In Hot Pursuit (20 page)

Back in the room, the bed had been turned down and her anxiety returned. She attacked her luggage, hanging clothes in the closet, putting things in a drawer. Logan meanwhile excused himself to the bathroom. She appreciated the time alone and sat on the bed. What the hell was she doing in a hotel, in a foreign country, with a man she hardly knew? No turning back. She had to complete this chase to its end, regardless of the current situation. She took a deep breath and calm returned.

The bathroom door opened. Logan appeared, carrying his shirt. Oh, my.

“All yours.” He yawned, draping the shirt over a chair. “I'm bushed.”

Quinn gathered her things, stepped past him. He stopped her with a light hand on her arm.

“I'm with you 100 percent in this search. We'll find Rebecca, one way or the other.”

“I know.” A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Logan scrutinized her face. “What's wrong?” His finger wiped the tear away, then he gently kissed the cheek.

“I'm fine, just tired and overwhelmed and uncomfortable.”

“You mean one room, one bed?”

No mincing of words. She turned away, pulling her toiletry bag against her chest. “Maybe.” She moved toward the bathroom. “I'm just tired, that's all.”

She changed into her pink pj's covered with kittens, performed the normal nightly routine. She mentally readied herself for Logan in the bed, probably close to naked. She couldn't picture him as a jammies kind of guy, more like a boxers or briefs kind of guy. Her imagination refused to go any further than that.

She had nothing to worry about as she found Logan under the bedclothes, on his side, and asleep. She tiptoed to the foot of bed, leaned over to look at him. He was a sight — long lashes brushed his cheek, hair tousled, and a muscled chest sprinkled with curly dark hair. Hard to believe a cute debutant hadn't reeled him in.

The bed sheets were cool. That surprised her considering a hot male was not a foot away. Quinn fluffed up the pillow under her head. Logan moved. Oh dear, maybe it was time to readjust her thinking on men and relationships. She could take a break from her no-men rule, maybe for a week.

$ $ $

Monday morning, Quinn and Logan piled into a cab at the hotel's entrance and headed for the U.S. Embassy along Via Vittorio Veneto. Logan had yet another friend of the family who had advised this course of action instead of going directly to the Roman police. With her nose was pasted to the window glass, Quinn watched the fountains, monuments, and beautiful buildings pass by. The streets weren't any worse than Houston on a weekday morning other than the honking. After fifteen minutes, the taxi stopped in front of a tall yellow building with barricades in front of its driveway entrance. A line of people snaked down the block from the main doors, several U.S. Marines monitoring the progress.

Logan jumped out of the taxi and talked to a Marine next to the barricade. He showed the soldier something from his billfold, probably his driver's license. The Marine talked on a cell phone, then nodded at Logan.

They scooted around the barricade and entered the embassy through its main doors, heading to a large ornamental desk. It sat under a sign — U.S. Citizens-Special — and was situated to the side of the reception area. Italian citizens seeking visas queued in lines on the left side of the room.

Logan stated his name and asked for the legal attaché. Surprisingly, the young man behind the desk greeted Logan by name, asked for their passports, and directed them to sit and wait. They sat on a red paisley couch against a wall, providing a clear view of the lobby.

A few minutes later, a young woman entered from a side door. She handed them their passports and asked them to follow her. Logan and Quinn trailed behind her to a smaller reception area and then to a government-issue office at its far end.

A man sat at a metal desk facing the door. He stood at their arrival and came around to greet them.

“Good morning, I'm Agent Brown. I understand you're visiting Rome from Houston.” He motioned to straight metal chairs facing the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

They did as instructed and waited.

Agent Brown glanced first at Quinn, then Logan. He smiled, then said. “How may I help you? Americans don't normally visit the U.S. Embassy without an agenda. Usually it's a lost passport or a theft of some kind.”

She looked at Logan, who nodded.

“Agent Brown, thank you for seeing us without an appointment. Mr. Rice and I are in Rome specifically to find another U.S. citizen.”

“Really?” Agent Brown said.

“Yes. She's my co-worker at Houston Cullen University. We believe she stole $25 million dollars from the university.”

Agent Brown picked up a fountain pen. “What's the name of your co-worker?”

“Rebecca Holland. I have notes for you and a picture as well.” She placed the notebook and picture on the desk.

“Give me a minute while I review these.” Agent Brown began scanning the notes.

Quinn worked at not fidgeting or tapping a foot. Logan stared into space, looking handsome and thoughtful. She envied his composure.

“Your police contact in Houston,” Agent Brown glanced at the notes, “Roddy Phillips. Has he told you the name of his FBI friend?”

“No, he didn't. But I emailed him an hour ago, told him we were coming here, and asked for the agent's name. We figured you'd want confirmation that we're not wasting your time.” She glanced at Logan, then dug in her purse. “Here's Roddy's card so you can contact him.”

“Thanks.” Agent Brown looked from Logan to Quinn, then smiled. “I'm glad you came here rather than going to the Italian police. Your friend gave you good advice, Mr. Rice. We liaison with local law enforcement in cases like this.”

Logan uncrossed his legs, then said, “So, bottom line, what do you suggest is our next step?”

“At this point, you wait. I need to contact our field office in Houston as well as the police.” Agent Brown leaned over his desk. “I'm sure you understand.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Quinn asked. Play tourist or shop? Both a waste of time with Rebecca on the loose.

Logan touched her knee. “Be patient.”

“I know. But seriously, can we check out anything, do surveillance?” The instant the words were out of her mouth, a blush covered her face. She felt ridiculous and childish.

“That's not necessary. I agree with Mr. Rice. You must be patient.” Agent Brown had the look of talking to his eighty-year-old grandmother. “Where are you staying in Rome?” he asked.

Logan provided the name of their hotel. “I assume we're on hold until we hear from you?”

“Correct.” Agent Brown stood. “I'll contact you at your hotel once I receive confirmation of the theft and information on the search for Miss Holland.” He ushered them to the door then shook their hands. “Enjoy Rome until I get back to you. Don't try to play detective while you're here, Miss Wells. That will only lead to disaster.”

She murmured, “Yes, of course.”

They exited the embassy through the front door. Back on the street, she stopped.

“That was intense. Do you think he believed us?”

Logan shrugged. “I don't see why not. He knew we weren't deadbeats before he even talked to us. Once he checks out all the details, he'll contact us.”

“I'm glad you're so positive. Me, I'll wait and see.” She scanned the street. “We need to talk.”

“Let's get a coffee while we chat.” He grabbed her hand. “There's a pizzeria on the corner.”

They ordered coffee Americano then sat back to enjoy the sunshine and the spring morning in Rome — for about three minutes. Quinn's guilt at being in Rome, on university business and enjoying anything other than slapping Rebecca's wicked little face, had her thinking about her next step. She frowned.

“Quinn.”

She jerked. “What?”

“I know what's bothering you.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

“You're torn between being a good little HCU employee while at the same time enjoying the wonders of Rome.”

Logan, a clairvoyant?

“That was five minutes ago.” It was comforting to realize another human being, other than Nana or Ruthie, understood her. On the other hand, the fact that Logan could so easily read her was spooky. “I suggest we target our search to the typical tourist sites. She doesn't know we're here so I bet she'll play the wealthy American tourist game.”

“I agree. Pull out your map and we'll plan our route.”

She pulled the tourist map from her purse and spread it on the table. All of the tourist spots were highlighted and easy to identify.

“Logan, we're close to the Spanish Steps. Let's start there. It's supposed to be a magnet for Americans. We need to walk down this street to the next corner, then turn right.” At least she thought so. She read the street name on the side of a building, located it on the map. She was 75 percent sure they were walking in the right direction. Close enough.

Monday, 11:56
A.M.

The pedestrian traffic increased in the block before the Spanish Steps. Cafes and pizzerias were open for lunch and buzzing with activity. Quinn and Logan worked their way to the top of the steps. A huge white church with twin towers, Trinità dei Monti, loomed above and behind a high wall on the right and while a market spread out on the left.

They split up. Logan moved toward vendors displaying their wares in moveable shelves — key chains, postcards, the usual. Quinn walked down a row of artists and tables holding easels showing off beautiful Italian landscapes in water color or pastel. Tourists roamed slowly around the market scoping out the merchandise, but no Rebecca.

Logan found Quinn at the top of the white, thirty-foot wide marble steps that numbered one-hundred thirty-eight to the street. The steps angled to the right then to the left with six foot landings after fifteen steps or so. Bodies of all ages reclined on the steps and blocked an easy descent.

“I'll go left and you go right,” Logan said. “Take a good look at any blonde women.”

“She might have changed her hair color,” Quinn said and decided to look at any female older than a teenager.

Logan nodded and started down the steps. They each meandered among the bodies, stopping at the second landing for a breather. Logan waved and continued descending the steps. Quinn followed but at a slower pace.

Logan waited for her at the bottom, Piazza di Spagna. She joined him a couple minutes later, thankful she hadn't stepped on anyone. The people in the piazza were milling around, watching the steps. Most seemed to be tourists, she heard French, German, and lots of English. Logan touched her arm and motioned his head to the left. “Let's sit on the steps.”

They found a vacant spot about ten steps up with a nice view over the throng at the bottom. The sun was bright, the sky blue, and the temperature enjoyable — perfect weather for people watching.

“This is fantastic. As much as I love Houston, we don't have views like this at home,” Logan said.

“I agree. We have skyscrapers and freeways and Rome has buildings hundreds of years old. The sense of history is overwhelming.”

“What's the next tourist site?”

She pointed to her map. “The Trevi Fountain is a few blocks away. It looks like an easy walk.”

“Did you see the movie?”

“What movie?”

Logan laughed. “
Three Coins in the Fountain
. It popularized the fountain back in the fifties. The sculptures are beautiful and we can throw in a coin.”

Quinn swung her head around to Logan. “You've been to Rome before?”

“Yes, several times.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“It never came up,” he said.

She turned away from him. It bothered her this wasn't a first experience for him. Had he visited Rome with another woman? Why was she even thinking about the women in his life? His love life, past or present, was none of her business. And since she wasn't in the market for a steady date, she didn't even have an opinion on the subject.

She focused on the tourists on the piazza. A blonde woman appeared through a break in the bodies. Quinn rose to search for the face in the crowd below. “Logan, did you see the blonde in the blue dress? Come on, let's go.” She nudged his shoulder and started down the steps, quickly reaching the street.

“Where did you see her?” Logan said, joining her on the piazza.

“Over to the left, by the corner of that yellow building.” She pushed through the swirling bodies in what she hoped was the right direction. Everything looked different at street level.

They reached the building and Quinn turned a slow circle, hoping to see a blonde wearing blue. She circled again. Nothing.

“Dammit, I don't see her.” Quinn roasted in the sun and felt frustrated with this whole mess. “Why can't I find her.” She jerked away from Logan and leaned against the building, wiping sweat off the back of her neck.

Logan stared at her. “What is with you?”

“What is with me?” She threw her hands up. “Isn't it obvious? I couldn't find a blonde bimbo in a whorehouse.”

His mouth curved into a smile before he burst out laughing.

“What is so damned funny?” She raised her chin, crossed her arms, and tapped a foot.

After a moment, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

The pressure was reassuring, comforting.

“Quinn, you've got to get a perspective on all this. I know you're frustrated. But we're civilians trying to act like the police. It's a long shot at best that we'll find Rebecca. You have to be patient until we hear from the FBI.”

“Be patient, my ass. I want to find Rebecca and wring her stupid southern belle neck.”

Logan put his arm around her waist and pulled her away from the building. “You're totally justified in feeling like that.” He paused, looking around the corner. “Lunch or the Trevi Fountain?”