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  I forced myself to look up. The slender guy kept a straight face, but his dark brown eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. I braced myself before making eye contact with the tall guy.

  He was definitely attractive, but not in a pretty boy way. His chiseled features drew you in. His blue eyes sparked with intelligence and something more, something I couldn’t define, but wanted to explore. His expression was decidedly neutral.

  Dropping my gaze, I gathered what dignity I had left and flashed a smile as I stood up.

  “For my second act I usually light myself on fire, but since this is a non-smoking car, I think I will just go back to my seat,” I declared with forced panache.

  Bandana and her friends snickered as I walked back to my seat. Anna’s face was bright red from choking back laughter.

  “That was borderline amazing,” she managed to squeak out as I sat down.

  “Could I be any more freaking spastic?” Completely horrified, I slouched in my seat.

  “I don’t see how,” she wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “I practically fell onto his lap!”

  “True, but on the bright side I bet you made a lasting impression.”

  I scowled at her, but didn’t respond. Eventually, I worked up the nerve to peek over the top of the seat to see what was happening at the other end of the car. The slender guy was talking to the girls while the tall guy was now looking at something on a tablet. Although he never once looked in my direction, I got the impression he was acutely aware that I was watching him. Flustered, I went back to gazing at the scenery, trying to push the whole incident out of my mind.

  An hour out of Rome, Anna brought out her iPad and opened up the electronic guidebook.

  “Which hotel should we try first?” she asked, scrolling through pages.

  “Check out page 455. There was one called the Hotel Cristina and another called the Hotel Ponte Sisto. Both would suit us.”

  Used to my prodigy-like memory, she simply went to the first page I mentioned. Anna knew I wasn’t comfortable talking about my dirty little secret. That was one of the great things about Anna: She accepted how things were and moved on.

  “I think we should follow those guys to wherever they are staying,” she said as she dug her cell phone out of her bag. Before we had left the States, Anna had put her phone on an international calling plan which had made tasks such as reserving hotels ahead of time much easier.

  “Neat idea, but I think we would be crowding Bandana Girl and her friends; she looks like she could put up a pretty good fight.”

  “Alright,” she said with mock resignation, already dialing.

  Utilizing two years of high school Italian, with some English thrown in, Anna reserved a room at the Hotel Cristina. My Italian was better than Anna’s, but I knew she enjoyed taking charge in a situation. If I had wanted to, I probably could have spoken flawless Italian, or any other language for that matter. Words and phrases I remembered perfectly, but grasping an entire language was more complicated. I found that my mind tended to get cluttered unless I really focused on how the language was used. More motivated to keep my dirty little secret than to speak another language, I hadn’t put forth a lot of effort into learning more than the basics during high school. Hearing Italian constantly over the last few days, I was already picking up more than I had in those two years in Mrs. Lathrop’s class.

  A short time later, we were pulling into the busy terminal in Rome. As we stepped onto the crowded platform, a mass of people surged around us and we made our way toward the main entrance of the building. In the midst of the melee, someone darted through the crowd in my peripheral vision, catching my attention. As I turned to get a better look, I was bumped into from behind, causing me to stagger a bit. Worried about pickpockets, I hurriedly checked my belongings. Everything was where it should be. Glancing around, I saw that the two people involved were long gone. Immediately, the uneasiness of Versailles was back, slinking hotly beneath my skin.

  CHAPTER 2

  ONCE WE WERE outside the station, Anna flagged down a cab for the brief ride to our hotel, a quaint four-story pink building on a street next to a fairly large plaza. After dropping our packs in the worn but clean room, we headed out to find dinner. The two of us crossed the square to a restaurant with outdoor seating. After we selected an empty table, a friendly waitress took our order.

  We were sipping glasses of Frascati, a well-known local white wine I had read about, when I felt a sudden jolt. Two men seated a couple tables away were blatantly staring at us. One had salt-and-pepper hair slicked back close to his head. His olive skin was leathered by the sun. He obviously hadn’t shaved in a while, and his blood-shot eyes suggested he hadn’t slept in a while either. His rumpled, white-collared shirt was half unbuttoned, exposing a gratuitous amount of dark chest hair. He could have easily passed for George Clooney’s sleazy, unwashed twin.

  The other guy also looked rough and worn. His thick, dark hair was unruly, with greasy curls. He wore a dark blue sleeveless shirt that revealed thick arms also covered with dark, curly hair. The two men continued to stare as our food arrived. The vibe emanating from them was purely predatory.

  I motioned to Anna to check them out. After stealing a quick glance, she looked back at me with a grimace. We both carefully avoided making eye contact with them as we feasted on bruschetta and fettuccini Alfredo.

  Meanwhile, Anna struck up a conversation with a group of men at a nearby table. Two looked to be in their later twenties and were Italian-model cute. Another had a chubby baby face, and the fourth looked like someone’s older, balding uncle. I hadn’t really noticed them before, but they had definitely noticed us. Now that they had our attention, they were very interested in keeping it. The balding one invited us to join them for some wine. Anna quickly accepted.

  “What better way to fend off two creeps than to hang out with four friendly guys who want to buy us booze?” Anna muttered as they moved our chairs to their table.

  More Frascati was poured, and the introductions began. Francesco and Marcello were your typical, gorgeous Italians. Giovanni had the baby face and Carlo was the oldest member of the group. Anna sat next to Francesco and Carlo while I was between Marcello and Giovanni. They told us they worked together and were celebrating Carlo’s promotion.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the two sketchy men leave their table and walk over to some motorbikes parked just outside the restaurant’s patio. But they didn’t leave, instead they stood by their bikes, shooting glances at our table.

  “So what do you all do for work?” Anna asked, drawing my attention back to the group.

  “We work for the Guardia di Finanza, you would say, guardians of finance,” Marcello said in excellent and delightfully accented English.

  “Is that like bankers with guns?” I blurted.

  They all laughed.

  “No, it is similar to your FBI,” Marcello explained.

  I raised an eyebrow skeptically. He had a deep tan, light-brown hair, caramel-colored eyes and a genuine smile. He seemed amused by my inspection and returned it in kind.

  “Show me your badge,” I challenged, a little surprised at my flirtatious tone.

  The whole table was laughing as Marcello handed over his credentials, which I carefully examined before returning them. As everyone else chatted, I hazarded a glance over my shoulder and saw that the two men were still standing by their bikes. They were involved in a heated exchange with the one in white gesturing at our table. I found my gazed focused on a large tattoo on his forearm of a skeletal hand clutching a jagged knife that dripped bright red blood. The tension inside me was climbing steadily.

  Marcello noticed my apprehension. “What is the matter?” he asked, quietly enough that no one else at the table heard him.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, forcing myself to smile at him.

  “Do you know them?” There was a cautious tone to Marcello’s voice, as if he could sense trouble.

 
“No, we don’t know them. They keep staring at us for some reason, though.”

  Glancing back, I made the mistake of looking directly at the one with the tattoo. When our gazes met, his face split into a wolfish grin. It felt as though he was picking my flesh apart with his eyes, and I shuddered at the mental violation.

  Marcello stood up next to me so he was directly in the tattooed guy’s line of sight. Tattoo Man glowered at him, but he stood his ground, not flinching. His solid presence was reassuring.

  The bizarre prolonged moment didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of our group. All conversation around the table stopped as everyone turned to see what we were looking at. The man was motionless as he stared at Marcello, as if daring him to make a move. Francesco, Giovanni and Carlo slowly rose out of their seats, their eyes steady on the two men. The mood at the table had shifted from revelry to high alert in an instant. The one in blue spoke heatedly into his friend’s ear.

  Just when I figured a confrontation was inevitable, Tattoo Man glanced back at me. His steely glare locked with mine for a heartbeat. I felt as if we were physically connected in that moment. Then he did something completely unexpected. He winked at me. It was not playful, more of a dangerous promise that I would be seeing him again. My stomach coiled as they got on their bikes and took off. Tattoo Man held my gaze until the last possible second as he zoomed away with his friend right behind him.

  As soon as they were out of sight, everyone at the table sat back down. There was a quick exchange in Italian before they all looked at me and Marcello spoke in English.

  “Are you sure you did not know them?” He was hesitant.

  “No, we don’t. We have never seen them before tonight and I have no idea what that was all about.” I hoped my obvious uneasiness lent credibility to my words.

  There was another exchange in Italian. Anna cocked her head at me; I knew she was wondering if I was ok.

  “Those were not good guys,” Marcello said slowly.

  “No, but they are gone now.” I flashed a bright smile at Marcello. “So what exactly does the Guardia di Finanza do?”

  Marcello obliged me by explaining that the Guardia was an Italian police force that investigated tax evasion, smuggling, drug trafficking, and counterfeiting. They were also responsible for patrolling Italy’s territorial waters. This foursome was stationed in Rome and had worked together for a few years.

  The drinking and laughter continued until I realized that, with the exception of our table, the restaurant was empty. The Italians talked while gathering up their stuff.

  “Will you come make more party with us?” a very intoxicated Carlo invited.

  “I am afraid we are going to have to call it a night,” Anna smiled regretfully.

  “We are going to a friend’s house, you should come,” Marcello implored with his charming smile.

  “I think it would be best if we headed back to our hotel,” I said, even though a part of me wanted to go.

  “Can I give you a lift?” Marcello offered.

  “We are just on the other side of the square. Thanks, though,” I said.

  “It will be safer for you if we give you a ride. My car is just there.” He pointed at a shiny, midnight-black Audi parked nearby.

  I caught Anna’s eye. She half-shrugged to my unspoken question.

  “If you really don’t mind, thanks.”

  Marcello gestured for me to lead the way out of the restaurant. Carlo was hanging onto Anna’s arm, as was Francesco. They were both trying to persuade her to go “make more party” with them.

  “Nice,” I said appreciatively as we walked up to the car.

  Marcello smiled in acknowledgement as he opened the front door for me. Anna climbed into the back with Francesco as I settled into the front passenger seat. With no room in the Audi, a visibly chagrined Carlo had to go with Giovanni.

  The powerful engine of the Audi purred to life. The seats were buttery soft black leather. The dash boasted a navigation system that looked like it could rival one in an F-14. I wondered what exactly his position was in order to afford such a posh car.

  I provided directions, and within minutes he was parking in front of our small hotel.

  “Are you sure you do not want to come with us?” Marcello asked with an engaging smile.

  My stomach fluttered unexpectedly. “We really can’t, but it was a lot of fun hanging out.”

  Marcello hustled around the vehicle to open my door. Unused to such gallantry, I fumbled around a bit and blushed as he helped me out of the car and shut the door behind me.

  “May I see you tomorrow?” he asked, not releasing my hand as he walked me to the door of the hotel.

  “Um, yes,” I stuttered. The warm, gentle pressure of his hand was slightly exhilarating.

  “What is your mobile number?” he asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he turned to face me in the doorway.

  I recited the number, which he entered into his phone.

  “I will give you mine as well,” he said, handing me a business card.

  As he leaned in I caught a whiff of his cologne. It was subtle, very masculine and, coupled with his closeness, made me a little unsteady. He’s going to kiss me, shot across my brain like a lightning bolt. My breathing stopped altogether as I froze with anticipation.

  “Ciao, bella,” he said with a quick peck on each cheek before returning to the car.

  “Ciao,” I responded shakily.

  Anna was standing a few feet away with a smirk on her face. The car sped away as I walked over to her.

  “Well, well, well, it looks like someone has a new friend!” she said.

  “So do you,” I shot back.

  I couldn’t decide if I was disappointed he hadn’t kissed me on the lips or felt foolish that I had expected it.

  “Do you like him?”

  “I am not sure,” I mumbled as we entered the hotel lobby.

  “What do you mean you’re not sure?” She was aghast. “He is super cute, plus he has a badge, bonus!”

  “Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.

  She muttered something incoherent under her breath, but didn’t push the subject. In truth, I really wasn’t sure if I liked him. He was good-looking and very sweet, but I had only known him for a few hours. I also didn’t have a great deal of experience to draw on. I had gone out on a few dates, but mostly I had male friends or crushes on people that never turned into anything. The ones who did want to date me (I referred to them as the few and the strange), didn’t interest me.

  Back in the room we talked about the plan for the next day as we got ready for bed. Once we had hammered out an itinerary acceptable to us both, we turned out the lights for some much-needed rest.

  After a good night’s sleep, we were up early and ready to go. The plan was to see the major sights here and then head up the west coast of Italy to a place we had heard about in Paris. After stopping for a quick breakfast in the hotel restaurant, we headed out on foot to find transportation.

  I hailed a cab, which took us over to the Piazza di Spagna. It was beautiful with colorful flowers lining both sides and a sea of people traversing or sitting on the steps. Not in a rush, we wandered along the path we had laid out the previous night. Our route took us past numerous landmarks, including the Fountain of Trevi and the Pantheon. At midday, we stopped to refuel with lasagna, Frascati, and delicious chocolate gelato.

  “It is the Vatican next, yeah?” Anna asked as she drained the last of her wine and I paid our bill.

  “Yes, then we can loop back around to the Forum and the Colosseum.”

  “So we’re looping?” She half smiled, a little tipsy, as she led the way to Vatican City.

  “Yes, we are looping, not to be confused with loopy, that may happen later,” I said in mock seriousness.

  St. Peter’s square was full of tour groups moving in slow, herd-like formations, so navigating around them took a while. After a quick but thorough self-guided tour of the Basilica, we paused at the edge of
the main square. I idly scanned the plaza as Anna checked the guidebook. To my right, two men stood holding a map. One was tall and stocky with a deep tan. The other was short with dark brown hair that stuck up in little spikes. Something about the two of them struck me as oddly familiar.

  I flipped through the pages of a mental scrapbook of moments from the day. I had seen the stocky one at least three times before; twice in the Basilica and once at the Spanish Steps. Each time he was nearby, but never so close that he fully caught my attention. My level of concern crept up a couple of notches as I shifted to study Spiky’s face. In seconds, I recalled him talking on a cell phone just outside the entrance to St. Peter’s Square as I walked by. Going back through earlier parts of the day, I realized I had also seen Spiky at both the Pantheon and the Fountain of Trevi. One of those two had been at nearly every place we had stopped during the day.

  Uneasiness bubbled hotly in the pit of my stomach. It wouldn’t be the first time we had run into the same people at different tourist spots. However, as with the unsavory characters at the restaurant the night before, these men brought my guard up.

  “You ready?” I asked Anna, keeping a surreptitious eye on our potential stalkers.

  “Yeah, we want to head out that way and veer down this road here,” she said, pointing at the map.

  “Let’s go.”

  I didn’t want to alarm her so I didn’t mention my concern that we were being followed. Once we were out of the Vatican it didn’t look like they were behind us, so I relaxed a little. We made our way to the Roman Forum with the plan to end the day at the Colosseum. I didn’t see the suspicious pair as we meandered our way through the Forum, which helped me relax a little more.

  Tiring by the time we reached the Colosseum I suggested a short break, to which Anna readily agreed. She picked out a bench where we had a great view of the ancient structure.