In Hot Pursuit (19 page)

“The flight arrives in Rome at four-twenty this afternoon. I couldn't get a hit on a hotel reservation. Be very discreet in approaching the staff of any hotel in Rome. They're notorious for protecting their guests.” She retrieved a stack of papers from her backpack and placed them in front of Quinn. “This is a copy of what I've learned thus far. My open list includes deeper research into the twenty-year period after college for Rebecca, her personal connection with anyone from HCU, including Bill Jenkins and Scooter Taylor, and any past or present connection she has with the Bridge Foundation.”

“We're pleased with your investigation. Thanks for being so quick.” Logan said,.

“You have my phone numbers and my email address. Please forward any further information via email. That should be easier than dealing with time zones once I'm in Italy.” Quinn stood and held out her hand. “Thanks again for all that you've done. Please send your bill to the university. We'll settle up with the Bridge Foundation.” She walked J.W. to the door of the suite while Logan pulled out his cell phone. “Let me know as soon as you have more information.”

“I should have another update by tomorrow morning.” J.W. turned and quickly entered the elevator. She turned back to Quinn. “Good luck in Rome.”

$ $ $

Quinn didn't travel to Rome alone. Once again, Logan made all the arrangements. This was Quinn's first visit to Italy and she was in love from the first sight of an ancient column next to a modern overpass on the highway. The car ride from Rome's Leonardo da Vinci Airport to the hotel passed through an industrial area, skirted huge apartment buildings, and swept by the southern lawns of the Villa Borghese. The driver provided commentary while driving along what must have been the scenic route. She had purchased a Rome street map at the airport and attempted to follow their progress without much success.

The car turned left at a wide boulevard and after a block swung into the circular driveway of their hotel. A massive arched red door led to the immaculate lobby and reception desk of Albergo Santa Chiara.

Within minutes, they were ushered to their room, no suites available — one beautiful room and one very large bed. Quinn stared at the bed as her purse slipped off her arm to the floor. She must have had a look.

“We were lucky to find a room in Rome this time of year. It's tourist season.” Logan tipped the bellman, then moved to where she stood. He picked up the purse and handed it to her. “It's a big bed, we can sleep on opposite sides or I can sleep on the chaise lounge. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Her eyes bored into him. Comfortable? He was nuts.

On the other hand, she was so tired she'd sleep with a python if it didn't snuggle too close. “I'm going to take a nap before I say something stupid. Feel free to join me in the bed.” Her face froze, yet Logan simply grinned. “To sleep, that is,” she added.

She slipped off her shoes and jacket, used the toilet, then slipped between the sheets.

Logan was on the phone, then completed the call. “We have a wakeup call in five hours. Okay with you?” He shrugged off his sport coat.

“Hmm, yes.” Quinn closed her eyes. The sheets felt relaxing, soft and cool. “Then I'll be ready for real Italian food.”

It was weird. She was in a strange bed, in a strange country, with an almost strange man, and had no qualms about him sleeping beside her. Perhaps her brain was already warping due to a lack of Houston humidity.

Sunday, 4:05
P.M.

Quinn's eyes fluttered. Her elbow hit a wall. What? She jerked back while her hand stroked the wall. She came fully awake pawing Logan's very muscular back. It felt hard and warm, soft and cool — too much. She withdrew her hand and rolled to her back. The bed began to jiggle like a three year old playing with Jell-O worms.

She grabbed a pillow from behind her head and threw it. It lodged against his head and the bed's backboard. He pushed it off and flipped onto his back, with his hands behind his head.

“You called?” A grin sliced across his face.

Caught red-handed, she felt heat race from her chest and shoot straight to the ends of her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yep.” He reached out and squeezed her hand lying on the blanket. His hand felt comforting.

“I wasn't trying to manhandle you.” She felt her heart thump-da-thump. Why did this man make her so damned nervous?

He pulled her hand to his mouth and gently kissed it above the knuckles. “Not to worry. I'm sure you're not accustomed to waking up in strange beds in strange countries with semi-strange men.” He squeezed her hand again, then quickly rose from the bed. “I'll shower first. You relax a bit longer.”

Quinn had to give it to Logan, in addition to being gorgeous, single, and wealthy, he was a gentleman with a wicked sense of humor. She liked him. In fact, she was semi-attracted to him. And, it had to stop. She did not need a man in her life.

She couldn't figure him out. Since she'd laid eyes on him, he had been one step ahead of her in the search for Rebecca. Normally Quinn was the one ahead, the one who thought the quickest, the one who had the original ideas. Sure, she didn't have his financial backing to make things happen, but still, it was bizarre.

$ $ $

After a shower and a taste of Logan's scotch procured at the duty free shop in Atlanta, Quinn felt as perky as a pair of newly implanted double D's. They left their room for the hotel lobby to forage for food.

But first she purchased an email credit card and she sat at a guest computer to check her messages. Nothing. What the hell were Roddy and J.W. doing? She shook off the disappointment and remembered Logan telling her to be patient. Right.

They left the hotel and strolled towards the Pantheon. The narrow street was busy with tourists. It was easy to understand why Rebecca had selected Rome as the spot to disappear. Americans were everywhere, easily identifiable in their white sneakers. Quinn mused the city had thousands of buildings holding thousands of hiding places. It dawned on her that it would be damn near impossible to find Rebecca without some local help.

“Logan, I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“Rome is huge. I've overestimated our ability to actually find Rebecca. I haven't a clue where to start.”

“Hmm … we'll talk later.”

He grabbed her hand, led her around the corner of a yellow building and there it was … the Pantheon — tall, round, gray stone, and aglow from the late afternoon sun. Quinn's very first Roman antiquity. She stopped walking and ogled the structure, her mouth open.

“Earth to Quinn.” Logan waved a hand in front of her face. “Come back to me.”

Oops, she'd zoned out. Being immersed in two thousand years of history was exhilarating. She squeezed Logan's hand.

“Sorry, I love history and get carried away.” She walked a few steps ahead of him, raising her arms. “Rome is awesome. I want to see everything.” She looked back at him. “After we find Rebecca.”

Logan sauntered over to her. “Good idea. Let's walk over to the Piazza Navona. It's just a few blocks and well worth the effort.”

“Why so?”

“After a fabulous dinner we'll share a dessert called death by chocolate.” He studied her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching.

“I'm in,” Quinn said, chocolate being one of her favorite food groups.

They walked along the west side of the Pantheon to a small piazza and turned left at Via Giustiniani. Buildings with a variety of colored facades and huge double wooden doors, lined the narrow cobblestone street. Quaint shops were sprinkled among the structures. They passed a plain-looking church and shortly the narrow street that opened to Piazza Navona and Bernini's Four Rivers Fountain.

“Logan, it's incredible.” She pointed to the sculpture. “Look at the four river gods holding an Egyptian obelisk. Truly amazing.”

“Right. Let's eat. Tré Scalini is on the other side of the piazza.”

She trotted ahead of Logan, searching for a sign across the piazza that read Tré Scallapini, uh, Scala … whatever. And there it was, dead ahead, across a narrow grassy area filled with street vendors. Logan had called ahead and they were seated immediately. He was a one-man reservation machine. Quinn hated to admit she liked it.

They sat at a patio table bordering the grassy area of the piazza. A clean-shaven young man, sitting a few feet away, picked at an acoustical guitar and started on a melody of Beatle songs. She never could have imagined
Hey Jude
being sung on a piazza in Rome.

Logan ordered bottles of vino rosso and water then they concentrated on the menu. Hmm, pasta or pizza? Easy. That decision being made, Quinn launched into her Rome agenda.

“First thing tomorrow, I want to buy a phone credit card at the hotel to call my family and Roddy. Ruthie, too. I forgot to call her in Atlanta.” It was weird not being able to pull out her cell phone and punch in a number. Rome was her first experience of an eight-hour time difference and being out of touch. “You know, this past week has been … wild.”

Logan nodded and chuckled. “Let's see. Today is Sunday and I met you last Wednesday and we've spent every night together since then. That's definitely a first for me.”

The waiter arrived, pulling attention away from the heat infusing her neck and face. He poured the wine and glasses of water. Logan recited their dinner orders and they were once again left alone, eying each other over a raised glass of water. Logan's last remark stayed between them, floating in the Italian air.

Quinn did her best to avoid eye contact with Logan. She watched the street vendors conduct a brisk business while tourists roamed around the makeshift tables and easels of artwork. The melody to Paul McCartney's
Yesterday
spiraled toward them. It was one of her all-time favorite songs and always a mood booster. She decided to take the plunge.

“This past week has been a first for me as well.” She tilted her head, examining the man sitting across from her. “But now that I look at you, I definitely think it's been an exceptionally good week.” Why in the hell did she say that?

Logan appeared to consider her words. His entire face smiled. “Back at you.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “My guess is we won't be searching for Rebecca every waking moment. Thus, we'll have ample time to explore Rome.”

Huh? “I may love history but this trip is to find Rebecca, not play tourist.”

He looked surprised by her statement. “Okay, but this evening we are off duty.”

Quinn raised her glass and tasted the wine. Very nice. “I'll relax tonight but tomorrow the search is on.”

Their dinners arrived and the next few minutes focused on tasting the authentic Italian cuisine. Quinn wasn't disappointed. The pizza with chicken and artichokes was delicious.

“Shouldn't we visit the main police office first thing tomorrow morning? Surely they'll help us,” Quinn said.

“My guess is that depends on whether the FBI or the Houston police have contacted them yet, or Interpol.”

“I'll email Roddy tomorrow.”

She tapped a finger on the table. “I wish I knew more about her personal life in Houston.”

“Was she good friends with anyone at the university?” he asked.

“Let me think.” She emptied her wine glass and Logan refilled it. Quinn thought about campus events Rebecca had attended — monthly staff luncheons, all-employee campus meetings, lectures. Who did she hang with? At last year's staff appreciation luncheon Rebecca had been chummy with Nancy Sims, who worked in the president's office. A couple of times, Quinn had noticed them having a drink in the campus coffee shop.

“I have a name I'll send to Roddy. Who knows, he may have already talked to her. I can't believe I hadn't thought about her before.”

“You're so hard on yourself. You're not a trained investigator. Lighten up.”

“But I am good at details and I should have told Roddy about Nancy last week.” She countered, somewhat embarrassed. “I need to concentrate on what I'm doing here. No telling what else I've missed.”

Logan shook his head. “You are one stubborn woman. But I like you anyway.”

She had a moment to think about Logan's last comment while the waiter cleared the table. For an eligible bachelor, he was surprisingly open about his feelings, much more so than her. Whatever feelings she had about him were closed to discussion. She had long ago admitted to herself that she wasn't good at relationships. And that was that.

“My goal in Rome is to concentrate on the HCU theft and tracking down Rebecca.”

“I know that — tomorrow. But right now, let's order dessert. Tre Scalini is famous for its tartufo.” The corners of his mouth turned upward. “Death by chocolate.”

“Are you trying to fatten me up?” She sucked in her stomach. Italian food was so heavy on the calories.

“Live a little. We can split an order.” He motioned to the waiter.

“I'll suffer through a chocolate dessert, just for you.” She patted herself on the back for being so agreeable. Perhaps she could sneak in an early morning run to burn off the extra calories.

$ $ $

The dessert was fantastic — a ball of dark chocolate gelato surrounded by a shell of dark chocolate rolled in cocoa, then topped with whipped cream — at least five thousand delicious calories. They took a more circular route back to the hotel to walk off the extravagant treat.

Quinn's nerves started twitching as they ventured closer to the hotel. How would they handle the sleeping arrangements? Could she carry it off without making a fool of herself? First, she wasn't accustomed to having another person in her bed, and second, what if Logan expected more than sleeping?

The hotel was just ahead. She took a deep breath, told herself to remember she was a mature adult with mature one-bed-hotel-room-etiquette.