Blonde Ops (25 page)

Ortiz held the boy firmly by his collar. Mrs. Jennings gave her a pleading look and Ortiz loosened her grip a bit—but she didn't let go.

“What do we do with him?” Candace mumbled.

“Hai promess!”
the boy squealed, struggling to get out of Ortiz's grip.

Candace eyed Ortiz. “What did you promise him?”

Ortiz glowered at the boy. “I told him we wouldn't cut him into little pieces and feed him to the pigeons if he came quietly.
Stai zitto!
”

“I'm sure he didn't mean any harm,” Mrs. Jennings said and, despite Candace's sour face, extended her hand for him to shake. He smiled shyly and tipped his head as best he could with Ortiz still holding on to him.

“He's just a child. Please let him go.” Mrs. Jennings's tone sounded as if that wasn't a suggestion, but an order.

“Fine.” Candace crouched so that she was eye level with the boy. She pointed from her eyes to his and back with two of her fingers.

He didn't look scared, but I think he knew better than to laugh, especially with the Vatican guards, Secret Service, and a few police eyeballing him. I was willing to bet the locals knew the kid well. Ortiz released him, and he was gone in seconds.

“I'm in even better hands than I realized. Thank you all,” Mrs. Jennings said graciously as the agents urged her back to the safety of the car.

Candace watched the limo speed off. Turning smartly on her heel, she called, “Kevin!”

He was standing next to Sophie but quickly ran to answer the summons.

“Ask Claudio if he got any good shots of Mrs. Jennings in the square. I want a contact sheet on my desk tonight.”

Kevin bobbed his head and walked over to the where the extra photographer they'd hired to take candid shots of Mrs. Jennings stood, packing up his equipment.

Next to me, Candace didn't look too pleased.

“Everyone head back to the office! Bec, we have to talk.”

Yes, we did.

She looked pensive, but once we were away from the others, she brightened a bit. “I have some good news that I got just before Mrs. Jennings disappeared. Parker woke up today.”

I had to stop myself from hugging her, because it would be awkward on so many levels. “She did? Can I see her?”

“Yes, she did, and no, you can't. Not yet. Now don't give me a hard time, Bec,” she said when she saw my face, knowing I was ready to argue. “I'm telling you this only because I know how concerned you've been and Parker and your mom are friends. Obviously your mother thought enough of her to put you under her care.” Candace exhaled. “She keeps slipping in and out of consciousness, but the doctors feel it's progress. Once she stays awake you'll see her—again.”

Uh-oh. Guess she knew about my prior visit. Maybe Ortiz wasn't as tight-lipped as I thought—and we'd made a deal on
that
piece of information! But it didn't matter. Right now, Parker was more important.

I touched her arm. “I think I know what caused the accident!”

Candace quickly looked around. “Not here.”

I blew up my bangs. “Okay, but do you think Parker will be safe?” I'd found her, maybe someone else could too.

Candace started walking and put a hand on my shoulder. “We have people checking on her. As soon as she remembers the accident and can answer questions, we'll find out more. We're hoping she'll be able to shed some light on what happened—and on who wants to hurt the First Lady.”

 

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR
THE EDGE-Y GIRL

Every girl should have at least one wardrobe staple that can do double duty—literally. Reversible jackets and skirts are an excellent twofer!

24

I had to wait to share my theory about the accident with Candace because as soon as we got back, she called Ortiz into her office, barking a warning that she'd better not be disturbed, then slammed the door. My guess was that Candace had some serious explaining to do to the President and her bosses back on home soil—even though nothing really happened. A pickpocket hijacked a piece of Theresa Jennings's wardrobe. The First Lady was never in any real danger. I felt sorry for Ortiz. Candace was ripping the agent a new one, and everyone could hear it.

“Some excitement today, huh?” said Taj, coming over to me.

I'd just finished putting the light filters, which looked like little white umbrellas, back together for use on the final shoot. Aldo claimed his nerves were frayed and he had to get away because he couldn't function under such duress. He left a list of things to do. Aldo was just lazy and wanted to leave the grunt work of unpacking to others—specifically, me. I was thinking maybe Aldo's seat assignment was going to get switched from first class to coach for his trip home to Milan. These things happen.

At 5:00, Candace hadn't emerged from her office.

“It's a beautiful night, Bec. Want to go to our place and have some fun?” Taj said.

By “our place” he must have meant the Forte—our only place. And even though we'd only been there once, I liked him calling it ours. The fact that it was under scrutiny by several governments made it kind of fitting.

I looked up at Candace's still-shut door. I was dying to tell her my theory about Parker's car, but she was still closeted with Ortiz.

“Mrs. Jennings had her dinner and is tucked away safely in her hotel room, and we won't see her again until tomorrow for the final interview at one. We have plenty of time to take a little break. It's not like you don't deserve it, especially after Aldo skipped out, and Sophie and Kevin left for dinner. All of them left you to unpack almost everything.”

“The glamorous life of an intern,” I mumbled.

I wanted to talk to Candace so badly. And Ortiz needed to explain why she'd broken our deal. And as much as I wanted to spend time with Taj, the thought crossed my mind that it was odd how he knew the First Lady's schedule. I knew the interview was tomorrow, but Candace had only said around lunchtime and that I had to be at the office at the regular time to finalize any setup. Although he was interviewing her for all of twenty minutes, Taj wasn't official
Edge
staff, so how did he know where she was now—unless it was a guess, like where the interview would be?

And then there was Dante—always showing up with a cousin in every corner. Where would he turn up next?

No one seemed dangerous, at least not in an
I'm going to kill you for real
kind of way—but I was new to the Secret Service / spy business. And I wasn't so sure that I liked the responsibility of looking out for the First Lady's and Parker's safety. What if something I did caused trouble?
That
wasn't unheard-of. So many questions, too many people, one me.

I frowned. “I don't know. I really need to talk to Candace.”

“You're very pretty when you frown, you know that?”

I blushed.

“Look, if you don't want to go across town, I can walk you back to your hotel—the long way. We can see some sights, get a drink.…”

That sounded nice. I smiled.

“And your smile's even prettier. I like that better.”

“Bec!”

Dante? After hours? He couldn't be here with a package—and he'd said it was his day off.

“Must be a holiday, you haven't delivered anything all day,” Taj quipped, scowling.

I glared at Taj before giving Dante my sweetest smile. “Hi, Dante. What's up?”

He came into the common room. “I wanted to see if you wanted to—”

Taj crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm sorry, she's already made plans for tonight.”

Technically, I hadn't, and I didn't like anyone speaking for me. I was going to protest but Dante's lion-eyes glowed, like he was ready for a challenge—and if he decided to take it, it wouldn't end well, especially for Taj. I really needed these two to stay apart, but it was beyond my control.

“How about another time?” I suggested. “Like tomorrow, if Candace doesn't need me.”

His brow furrowed, Dante glared at Taj, clearly unhappy with my answer, but he didn't argue. “
Sì.
Tomorrow.
Buonanotte.”
He spun on his heel and left.

“I don't think he likes me,” said Taj dryly.

“I think the feeling's mutual.” I stood and dusted off my hands.

He checked his watch. “Let's go. It'll get your mind off things for a while and you can talk to Candace when you're both back in the hotel. I promise you won't get in late.”

I was still a little annoyed about the way he'd treated Dante, but when I looked into his eyes to tell him, “Maybe another time,” my resistance—and anger—melted away.

We left the office and strolled down a few streets, admiring shop windows and gently crumbling buildings, and then stopping at an outdoor stand to get icy granitas served in hollowed-out orange halves. Day was giving in to dusk.

When we came in sight of the hotel we slowed down, and putting his arm around me, Taj guided me out of the lights of the streetlamps. He stood against the wall, dimly visible. I leaned against him, my heart already beating faster in anticipation. His head dipped, and his lips captured mine.

I closed my eyes. The kiss was slow; he took his time exploring my mouth with his while he pressed me closer. I wrapped my arms around his neck … but it wasn't enough. My body wanted more.

A wolf whistle from some passing teens reminded me I was kissing hot and heavy on a public street. I started to pull back, but Taj murmured, “Not yet,” and I couldn't disagree.

We shared a few more kisses until he drew back.

“We both have to go,” he said. I could see the regret—and desire—in his stare. I know it was in mine. Putting a step of space between us, I nodded and brushed my hair away from my face. His fingers caught a strand and tucked it behind my ear.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Bec,” he said softly and walked off.

He was staying somewhere close enough that he could walk. I'd never gotten the specific location from him. I bet Candace knew where he was staying, but I couldn't ask her. She had too many problems for me to bug her with questions like this. Then there would be the awkward, “Why do you want, or need, to know?”

I watched him head down the street, slowly being enveloped into the dark. Before he disappeared, I checked my watch—I had time. Keeping my eye on him, I yanked off my hoodie, turned it inside out, and slipped it back on so that the pale, pilled underside showed. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and popped up the hood. Falling into step behind a couple walking hand in hand, I watched him between their shoulders.

He only walked about a block in the direction of the
Edge
office before he turned a corner. When my strolling couple passed by, I turned down as well, staying in the shadows. I saw Taj slip into an ordinary, stucco building and I continued walking past. I'd expected a grander place from someone with his money and stature. Wouldn't he want more luxury? Security? This looked like a student boardinghouse.

It was close to both the Hotel Beatrici and the office. Not too surprising, considering that he was in Rome to work around the
Edge
photo shoots, but shocking that it was so … plain. I looked for a number, a name, any distinguishing feature, but there wasn't even a clay pot on the doorstep. However, there was a bakery next door to the hotel, Angelica's. It was separated from Taj's building by a small twisty alley.

I stopped at the corner and bent as if to tie my shoe, checking the place out. Candace said to keep an eye out for anything strange. Taj knew my hotel, yet he never offered to tell me where he stayed. Then again, it was the same with Dante. I stood, thinking that I would look the place up when I got back to my room—and found myself eye to eye with Ortiz.

I was still mad at her. She told Candace about my visit to Parker when she promised not to. That was her job, but she'd
promised
. And she was the one who searched my room. Candace said none of the agents had been in there, but this was the Secret Service and the CIA—and I was just a kid. They could do whatever they liked, and they were under no obligation to tell me the truth if it didn't suit them or if they thought it would interfere with their plans.

“Uh, about this morning—” I started, but she raised a hand.

“Candace told me you stuck up for me. Helped that the First Lady did too—I appreciate that.”

I smiled halfheartedly.

She looked at the building. “If you wanted to know where Taj was staying, you could have asked—it would have been a lot easier.”

I inhaled sharply and she laughed. “Let's get you back to the hotel before you turn into a pumpkin, Cinderella.”

“I thought I was Juliet.”

“Just trying to keep you out of trouble,” she said, but her voice had lost its light touch. What did she mean? I wasn't in any trouble; I left that all behind with Dean Harding. I'd been golden here. Well, except for dropping in on Candace's secret meeting. And sneaking in to see Parker. And dropping rocks on Mrs. Jennings. And now getting caught tailing Taj by Ortiz. Okay, not so golden.

“I know it was you,” I said as we walked.

“Me what?”

“You're the one who went in my room. You opened the envelope from Dean Harding. If you were going to open it, you could have at least done some of the math packet. Or you just could have asked,” I said, throwing her words back at her.

She stopped abruptly. “How did you know?”

I'd managed to impress her again. First the car skills and now this. I liked that she seemed to appreciate it. Wonder what Mom would think of my “technology obsession,” as she liked to call it. I'd wowed the Secret Service
and
CIA!

“Got your prints.”

“How?”

“Black eye shadow, makeup brush, and Scotch tape. You can learn a lot watching police shows. It wasn't that hard really.” Well, it was harder than it looked on TV, but the fun part about stuff like that was making everyone else think it was easy.