresso.

She stared through the window of the bare-bones room the female officer had put her in.  Greco she’d introduced herself.  Without a clue how to address the police in Italy, Halli went with Officer Greco.

What was the holdup?  Did it really take the woman an hour and a half to call the US Embassy or Consulate to verify the photocopy of her passport was legitimate?  It shouldn’t take a genius to figure out she was the live version of the black and white picture.

She’d requested to call Ben on his cell phone or at the hotel, but the man in charge insisted on filing paperwork before allowing her a phone call.  He hadn’t been mean about it.  On the contrary, despite taking forever, they’d been nothing but nice to her so far.  So she tried to tell herself things were different in a foreign country, that’s why where was a delay.

It didn’t help.  Based on her childhood experiences with her parents, she couldn’t help but feel like a criminal.

She wanted to remind the officers that she’d come to
them
. 
She
was the missing person her brother and sister were probably frantically looking for.  All they had to do was let her make one phone call.

With annoying frequency, a small voice inside her head repeated Trent’s insistence that the police couldn’t be trusted. 
But they’re the police
, she rationalized, and this station was half-way around the lake, more than an hour’s drive away from where the car chase had occurred.  The police were the ones she could trust.  Not some arrogant movie star who believed his good looks and fake charm put him above the law.

And yet, for some unknown reason, something kept her from mentioning Trent’s involvement.  She didn’t owe him a darn thing.  Well…okay, maybe she did, but he’d been nothing but a bullying jerk once they reached his house.  Threatening to tie her up!  Would’ve served him right if she
had
ratted him out.

If it hadn’t been for that one moment in the car, when his eyes and voice had begged for her cooperation—

She wondered if he’d gotten the camera battery yet.  Wondered if he’d found the murder on her video.  The thought that she may have filmed someone’s death scraped across her nerves like nails on a chalkboard.  Goosebumps rose on her arms in the wake of the chill that raced over her skin, but she pushed thoughts of Trent Tomlin from her mind with a determined sip from her cup.

Grimacing in distaste at the extreme bitterness of the now cold espresso, she set the cup down and slid it across the table.  She rotated her head to relieve sore muscles.  Man, she missed Wisconsin.  And she was tired.  And her head hurt from where she’d hit it in the jerk’s car and on his chin.  All she wanted to do was find her family, get to the hotel, sleep for a day, then book a flight back home.  Maybe even skip the sleep and just head home.

Italy had permanently lost its appeal.

Seeing no sign of Officer Greco, and considering she’d been waved back to her chair with patient words of “
per favore
” and “
fra un momento
” after she’d  twice attempted to ask what was taking so long, Halli dropped her head to rest on her crossed arms.  Her eyes burned when she closed them.  Jet lag, stress and tears were a painful combination.

Voices approached the office and she quickly opened
her
eyes while lifting her head in hope.  Two men, one in uniform and one in business attire minus a suit coat, walked to the door—and kept on going.  Halli sighed and resumed her position.  After two more false alarms, she didn’t even bother looking anymore.  She debated pushing to her feet again and trying to get answers, but fatigue crept up on her, despite the hard chair and uncomfortable position.  At least with her head buried in her arms, she could block the glare of the lights from her exhausted eyes.