Oxblood (4 page)

“I'm so sorry to hear that. How long has he been gone?” the agent asked. He flipped open his legal pad to an empty page and my hope that he was going to take the case rose.

“He left three months ago for what he told me was an exchange program between the University of Miami and several universities in Italy. He's a law student with a focus on immigration law and was there for research. I lost contact with him, and now I can't find him.”

“Did you try contacting the universities in Italy, or his professors here?” he asked as he scribbled something on his notepad.

“I did,” I said hesitantly. I didn't want to admit it, but evidence was mounting that Gil dropped off the map of his own volition. Evidence to anyone who didn't know him, that was. “That's what was so strange. I emailed the universities in Italy where Gil said he'd be, and none of them had heard of him. And when I called the university, the professor I spoke to there said that they didn't have an exchange agreement with any Italian universities and that he had no idea Gil was in Italy.”

“I see,” Agent Stokes said. He dropped his pen and my heart went with it.

“But there's also this.” I pulled the journal from my bag and laid it on the table. “He's incredibly protective of his research and has always forbidden me from even breathing near it. But then he sent me this. It's one of his research journals. For him to have packaged it up and sent it to me from Italy . . . well, I can't begin to explain how out of character that is for Gil. And there's more.” I opened the front cover. “He used a code word from when we were kids. We
only
used it when something was terribly wrong.”

Agent Stokes took the journal and flipped through it, showing no emotion at all as he read a few pages.

“Have you read this?” Agent Stokes said.

“Not completely,” I answered. “Well, I looked to see if there was anything that jumped out at me like a note as to why he would send it to me, but I didn't find anything.”

Agent Stokes nodded. “Well, it doesn't appear that there's anything illegal in here, so that should put you at ease. Honestly, it looks to me like a regular journal. Maybe even a memoir of sorts. Here's something about a summer vacation up to the Tampa Bay area.”

“What?” He passed me the journal. The page opposite was another one of his crazy family trees. I recognized a few of the names, but closer examination of it revealed that the tree was filled in with people we knew but were certainly not related to, unlike the tree I had examined at the apartment that was filled with family members.

“I don't know what's going on with the journal. But you have to understand that none of this makes sense . . . really. It is completely out of character for Gil. It's some kind of sign.” Tiffany tried to reiterate the magnitude of this act, but it was clear Agent Stokes was not getting it.

“I can see that you're genuinely concerned about your brother. But sometimes people choose to disappear on purpose. He gave you false information about why he was going to Italy and now he's fallen off the grid. There's no evidence of foul play or that anything illegal has happened. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but in my professional opinion, it looks like he
wanted
to disappear.”

My face became hot as I listened to Agent Stokes shoot down my hopes at finding Gil. I didn't know if I wanted to scream or cry. Seeing I was visibly shaken, he said, “But if you have a recent picture of him, I'll send it over to our attaché office in the US Embassy in Rome and ask them to keep an eye out.”

“But they won't do anything?” Tiffany asked for me.

“I don't have any evidence to indicate that he's disappeared under suspicious circumstances. I'm sorry.”

“I understand.” I took the picture of Gil I printed out and handed it to the agent. “I appreciate you being willing to do this much.”

“I wish I could do more. This is my direct line here.” Agent Stokes pulled out his business card and handed it to me as Tiffany and I stood up. “If anything else comes up, please don't hesitate to contact me.”

I took a deep breath and extended my hand to shake his. “Thank you for your time.”

He escorted us back to the lobby, we thanked him again, then walked back out into the Florida sunshine. I immediately crumpled up his card and threw it in the trash.

I didn't say anything as Tiffany drove us back to my apartment. My mind was too busy working out my only option. By the time we walked through the door, I had made my decision. It would be the stupidest, or the bravest, thing I'd ever done, but I didn't have a choice.

I sat down at my kitchen table while Tiffany poured lemon-lime soda into two glasses filled with ice.

“Well?” She sat down and pushed a drink in front of me.

I knew what I had to do. “I'm going to Italy to find my brother.”

Chapter 3

I began tossing clothes into a small suitcase at random. I went for versatile jeans and T-shirts, and even my one fancy black dress—when I found Gil, I was going to make him take me to a really expensive restaurant to apologize for making me travel halfway around the world. I tossed in the strappy pair of heels I'd worn with it to graduation two years ago, too.

“You cannot go to Italy, Vic!” Tiffany said sternly from the bedroom doorway.

“Why not?” I challenged, still throwing clothes from my dresser into my suitcase.

“You know you're going to have to get on a plane, right?”

“I know that, Tiff.”

“And you know you're going to have to break into the cash that was only for emergencies, right?”

“This
is
an emergency.”

“And you know you have no idea where he is or even where to start, right?”

“Are you going to continue stating the obvious or are you going to be a supportive friend?” I darted from the closet to the bathroom to the suitcase on my bed.

“I am being a supportive friend. Vic, listen.” Tiffany took me by the arm and stopped my feverish movement. “What about asking Agent Stokes if he can give you a contact in Italy who will help you?”

“Agent Stokes already said there was nothing he could do. If the shoe were on the other foot, Gil would drop everything to come find me. He already proved that when he rearranged his whole life so I didn't have to keep living in foster care. I have to do the same for him.” Tiffany conceded and let go of my arm.

I walked back into the closet and pulled down the small, fireproof safe Gil and I kept all of our important documents in. I pushed aside our birth certificates and our parents' death certificates and reached for my passport. Three months before it expired. Thank God for the family cruise to the Bahamas a month before the crash; otherwise I'd have to sneak into Italy.

“Are you just going to show up at the airport and hope to find a flight?” Tiffany's voice was trembling.

“There's a flight to Rome at two fifty-five. It's eleven now. If we leave in the next twenty minutes, I'll be there in plenty of time. If I can't get on that flight, then I'll get on the next one or with another airline. I have to do this, Tiff.”

She sighed. “Well, I guess it's good that you never touched any of that money because this is going to be one hell of an expensive search party.”

I threw my arms around her neck and hugged her fiercely. “Will you please discreetly explain the situation to Sam?” I said. “And you can stay here while I'm gone and use my car. Okay?” I said hopefully.

“Of course.” She smiled back.

There was a knock at the door.

“That's probably Mrs. Vasquez. Do you mind getting it while I finish packing?”

I walked into my bathroom and opened the small cosmetic bag that had come with my gift-with-purchase yesterday at the mall. I gave a little chuckle at the timing of actually having a
travel
makeup bag.

When I got back into the bedroom, Tiffany was there and with a look of annoyance on her face.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“You are not going to believe who decided to show up,” she said with an eye roll.

“Hey, babe! You got anything to eat?” Chad's voice bellowed through the apartment, startling me. Of all the days for him to show up!

“What are you going to tell him?” Tiffany questioned with raised eyebrows.

“I don't know. Maybe I can just get him to leave.” I'd spent the last two years pretending I had barely a dime to my name. How on earth would I explain going to Italy?

I steeled myself and walked into the kitchen. I found him bent over with his head in the refrigerator looking for food I didn't have. With Gil gone, I'd been working more hours and eating at the diner. He stood up, and I was taken aback for a moment. He had gotten a haircut. Without the shaggy brown hair covering his face, I could see his blue eyes and his striking jawline. I smiled just a little at the sight of him.

“'Sup,” he said when he saw me.

I shook my head and brought myself back to the moment. “Hi. There are granola bars in the cabinet. You can take the box with you on your way out,” I said with as sweet a voice as I could muster.

“On my way out? I just got here, babe! Aren't you happy to see me?” Chad put his arm around my waist, pulled me to him, and kissed me hard on the mouth, distracting me from my mission.

“Oh yeah. I'm super-happy to see you. It's just that Tiffany and I were on our way out.”

“Where're you going? Can't it wait?” He cocked his eyebrow.

“We are . . . house-sitting for a woman in Davie and we have to meet her at her place before she leaves,” I told him.

“For who? How 'bout I come with you and check the place out?” he said a little too excitedly.

“She's a customer from the diner,” I answered quickly. “So you have to go because I have to finish packing and we have to be there in less than an hour.” I pushed Chad out of the kitchen, grabbing the box of granola bars from the cabinet along the way.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I kissed him quickly, shoved the granola bars into his hand, and shut the door behind him.

I turned to Tiffany. “Go watch out the window to make sure he leaves.”

Tiffany scurried to the window while I finished packing. I printed another copy of Gil's contact information so I could leave a copy for Tiff and stuck it in my purse. Since his connection with the universities turned out to be a lie, all I had to go on was the list of hotels.

“He's gone. Damn! His car is an even bigger piece of shit than yours!” Tiffany laughed as she entered my bedroom.

“Thank you. Okay. I think I have everything. Oh my God! I can't believe I almost forgot the two most important things!” Back in the closet, I pulled the safe down again and retrieved the debit card attached to the airline settlement money. Then I grabbed the journal and shoved it in my purse on top of my tablet. “I'm going to need these.”

There was no time to deal with my cell phone company and get international service, so Tiffany would have to rely on email. Plus, I left her the hotel address and phone number in Bologna on the fridge if she needed to reach me. I'd email her again when I moved on to the next hotel. Tiffany's lead foot got us to the airport in record time. She wanted to come in with me to make sure I got on the flight I wanted, but I made her go.

“How are you going to get from Rome to Bologna? Are they even close to each other?” Tiffany asked as we pulled my suitcase from the trunk. Bus fumes made my eyes water, and the loud roar of their engines made it difficult for us to hear each other.

“I have no idea, but I'm sure I'll figure it out when I get there,” I shouted.

“Be safe,” she said with her eyes locked on mine. “And don't forget your self-defense moves, okay?”

We'd spent hours watching YouTube self-defense videos and practicing the poses—the hope being that we'd never actually have to use them. “I'm going to be fine!” We hugged at the curb, and I rolled my suitcase into the airport. It was surprisingly empty, so I weaved my way through the tape like a lonely rat in a maze and approached the counter.

“I need a ticket to Rome, please,” I said, not believing those were actual words leaving my mouth. “I think there's one that leaves at two fifty-five?”

“One moment. Let me see what I have available.” She typed away on her keyboard, looking for a seat while I crossed my fingers and toes. “I'm afraid the only seat I have is in first class. Would you like that?”

Holy hell. First class? I knew I was going to be spending a lot of money on this, but I hadn't planned on being a Rockefeller. “How much is that ticket?” I cringed.

“I'm afraid a same-day ticket for this flight in first class is ten thousand, two hundred and fifty one dollars,” she answered politely.

My heart may have stopped for just a moment before I answered. “What? There wouldn't happen to be another flight out at the same time with a different airline that wasn't quite so much, would there?”

“You're welcome to check with the other airlines, but I'm afraid unless we're rescheduling a passenger who already has a ticket, I don't have access to that information.” She smiled sweetly.

I didn't have time to walk the ticket counters and compare prices. I would have to take the flight she offered. I shook my head at the ridiculousness of my being disappointed that I was flying first class to Italy. Anyone else would be thrilled.

“I'll take the ticket.” I handed her my passport. Before I knew it, she was christening my debit card with an ungodly amount of money. This trip was already killing me, and I hadn't even left Florida yet.

“Do you have a return date?”

“Um, can the ticket be open ended?” I asked. I hadn't thought about how long I was willing to traipse all over Italy in search of my possibly missing brother.

“I'm sorry, I can't do an open-ended international ticket. But you can change the date of your return if you need to. There's a two-hundred-dollar fee, but it would give you some more flexibility,” she suggested.

“All right then, how about two weeks from today? I can extend it if I need to anytime?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the agent said kindly.

Ten minutes later, the agent was saying something about a first-class lounge while handing me my ticket. I passed through security without a hitch, found my gate, and collapsed into a seat. It was at that moment that reality hit.

What am I doing?

Was I really about to get on a plane to Italy? With my elbows on my knees, I buried my face in my hands. Where should I even start looking for Gil? Was I expecting him to be waiting for me at the hotel in Bologna? Or maybe he'd be at the corner café drinking an espresso and eating a pastry? Tiff was right; this was crazy. I didn't speak any Italian and, so far, everything Gil had told me was a lie. I was embarking on what was already feeling like a wild-goose chase.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I was here now. Wild-goose chase or not, I couldn't turn back. If I had to chart a course with the geese in Italy, so be it. My best option seemed to be the bank account. I could look up where and when he made withdrawals and trace his steps that way. I didn't want to pull that up in the airport terminal so I decided the privacy of my hotel room in Bologna would be best.

I pulled out my phone and found that I could take a train from Rome to Bologna, about two hours away. I didn't know where the train terminal was from the airport, but it couldn't be far. The distance from the station to the hotel in Bologna was another question, but I was sure I'd be able to hail a taxi.

I looked at my ticket and read the words
First Class
on it again. As if the whole experience wasn't surreal enough. I, who had sworn off flying forever, was not only flying, but flying
first class.
I felt guilty, but Gil and I had agreed that we would use the settlement money for things that were incredibly important, and I couldn't think of anything more important than finding him.

Gate D30 had only a few people milling around, but the terminal was bustling with travelers. Down the hallway, I spotted people going in and out of what looked like a secret club. It was a large, heavy-looking wooden door. Suddenly, I remembered the ticket agent telling me I had plenty of time to relax in the lounge. I felt awkward, but my curiosity got the best of me so I got up and made my way to the American Airlines Business/First Class Lounge. I walked straight in like I knew what I was doing.

The attendant checked my ticket and told me to enjoy the complimentary food and beverages. There was even a bar with a bartender. I filled a plate with some mini–hot dogs, cheese, crackers, and baby carrots. I got a can of Coke from the bartender and chose a plush leather chair in the far corner of the room where I could watch people come and go and eat my snacks in peace.

A few men came in and made a beeline for the bar. They all ordered bourbon and loosened their ties as they sat down. I couldn't tell if they were together or not, but they seemed friendly with one another from the handshaking and smiles that were going around. I watched them for a few minutes before focusing on the bartender.

He was a good-looking guy, probably in his late twenties, early thirties, cordial and friendly with everyone he spoke to, including me. His personality put me at ease. Something about him made me feel like I wasn't the only one in the room who ate off-brand mac and cheese and PB&Js for dinner more than once a week. He caught me looking at him and smiled. I smiled back. Nothing flirtatious, but it did make me think of Chad. I quickly dismissed that thought and focused on food and people-watching.

One of the men pulled out a deck of cards and invited the others to play blackjack. He then proceeded to cheat his ass off. He won all but three of the twelve rounds, and only because he gifted the wins to the three other guys. By the time they were done, Five Card Stud had more drinks coming to him than he deserved.

I was enjoying the snacks and the quiet, mentally preparing myself to get on a plane, when one of the card players came over and sat in the leather chair next to me. He was average height with brown hair, and he was wearing a gray suit. He wasn't a particularly good card player. He folded almost immediately if he had terrible cards, but rubbed the back of his neck when he was dealt a great hand. I could tell by the condition of his suit that he was a family man—there was a tiny patch of glitter and green finger paint on the left cuff. And there was a small indent on his left ring finger where his wedding band should have been.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” I said out of sheer politeness.

“I'm Stefan.”

Really? That was the fake name he was going with? I contemplated telling him my name was Regina Phalange but decided against it in case he was on my flight.