Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment Read Online Free PDF Page A

soul.
    A disturbance behind Renzo broke the spell. Two men shoved their way through the crowd. Dark glasses. Rubber-soled shoes. Their eyes fixed on his position. One had a hand to his ear. They ran toward him.
    A familiar panic swept through him, and Renzo raced back over the arched walkway. He pushed through the crowd and ducked into the south entrance of the Palazzo Ducale—the Doge’s Palace.
    “
Alto
!” the entrance guard ordered.
    “
Emergencia
!” Renzo said, as he rushed past the guard and into an open-air courtyard. He kept moving, ignoring the shrill of the guard’s whistle. He ran past a grand staircase guarded bytwo colossal statues, skirting a richly decorated arch and ducking through the southeast portico. Angry shouts confirmed that the men were close behind. In the next salon, tourists milled at the foot of a roped-off golden staircase that led to the upper floors. Beyond the ropes, at the first landing, a tour guide had opened a hidden panel. She was ushering the last of her guests through a narrow passageway. Renzo leaped the rope and took the steps two at a time. He caught the door just before it closed, slipping in with the group.
    “
Scusi
,” the attractive and petite guide said with a stern edge. “This is a private tour.”
    “Yes, I know,” Renzo replied casually. The run had tousled his hair, but he was barely out of breath. He offered her his best smile and peeled a hundred-euro note from his money clip. “The gentleman below said I might join you.”
    She appraised him, shrugged, and took the money. The sounds from downstairs muted as the panel clicked shut. The woman brushed past him toward the head of the line. She left a pleasant hint of jasmine in her wake. “
Signori e signore
,” she whispered conspiratorially to the group in Italian, “the Doge’s Palace is layered in secrets.” She winked at Renzo. “Let us explore the fate of the man who stole a kiss from one too many wives. Follow now in the footsteps of Giacomo Girolamo Casanova!”
    She ushered the group up a dark staircase. The wooden planks creaked with each step. The narrow corridor smelled of moist wood and decay. “Casanova was thirty years old when he was arrested,” the guide said. “The charge was irreligious behavior…”
    They continued forward, and Renzo tuned her out. He tightened his belt around the pistol at his back and wondered if he could actually use it. He was an artist, not a killer. At least that’s what he believed. The men following him had known he would be in Venice, he thought. But how? And why did they so desperately want him dead? His past haunted him, and the only person with answers was the wounded kid on the scooter.Renzo recalled the vague sense of familiarity he’d felt when they’d met. There had been a flash of memories. But they had faded when the small pyramid had been flung into the gutter. His consciousness had been unable to recapture it. He’d hoped that Danielle—whoever she was—would provide him with answers.
    But it was too late for that now. If he didn’t get off the grid soon, he’d be dead.
    There was a sudden rumble of footsteps behind him. Renzo shouldered past the other guests. But when he tried to slide by the guide, she placed her hands on her hips and blocked his path. “You really must stay with—”
    She cut off when Renzo picked her up by the waist and spun her around behind him. He kissed her, winked, and dashed off. A brief round of applause from his tour partners was quickly replaced by angry shouts.
    The first exit door was around the next corner. He barged through and kept running. His route took him through the State Inquisitors’ Office and the Torture Room. Then up a staircase to
I Piombi
—the Leads—so named because the attic prison cells had a lead roof that created an oven in summer and a freezer in winter. The cells were tiny, and Renzo shuddered as he ran past. He hated small spaces.
    He darted down one corridor, then another, down