“Thank you,” I mutter as he begins walking away.
With a deep sigh, I open the car door and it swings wide, as if to say“look at all this space, Gabriel!”
Ridiculous.
The seat is practically in the trunk—mainly because there isn’t a trunk—and I have to angle my shoulders just to slide in. My knees bump the dash immediately, and the steering wheel greets me directly in the ribs.
I exhale, attempting to fold myself smaller, as my luggage is brought over and shoved behind the seat. My bag hits the back window with a dullthudbecause there’s nowhere else for it to go. My suitcase they have to negotiate with, twisting and jamming it into the passenger footwell. By the time they finally shut the door, I feel like I’ve been vacuum-sealed into place.
With another frustrated exhale, I slide my phone out of my pocket and dial Reid, who answers on the first ring.
“Ciao, boss!” he says, cheerfully.
“Care to explain why I’m sitting in a toy car?”
Reid bursts out laughing while I roll my eyes and start the car to warm up from the chilly winter air. He laughs even harder at the sound of the engine chirping to life—yes,chirping—and I shake my head in disbelief. This is going to be one long and uncomfortable drive.
“I heard the roads in Rome can be a tight fit so I figured a smaller car would be a better fit,” he finally says.
“A smaller car would have been fine, butthis? This is tiny, Reid. Not to mention the brightest colour you could have picked.”
“Red? That’s your favourite colour though. Same as Zalea’s hair.”
I scoff, and then punch in the address for the hotel he booked for me into the GPS while I wait for the handler to return with my documents. “Any update on her?”
During the flight I was able to figure out how to tap into her phone, but she refused to answer. I sent Reid all the data that I was able to pull from it before she shut it off, in hopes that he’d get a more accurate location.
“Yes, actually,” Reid says, the sound of his speedy typing taking over momentarily. “I was able to find her perimeter with the data you sent over, and after checking surveillance cameras, I found her at a small family-run restaurant just outside the city centre.”
I check my watch, glad to see that there are plenty of hours between now and dinnertime. “Lovely,” I look up and see my handler returning, “send me the address for that restaurant.”
“You think she’s going to go back.” It's not a question.
“Yes,” I confirm, “and if not then maybe they’ll at least know where she went.”
“Smart,” he replies. “I can also keep trying to tap into her phone throughout the next few days to see if she’s reconnected it.”
“Sure. Send me her exact location as soon as she does.”
After hanging up on Reid and confirming a few document details with my handler, I follow the directions my GPS spits out. It takes about thirty minutes to get to my hotel, and I’m not at all surprised at how on edge I feel as I climb out of the car.
Italians drive more aggressively than I’m used to, and that’s saying something. I found myself the victim of one too many middle fingers on the way here.
I stare up at the hotel, more excited than I’ve ever been to get into my room and sleep for a couple hours before I search for Zalea. The jet lag is hitting me hard, and after wrestling my bags out of the car and hoisting them up the front stairs, the only thing I can think about is sleep.
The front lobby is empty, except for the woman standing behind the check-in desk. I make my way to her and wait for a greeting that never comes. After a minute of waiting, I clear my throat and she lifts her head from her cellphone, chewing her gum obnoxiously as she looks me up and down.
“Buongiorno,” I say, my patience slipping.
“Ciao,” she replies, sliding her phone onto the front desk and grinning at me.
The fuck?
“I have a booking here under the name Gabriel Matthews,” I say, sliding my passport and credit card over to her.
She eyes my passport without picking it up. “Fifty Euro.”
“It should already be paid for.”
