AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The sound of a siren wailed through the night, slightly distorted by the fog, and the woman opened her eyes again, gathering herself. “I…I don’t need—" Another round of coughing ravaged her.
“Relax,” he commanded. “They’ll be here soon.” Cash wanted to say more. So many questions were waiting to be spilled, but with the other man still hovering as he spoke to whomever on the phone, now wasn’t the time to start asking. At least she spoke English which was good because his Italian was limited. How the hell had he not known Alicia had a sister? That was his first question. She’d been great at keeping secrets from him, from everyone, but something as fundamental as having a sister seemed like something Alicia should’ve shared. He grimaced. There were a lot of things that she should’ve told them. Instead, she underestimated the danger, and it got her killed.
The ambulance boat pulled alongside the edge of the canal. Strobing lights illuminated the bright yellow and red boat as well as the surroundings. The fog was starting to lift, and that, or maybe the commotion of unwanted attention left him feeling very exposed.
The emergency attendants took over and he stepped out of the way. He folded his arms over his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits to ward off the cold. Glancing around, he found his suit jacket lying in a heap next to his shoes on the other side of the canal. Figures.
They loaded her on the boat.
“What hospital?” he demanded.
The first attendant said the name and then they roared off. He hadn’t gotten a chance to ask for her name or anything else about her. He watched the boat navigate the narrow canal. She was fine or even if she wasn’t, it wasn’t any of his business. Except…
If she was Alicia’s sister, then this woman was very much his business. Those eyes and that necklace would haunt him. He knew it. He needed answers.
Turning he waved to the other gentleman who’d called the ambulance and started across the bridge to his jacket and shoes. At the apex, he noticed a purse caught in the iron railing. Chances were excellent it belonged to the woman he dragged from the canal. He plucked it free of the rail and opened it. Hotel keys and a cell phone. Closing the purse, he smiled. Now he had a legit reason to meet her again. And that worked in his favor because he needed answers. His personal philosophy was that it was always better to approach a potential enemy as a friend. If she was Alicia’s sister, then it was a toss-up as to which they would become.
He continued over the bridge to his jacket and shoes, slipping on both, instantly feeling better. Not great. But better. Now all he had to do was find his way back to the Lock and Key villa. He could navigate hostile terrain with nothing more than a keen sense of direction. But these damn canals often looked the same to him. Especially at night. With the pea-soup fog, well it wasn’t the first time he’d gotten turned around. He flipped up the collar of his jacket.
Only another week or so and then he could head back to New York. He pulled his jacket closer around himself as he made his way down the twisting and turning alleyways that served as Venetian streets. He could relax when he got home. He’d stay on his guard here. There was something about Venice, something lurking just beyond the edges of his vision. Just beyond the edge of all his senses and yet he knew it was there. He shivered. One more week.
CHAPTER THREE
“Ms. Day,” the desk clerk said as she walked slowly across the lobby of her hotel toward him. “How can I help you?”
He was giving her the once over with a look of disdain on his face. She couldn’t blame him. It was five a.m., and she was wearing a pair of green hospital scrubs that were too big and a set of hospital booties. Her hair was down and looked like a rat’s nest of curls since she’d almost drowned. The hospital hadn’t provided a comb or brush, and she was quite sure she had makeup running down her face.
She’d been in such a rush to get out of the hospital she hadn’t bothered to clean herself up at all. Not that she’d had anything to change into or even a tissue to wipe her face. She’d lost her handbag which contained a few euros, her room key, and her cell phone when she went into the canal. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. Once again, she was locked out of where she needed to be.
She bit back a sigh. “I lost my room key. May I have another one?”
The clerk let out a gusty sigh. “Of course.” He bustled around behind the counter and then produced two new keys. She took them, nodded her thanks, and then climbed the grand marble staircase to the second floor.
Her room was the most welcome sight she’d ever seen. She wanted to sink into bed immediately, but she smelled like canal water, and she was desperate to brush her teeth. She veered toward the small bath that came with her room.
Forty-five minutes later, freshly scrubbed and canal-stink-free, she crawled between the sheets. She’d had such high hopes of finding out about her past, but now all she wanted to do was go home.
Her friends had been right about this trip being a fool’s errand. What did it matter who her biological parents were? She’d been raised by two loving people in a happy household which was more than a lot of people could say. She’d been monumentally lucky, and she was incredibly grateful. Finding out about her birth parents had been a dream which had quickly turned into a nightmare. She touched her necklace, the only connection she had to the people who’d given her life. It was time to face facts. She was alone in the world as far as relatives went. But she had built a life with great friends who were her chosen family and that would just have to be enough.
* * *
The knock at the door startled her awake. Battling the blankets, she struggled into a sitting position. Where was she? What was going on? She blinked as the knock sounded again. Venice. It wasn’t a bad dream. She was actually in Venice.
She rubbed her hands over her face as a third knock rattled the door. Glancing at the clock, she was horrified to realize she’d slept through most of the day. It was now dinner time. She rolled off the bed and padded towards the door. Her reflection in the mirror shocked her and she stumbled. Running an agitated hand through her hair, she tried, hopelessly, to tame her unruly curls. So much for the blow out she’d paid for before she came. Her preference was for straight hair; way easier to take care of. Now the curls were out of control.
Giving up on her hair, she said, “Yes?” There was no response. “Hello?” Still nothing. She looked through the peephole, but the hallway was empty. She debated opening the door but thought better of it. As she turned away, her foot grazed something. Glancing down she found an envelope on the floor and bent to pick it up. Someone had scrawled her name on the front. The flap was sealed.
She walked back to the bed and sank onto the rumpled sheets as she opened the envelope. She pulled out a folded piece of paper, and goosebumps sprinted across her skin.
Meet me in Piazza San Marco at ten p.m. I will tell you about your past.
No signature. No name of any kind. Not even a spot in St. Marc’s Square. That place was huge, or at least it looked like it from the pictures, and it was always crowded. It was a main attraction in Venice. It didn’t matter that it was nighttime, the square would be full of tourists. How the hell would she find this person?
She stared at the paper. More importantly, why was she even thinking of going? She’d fallen off the bridge the first time she was supposed to meet this mystery person. She’d be crazy to go to this meeting, wouldn’t she?
Riss glanced out the window, her fingers finding her necklace once more. Her view was of a building and a narrow street below. The fog had lifted, but who knew what tonight might bring. To be fair, it was unlikely she would be run over by a skateboarder in the square since she was sure even if it was foggy, she’d be able to see them coming.
A skateboarder. That’s who’d knocked her off the bridge. It had taken her a while to put the sound in context but when she thought back, she was pretty sure that was the sound. Wheels on concrete. There couldn’t be too many of those in Venice. The streets weren’t smooth. As a matter of fact, the bridge had steps until about halfway up the arch, so whoever it was walked up the steps and then shot out of the fog at her, knocking her klutzy self over the railing. Then the skater must have picked up their board and disappeared down the stairs on the other side of the bridge while she went into the water.
