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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 lo
ud 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.
“Alrigo—aspetta.”
“Ma lei aveva la video camera?”
