incline. Tourists were everywhere. The man ahead of him had followed his move. He stood at the base of the bridge. Another man joined him. A glance over his shoulder, and Renzo saw the two previous pursuers working their way through the crowd behind him. They spotted him, and one of them raised a finger to his ear. His lips moved as he coordinated the collapsing net.
Renzo was trapped.
Vendors hawked, a gondolier sang, and the motor of a vaporetto echoed below.
The men closed in on him from either side of the ancient bridge. Renzo felt a surge of anger. He was about to die and he didn’t even know why. He squared himself to the two menmoving up the incline behind him. They were closest. One of them gave a feral grin, and Renzo resolved that he wasn’t going down alone. Determination balled his fists, and a rush of blood pumped through his limbs. They’d be on him in twenty steps. He was ready.
But when a family strolled past him and he saw the children licking gelato from cones, the wind left his lungs.
Collateral damage.
The echo of the motor spurred Renzo’s feet even before the decision was half-formed in his consciousness. Three strides and he was atop the balustrade. The nose of a vaporetto pushed into the sunlight from under the bridge. The top of the passenger compartment was fifteen feet below. He prayed, jumped, and rolled when he hit its surface. Bullets puckered the rooftop beside him. He scrambled to the edge, dropped to the next level, and ducked under the roof. Passengers cried out in alarm, distancing themselves from him. Two more hammer blows from above, and then the shooting stopped.
The driver yanked back on the throttle and turned to identify the trouble. The boat slowed. Renzo rushed forward. Something in his expression caused the driver’s eyes to go wide. He stepped aside and Renzo took the controls, slamming the throttle to its stops. The boat surged ahead. He steered around the sharp bend and out of sight of the bridge.
“The sooner I’m off your boat, the better for you,
sì
?” Renzo said.
The driver nodded three times in rapid succession.
Renzo pointed at a dock on the San Polo side of the canal. “Then drop me there,” he said, stepping aside to allow the man to take over.
Barber-striped mooring poles framed the private dock. The four-story palazzo behind it stretched a full block. Its facade was obscured by a network of scaffolds. It appeared deserted. The boat approached, and Renzo moved toward the exit. Passengersedged away. He hesitated at a large wall map. They’d expect him to run to the train station, he thought. It was on the other side of San Polo. He placed a finger on the station, knowing that others were watching. But his mind traced a route that led to a marina in the opposite direction. He’d catch a water taxi there and disappear on the mainland. The vaporetto slowed. He unhooked the rail chain and readied himself. A quick look over his shoulder, and the passengers shrank back. They seemed to hold a collective breath.
“I’m sorry—”
He cut off when he saw a name on one of the posters on the opposite wall. It was an advertisement for a five-star hotel by Piazza San Marco.
The Hotel Danieli
.
A place, he realized with a start. Not a person! He swore to himself at the mistaken assumption. The kid had wanted him to go to the hotel. At noon. He checked his watch. Thirty past the hour. His mind raced. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
The roar of speedboats shattered the thought. Two of them careened around the corner from the Rialto. Dark sunglasses locked onto him. Renzo turned his back to the threat and leaped onto the dock.
Chapter 6
Venice, Italy
T ONY WAS THE first to enter the hotel lobby. Pretty damn posh, he thought, soaking it in. He’d been called in to plenty of lavish spaces as a senior cop with LAPD, but nothing compared with this. The lobby wasn’t wide, but it was tall. A red-carpeted grand staircase hugged a mahogany wall as it twisted and
Renzo was trapped.
Vendors hawked, a gondolier sang, and the motor of a vaporetto echoed below.
The men closed in on him from either side of the ancient bridge. Renzo felt a surge of anger. He was about to die and he didn’t even know why. He squared himself to the two menmoving up the incline behind him. They were closest. One of them gave a feral grin, and Renzo resolved that he wasn’t going down alone. Determination balled his fists, and a rush of blood pumped through his limbs. They’d be on him in twenty steps. He was ready.
But when a family strolled past him and he saw the children licking gelato from cones, the wind left his lungs.
Collateral damage.
The echo of the motor spurred Renzo’s feet even before the decision was half-formed in his consciousness. Three strides and he was atop the balustrade. The nose of a vaporetto pushed into the sunlight from under the bridge. The top of the passenger compartment was fifteen feet below. He prayed, jumped, and rolled when he hit its surface. Bullets puckered the rooftop beside him. He scrambled to the edge, dropped to the next level, and ducked under the roof. Passengers cried out in alarm, distancing themselves from him. Two more hammer blows from above, and then the shooting stopped.
The driver yanked back on the throttle and turned to identify the trouble. The boat slowed. Renzo rushed forward. Something in his expression caused the driver’s eyes to go wide. He stepped aside and Renzo took the controls, slamming the throttle to its stops. The boat surged ahead. He steered around the sharp bend and out of sight of the bridge.
“The sooner I’m off your boat, the better for you,
sì
?” Renzo said.
The driver nodded three times in rapid succession.
Renzo pointed at a dock on the San Polo side of the canal. “Then drop me there,” he said, stepping aside to allow the man to take over.
Barber-striped mooring poles framed the private dock. The four-story palazzo behind it stretched a full block. Its facade was obscured by a network of scaffolds. It appeared deserted. The boat approached, and Renzo moved toward the exit. Passengersedged away. He hesitated at a large wall map. They’d expect him to run to the train station, he thought. It was on the other side of San Polo. He placed a finger on the station, knowing that others were watching. But his mind traced a route that led to a marina in the opposite direction. He’d catch a water taxi there and disappear on the mainland. The vaporetto slowed. He unhooked the rail chain and readied himself. A quick look over his shoulder, and the passengers shrank back. They seemed to hold a collective breath.
“I’m sorry—”
He cut off when he saw a name on one of the posters on the opposite wall. It was an advertisement for a five-star hotel by Piazza San Marco.
The Hotel Danieli
.
A place, he realized with a start. Not a person! He swore to himself at the mistaken assumption. The kid had wanted him to go to the hotel. At noon. He checked his watch. Thirty past the hour. His mind raced. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
The roar of speedboats shattered the thought. Two of them careened around the corner from the Rialto. Dark sunglasses locked onto him. Renzo turned his back to the threat and leaped onto the dock.
Chapter 6
Venice, Italy
T ONY WAS THE first to enter the hotel lobby. Pretty damn posh, he thought, soaking it in. He’d been called in to plenty of lavish spaces as a senior cop with LAPD, but nothing compared with this. The lobby wasn’t wide, but it was tall. A red-carpeted grand staircase hugged a mahogany wall as it twisted and
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