Young Love Murder (59 page)

“I know. But that’s what he gets for trying to throw down with the big boys.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he hands a different phone to me. “Take this.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m about to get rid of your phone and you’ll need a new untraceable one. I almost forgot that you know nothing. First thing you should have done was dump this thing.” He throws my old phone over his shoulder and I hear it land somewhere behind the car rental counter at the same time that I glance at Anna to see her taking a set of keys from the clerk. 

She smiles at the woman behind the counter. “Merci.” Hey, I actually know what that means. Not that I’ll ever need the knowledge if I can’t return to France.
Dead bodies in my hotel room and all.

Walking away from the counter, I tug at the crotch of the jeans I’m wearing, telling them, “Guys, when we get a chance, can we stop to buy me more clothes? These are a little tight on the crotch.” I make sure to smirk at Jackson while saying that last part. 

Besides rolling her eyes, Anna ignores my remark. But the girl remembers . . . .

With a quick glance behind us, yep, we’re still being followed. I’m guessing my future wife and brother-in-law have a plan. The clerk must have told Anna where to find the car because she goes straight to a small blue Mercedes. I hold out my hand for the keys and she shakes her head, getting behind the wheel. I call out, “Shotgun!” But my future douche-in-law is already slipping in my spot. Disgruntled, I get in the backseat. At least I’ve got lots of leg room. 

Anna zips the car out of the space and drives like a maniac through the parking lot. I turn my head this way and that, but see no sign of our shadows. Instead of taking the turn out of the airport, Anna pulls into a parking garage, going straight to the top level four stories up. Slipping my new cell out of my hoodie pocket, the time says that it’s just after ten in the morning. Damn, I never even went to sleep last night. Maybe the backseat is a blessing since I need a nap. 

Anna stops the car and puts it in park. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Her eyes are on her brother. Her expression is one of eager anticipation.

From where I’m sitting, I can see the profile of Jackson’s smile when he turns his face towards Annabelle. “Dibs.”

Her palm whips out to push against his chest as her eyes flare. “I’m the one who came up with the idea years ago! I get to do it!”

“I get to do it,” Jackson says slowly, “Or I won’t help you protect loverboy.”

“Hey!” I say indignantly, fed up with his use of that nickname. Jackson ignores my outburst. Anna barely spares me a glance. 

“Fine,” she says through clenched teeth then adds, “Even though I’ve been waiting forever for the opportunity to do it.
And
it was my idea.”

Jackson clearly doesn’t give a damn about her whining, woes or anything being her idea. He merely opens his door, while I watch Anna press the button to pop open the trunk. Taking the opportunity to steal the seat next to my girl, I awkwardly climb between the front seats and over the console to plop down in the passenger seat. Reaching out, I close the passenger door that Jackson left open. Before we take off again, I lean over to give Anna a peck on the cheek. She’s so cute when she’s mad about something and Jackson got her all riled up.

Almost six hours of straight driving later, I’m glad I ate a big breakfast at an airport restaurant early this morning while we waited for Max’s flight. As much as I’ve been craving sleep, I thought it’d be rude of me to nod off, leaving Anna to drive without someone to keep her company. Besides, the past six hours have been great. Anna and I have finally had the chance to really talk. Not about anything deep, just superficial topics, but it’s enough to show me that we still click like we used to on a friendship level. She’s was wrong when she said we were never friends. We were that and so much more. Plus, I got to watch her for hours while she sat in place behind the wheel. There was no running away from me.

 She still laughs at my jokes, that’s gotta count for something. I’m in the middle of telling her about my classes last term when she excitedly declares, “It’s show time!”

Turning around to see what she’s looking at in the rearview mirror, I see a gray BMW following closely behind us. And what do you know? Two ugly guys wearing black are in it. Figures they’d show up just as we’re nearing Italy’s border. 

My god, Anna actually snickers as she pushes the button to pop the trunk again. She’s looks so cute in her evil glee and I’m almost afraid to witness whatever is about to happen. What goes down in the next instant, in a matter of less than a minute, will be filed in my personal history as one of the craziest things I’ve witnessed thus far.

From our vantage point, we don’t get the best view, but I see the trunk lid fly open and hear a stream of shots. At the distinct sound of skidding tires, the vehicle behind us swerves over to the shoulder of the road and rolls over twice, bouncing its occupants along with it. The trunk slowly closes again. We speed away with the totaled BMW shrinking in the rearview mirror.

I have to admit, just watching Jackson pull that off has me feeling exhilarated. From Anna’s big grin, I can tell she’s feeling much the same way. Even if he did beat her out on the chance execute it. After five more minutes of driving, I clear my throat. “Aren’t we going to pull over and let Jackson in?”
Shaking her head, she laughs at my question. “Nope. He wanted to do it even though it was my idea, so he can just wait until we stop to eat in Genoa.”

Jackson obviously disagrees, so when we’re stopped in the line of cars waiting to cross into Italy, he uses the trunk release to let himself out. Getting into the backseat, looking disheveled with wrinkled clothes and crazy hair, he announces, “I think I’ll take a nap now.” Yeah, I guess shooting out tires at high speeds can be kind of tiring.

Once in Genoa, we ditch the Mercedes and buy bus tickets to Florence. I hate riding the bus, but for the sake of staying alive, I suck it up. Waiting for the bus, we have plenty of time to find a decent restaurant to fuel up at. Damn, I’ve never had real Italian food before. It makes Olive Garden look like the McDonald’s of Italian food. 

Anna’s still bent out of shape about not being able to pop out of the trunk in a blaze of glory, but is appeased when Jackson bows down to her as the mastermind. Had it been my girl in there, I probably would have wanted to join her. Make sure she didn’t fall out or maybe just use the dark space to get frisky.

The bus ride from Genoa to Florence is blessedly short. Anna and Jackson admit that Florence is a place they’ve actually never been to, so we ask the cab driver to recommend a nice hotel. I tell Jackson to get two hotel rooms, one for him and another for me and Anna. Unfortunately, since I don’t speak Italian and he handles checking us in using one of his aliases, I don’t realize he’s only gotten one room until we’re on the elevator. Grudgingly, I suppose that makes sense considering people trying to kill us, me in particular. Safety in numbers. 

But I’m not sharing a bed with Jackson. 

And I don’t have to, since Anna has decided to take the couch. Fine, if she’s gonna play hard to get, let her ass sleep on the couch. However, five minutes after the lights are out, I call out, “Anna, I can’t go to sleep when I’m feeling like a bastard for taking the bed.” Jackson had no problem with it.

“Shut your loud mouth, Gabriel,” Jackson grumbles, “She’s already asleep. Could you quit with all the romantic angst and let me get some rest?”

Oh.
Well I could carry her to my bed, but she’d probably wake up mid-karate chop to my throat. I rationalize that the couch actually did looked kind of comfy. After stumbling through the dark room to lay another blanket over Annabelle, I climb back into bed and drift off to sleep.

In the morning, I open my eyes to see Anna sitting up on the red velvet couch, cleaning her gun. The sound of the shower alerts me to where Jackson is. So does his singing. Oh my god, the douche is singing Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again”. I am officially one hundred times cooler than him. If I had to pick a song from that era to sing in the shower, it would be one by Guns N’ Roses. I don’t care how many times he pops out of a trunk with guns blazing, his douchehood is now complete.

“Morning beautiful,” I greet Anna, rubbing a hand over my mussed hair. Seeing the hotel room in the daylight, I’m appreciating the authenticity of it. Instead of sleek modern furnishings, all the furniture is wooden and bulky. The dark wood shutters are open, letting light in through the double-glazed windows. The color scheme of the room gives off a homey feeling in earth tones, light yellows and reds. The building is so old that one wall in the room is grey stone. The play of light on Annabelle’s hair from a round stained glass window near the ceiling is captivating. Or maybe it’s just her.

Even though she doesn’t look up from her task, her mouth twitches from trying to hold back a smile. “I already ordered breakfast. It should be here any minute.”

Sitting up, I throw off the covers and scoot to the end of the bed. My feet hit the cool wood floor and I quickly bring them up to wrap my arms around my legs. “Breakfast in bed, honey? I feel so loved.”

This time she does smile. “Nah, I was hungry. You were an afterthought.”

“Admit it. You got up early to watch me sleep.” I’m actually a little offended that she’s not taking advantage of checking me out while I’m only in my boxer briefs. What’s the point of working out if my muscles don’t make her want to run her hands all over me?

Finally looking up at me with a curious look on her face, she asks, “Huh? Did you just say something?”
Cute little punk
.

“Denial,” I simply say and reach out with both hands to latch onto her arm and drag her over to me. Yanking her off the couch, she drops the gun, thankfully not loaded at the moment, and lands against me awkwardly. I’m sure that elbow to my gut was pure accident. Right when I finally get my arms wrapped around her, there’s a knock on the door.
Damn
. Food or sex? Isn’t that some sort of age old question? Didn’t my Philosophy professor mention Socrates being stumped on that dilemma?

Anna answers the question for me by pulling away and skipping over to the door, grabbing Jackson’s weapon to hold behind her back as she opens it. She opens the door wider to let the hotel employee wheel the cart in. I realize that she’s still wearing pajama shorts and a tank top, giving a view of her legs that the guy should be tipping
her
for. Eyes above the neck buddy. Better yet, just shut them altogether.

Jackson finally quits hogging the bathroom, giving me the opportunity to take a piss and wash my hands before eating. I hate eating when I have to pee, makes me feel rushed. When I get out, they’re both chowing down, so I quickly pile some food on a plate before it’s all gone. What Anna tells me is a frittata looks delicious. “So, what’s the plan for today? Do we get to blow anything up?”

Anna swallows her bite of toast. “Always a possibility, but actually we’re just going to rent a car to drive south. Then we’ll take a ferry from Southern Italy to Greece.”

“Hmm,” I say in a reflective tone. “Any good cities along the way to elope in?”

Anna smiles that beautiful smile that always makes my heart skip a beat. She quickly ruins it by looking back and forth between me and Jackson, saying, “I’m not sure. Does Italy allow same-sex marriages?” Then raising her hand halfway in the air, she shouts, “Flower girl!”

Chapter 45

Annabelle

Coming out a deep sleep, before I even open my eyes, I realize two things. One, laying sideways in the cramped backseat of a Mini Cooper is not comfortable. And two, my head is no longer resting on my backpack. Since I very much doubt Jackson would be so courteous as to rest my head in his lap, it can only leave one person. Turning my head just an inch to the side, I open my mouth and bite down hard on the thigh that my teeth come into contact with. I’m grinning as I yank with my teeth on the bit of jean-covered flesh.

“Ow! Ow! Fuck! Anna, let go!” Gabriel’s plea is music to my ears.
Sing for me, baby. 

With one last tug, I release his now slobbery pant leg and turn my head to slowly open my eyes and look up at him innocently. Stretching and ‘accidentally’ smacking him in the face with my right palm, I say sleepily, “What? Wow, I was having the coolest dream that I was a dog.”