BRAINRUSH, a Thriller (16 page)

“You can’t do that,” Marshall said. “If the story leaks, then whoever took him will know we’re looking for him. It’ll ruin any chance we have of catching them off guard.”

Lacey uncrossed her arms, her voice softening. “I understand that. And I don’t want to do anything that will jeopardize finding Jake. But I know I can help. You may not see that yet, but you will.”

Marshall looked over at Tony, who had a resigned look on his face that said he’d already been through all this with Lacey. “Am I understanding this right? Is she blackmailing us?”

“That pretty much sums it up,” Tony said.

“Hey, it’s not blackmail when it’s for a good cause,” Lacey said. “Maybe graymail, but not blackmail.” Her turquoise eyes bore into him.

Marshall thought about it. It was hard to say no to that face, blackmail or not. Maybe she truly could help. Bringing beer was a good start. 

Lacey’s features softened; she moved a step closer. “Marshall, I won’t get in the way, and I promise you I
will
contribute. I really need to do this for Jake and for me too, okay?” She slid a small bottle opener from the front pocket of her tight jeans, and with a practiced flip of the wrist, popped the tops off two beers. She held one out to each of them, her eyes pleading.

A soft chime drew Marshall’s attention back to the computer. The routine was complete. He took the beer from Lacey. “Pull up a couple of chairs. We’ve got to figure out who took Jake and where they’ve got him.”

Lacey pulled a business card from her back pocket. She flipped it onto the keyboard. “Let’s start here.”

“What’s this?”

“The last person to meet with Jake. Penelope Cruz from the bar. Remember?”

Marshall studied the card, “
Dottore
Francesca Fellini.”

Lacey sniffed. She grabbed the card. “Back to the keyboard, Casanova. Let’s see what you can do. She works at the Institute for Advanced Brain Studies in Venice, Italy.”

Tony said, “Start with flight records.”

Marshall smiled, his fingers flying over the keyboards. First stop—the firewall of the FAA database.
 

Piece of cake.

Five hours later, the three of them were sitting at Starbucks. Tony had just called his boss to let him know he was going to be taking a few days off. Marshall had the weather forecast for Venice, Italy, pulled up on his iPhone.

It wasn’t Dr. Fellini’s personal reservations on Alitalia that had alerted them to Jake’s probable location. It was the flight plan of the private jet that had followed her, both coming and going. A hack of the registry records revealed it was owned by the institute. Chairman of the Board—a Luciano Battista. The plane had departed LAX for Venice forty-five minutes after the explosion at Jake’s house.

Lacey scribbled a packing list on a napkin. “Before you guys start telling me all the reasons why I shouldn’t be going with you, I want to point something out.” She folded the list and slipped it into her back pocket. “Without me and that woman’s business card, you boys would still be scratching your heads. So, I’ve already proven that I can help, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I was raised with three older brothers and my dad was a Tae Kwon Do master. I can take care of myself just fine. End of discussion.”

Tony and Marshall exchanged hard looks. They didn’t have much choice.

“Tae Kwon Do?” Marshall asked. “You serious?”

She ignored him. “If the flight leaves at ten this morning, we need to be at the airport no later than eight-thirty. You take care of the flight reservations and I’ll get a town car to pick us all up. We’ll leave Tony’s at eight sharp. That’s only two hours from now, so we’d better get moving.” She stood, grabbed her coffee, and hurried out the door.

“Man, she’s something,” Tony said.

With a begrudging smile, Marshall nodded his head in agreement. He admired her as she disappeared around the corner. “Okay, pal. Next stop, the home of Dr. Francesca Fellini. She’s got some questions to answer.”

Venice, Italy

Jake slid into the stairwell and sped up the steps leading to the roof. The alarm had been raised and Battista would have posted guards on the ground floor at the bottom of the four staircases. With the monitors disabled, they would have to conduct a room-by-room search. That should buy him some time.

When he pushed through the door to the roof deck, his heart stuck in his throat. Francesca stood with her back to him, gazing out on a sea of clay-tile roofs and sprouting bell towers, one hand on the rail, the other holding a small Orangina bottle with a straw in it. 

The rooftop door swung closed behind Jake. Francesca turned around at the unexpected noise. Recognition spread across her face. “Jake! What are you doing here?”

Everything that happened to Jake in the last forty-eight hours spewed out of him with the fury of molten ash from Mt. Vesuvius. He lunged to within inches of her with such speed that she arched backward in surprise. She had to grab the rail behind her to keep from toppling over. The soda bottle tumbled from her grasp and vanished over the edge. 

 “What am I doing here?” Jake yelled. “That’s what you have to say to me? What am
I
doing here? Thanks to you and your partners, my life’s been torn to shreds. My home is dust, and my friends and family think that the poor dead dude burnt to a crisp in the debris is me.” He paused only long enough to draw a deep breath. “You drugged me and yanked me halfway around the world just so your pals could poke, prod, and beat me. In the past fifteen minutes two people have been killed downstairs. And if your boyfriend, Carlo, has anything to say about it, I’m going to be next.”

  Francesca shrank from the barrage; her voice quivered. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about? Who was killed?”

She seemed genuinely surprised, but he wasn’t about to fall for it. “Yeah, nice try, lady. But I know your game now. Meryl Streep’s got nothing on you, does she?” He pressed closer to her, forcing her further backward into the rail.

“Mr. Bronson, please slow down, I—”

“Cut the crap! Your boss Battista is a lunatic and I don’t have time to screw around talking to you about it.” He scanned the complicated maze of tiled hips and gables that surrounded the small deck area of the rooftop. “Just tell me where the other stairwells are.”

Francesca stiffened at the mention of Battista. “Listen to me! I don’t know what’s going on here. I swear to you, I don’t. But
Signor
Battista cannot possibly be involved in whatever is happening to you.”

She is so damn convincing.
Her denial made him even angrier. “You think so? You think I’m just dreaming this up?”

“Yes. I mean, no—”

“You think I voluntarily jumped on a plane and followed you here on a whim? That my battered face and the track marks on my arms are just evidence of me having a grand night on the town here in your wonderful city?” His breaths were coming in short gasps.

Jake grabbed her hard by the shoulders.

Francesca screamed, “
Aiuto!
”

Jake’s left hand swung up and pressed over her mouth to shut her up. Battista’s men couldn’t have had enough time to clear the first floor, but someone else might hear. Jake dug the fingers of his right hand deep into the soft flesh of her shoulder. He levered the top of her body further back over the short rail. “Another scream and you’re going for a swim. Do you understand?” 

Her tear-filled eyes went wide with fear. She nodded her head in quick, short jerks. 

He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, replacing his grip on her other shoulder. He could topple her over the edge with just a nudge.

Francesca drew in a shaky breath, her face uncertain. Her voice quaked. “I truly did not even know you were here. You must believe me.” 

He wanted to believe her, but he dared not. It had all started with her, hadn’t it? He watched her carefully, studying her reaction as he spoke, his voice low. “I was kidnapped. A man was killed in my home to make it look like I was dead. I’ve been held prisoner two floors down along with two innocent children. And less than an hour ago, your boss Battista and his maniac pal, Carlo, interrogated and tortured me. I just escaped and now two guards are dead. Got it?” He slid his hands down to the bare skin of her forearms, still maintaining a firm grip.

Then, as if a bubble burst in his head, he felt an odd tingling sensation that ran from the back of his skull, down his arms and into his fingers where they touched her flesh. It felt like a flow of electricity passed between them. It was pleasant.

She must have felt it too, because her gaze shifted to each of his hands, first one then the other, her face questioning. She looked back up at him, searching his features, her head tilted as if she were appraising an unusual piece of art. 

Jake returned her stare, and the sincerity that he saw in her golden brown eyes cut through his anger and made him wonder.

Could it be she really didn’t know? Was she just a pawn in this nightmare?

He projected his thoughts toward her.
Can I trust you?

Francesca’s eyes widened and Jake felt her arms shudder beneath his hands. Her mouth dropped open and she nodded slowly.

And with that simple acknowledgment, as his mind touched hers, Jake knew the truth.

He loosened his hold, but didn’t let go completely, afraid of breaking the connection. Her tension seemed to melt away. Jake let his walls down and consciously opened his mind to her, wrapping his thoughts around her.
Can you hear me?

Her lips parted as if to answer, but she held back and instead just stared at him, and he felt her answer in his head. In that sublime moment Jake knew the essence of Francesca Fellini. And he knew beyond a doubt that she was not a part of this. Her innocence was sincere.

And then reality kicked him in the head. He had to get out of here. “Francesca, I need to go, to get help.”

“I know. But please wait. You mentioned two children?”

“Yes. Ahmed and Sarafina. They’ve been living in a locked dorm room downstairs, part of some sort of experiment that Battista is conducting to create an army of genius soldiers. Ahmed has an implant surgically inserted into his brain. And Sarafina is next.”

Francesca shook her head. “But that’s not possible. Sarafina is dead. This cannot be the same girl.”

“About five years old, an angel on the piano, curly dark hair, deep brown eyes that could melt an iceberg, and a little trouble speaking?”

“Sarafina!” Francesca gasped. She clasped her hands to her chest. “
Dio mio
, I attended her funeral a month ago. She’d been taken to the infirmary with a bug.
Signor
Battista said she died unexpectedly in the night from a ruptured aneurysm. She is truly alive?”

Jake thought of Sarafina’s sweet smile. “Yes. She’s most certainly alive. Something happened when I first met her. It was—” 

He hesitated a moment, coping with a swell of emotion, his voice soft. “It was like what happened between us when I touched you just now. Sarafina and I had a connection, too. It wasn’t exactly the same, but similar.” Jake stumbled over his words. “She said I felt like her daddy.”

A tear spilled from Francesca’s eye and traced the soft curve of her cheek. She looked up at him, her lower lip quivering, and Jake suddenly felt an urge to hold her, to kiss her. 

As though she knew his thoughts, a faint blush washed across her cheeks. She looked down but couldn’t hide the gentle smile that lit up her face.

Jake needed to protect this woman along with the children. He lifted her chin with his hand. “Francesca, I believe you, and now you need to believe me. Battista and his men are terrorists, and they’re coming after me. If they discover that you’ve seen me, your life will be worthless. And if you run, he’ll know something is wrong, and he might hurt the children.” 

Jake felt Francesca’s body tense at the mention of harm to the children. She clenched her fists at her side. 

Jake continued, “You need to pretend that you haven’t seen me, that you know nothing about what’s really going on here. Can you do that? Can you be the remarkable actress I thought you were until I return with help?”

They both turned their heads in alarm at the sound of pounding footsteps echoing behind the door to the staircase. 

“Quickly,” Francesca said, pointing to a greenhouse on the far corner of the roof. “There are stairs on the other side.”

He ran across the deck, glancing back at Francesca as he shouldered around a flowing cascade of red and purple bougainvillea. 

I’ll be back for you. I swear it.

**

Francesca turned her back to the noises coming up the main stairway. She looked out over the city, forcing herself to loosen her white-knuckled grip on the rail. Her mind and heart were racing like sprinters on a track, each one accelerating to beat the other to the finish line.

It was difficult for her to believe what had just happened. Yet all of her senses told her it was true. Jake had spoken to her with his mind, sending a gentle probe into her thoughts. She had been soothed by it, captivated by the connection.