A Shot of Red (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Mia handed Gio a cup of coffee the second he came out of the bathroom, feeling more alive after a hot shower. He immediately noticed that the gun was now on the desk. He was glad she had a weapon—even though it hadn’t helped her last night—and he wondered if either of them would have to use it. It was too small for his hand, but if he absolutely had to fire it, he could. He and his dad had done some skeet shooting on occasion. Gio had been a decent shot, but he hadn’t been amped on adrenaline and fighting for his life, so that probably wasn’t reliable experience.

“I should give you the tour,” she said.

“Of what?”

“The rest of the place.”

The smell of the coffee alone had him craving it like an addict. Way past ready for a caffeine buzz, he took a long slug of the steaming brew, wincing at the heat of it.

Mia put on her coat and handed him his, tipping her head toward the door in the back corner of the room. She grabbed her mug of coffee and said, “Follow me.”

They stepped out onto the balcony and Gio got his first good view of the picturesque historic city. Somehow the gray sky and crisp, damp air seemed fitting for the medieval beauty that had managed to survive modern times. He loved the permanent feel of the place, nestled as it was at the base of a majestic mountain with the craggy peaks of others beyond.

“Wow.”

“I know, right?”

She pointed to an octagonal rooftop beyond the buildings in the foreground. “That’s the roof of the famous water tower that’s in so many pictures of Lucerne, along with the Chapel Bridge. You can’t see the river and the lake but they’re between here and that hill over there with the Musegg Wall and the watch towers running along it.”

“That’s pretty cool,” he said.

She nodded, her expression bright and open. “It’s amazing.” She took a quick sip of her coffee, as if she couldn’t wait to tell him more. “It’s been there since the 1300s. Part of the city’s original ramparts. And wait until you see the
Dying Lion of Lucerne
sculpture. I swear you’ll cry. Mark Twain said it’s the saddest and most moving piece of rock in the world.”

He’d never seen her so animated and excited. “Either you’ve been here before, you’ve memorized a Frommer’s guide, or both.”

She shrugged, now seeming self-conscious about her enthusiasm. “My dad brought me here.” Her lips curved with a trace of a sad smile that tugged at Gio’s heart. He wondered if she’d been more open before her father had died. Mrs. Moncure had led him to think so. Getting a glimpse of that side of her made him want to bring it out more.

She lifted her mug toward the snow-capped mountain. “That’s Mount Pilatus.” Her expression had turned darker. “Where Brent died.”

A weight dropped in Gio’s stomach. “Your grandmother briefed me about the safe-deposit box, the gun, and the letter he left you.”

“Something’s strange about the letter.” She reached in her coat pocket and came out with a water-stained red envelope.

He lowered his eyebrows and drew his head back quickly.

“It got tossed in the river with me last night.”

Gio scrubbed his hand over his forehead. “God, Mia.”

“I know.” She gave him a quick sidelong glance. “I’m still terrified.”

He pulled her to him and held her close, refusing to imagine someone taking her from him.

After a long moment, she pulled away a little and gazed up at him. “It only makes me more determined to find out who’s behind all this.”

So I can kill that mother…

“Want to tell me about it?” he asked, trying to sound calm.

She faced the view and nodded. “I was on the Spreuer Bridge, checking out the
Dance of Death
paintings there since Brent mentions them in the letter. Basically, they’re paintings of skeletons choosing random people to dance with them…and die.”

“Your grandmother said that kind of art was an outlet for people to show their helplessness during epidemics and plagues.”

“Right. But the whole idea is kind of ghoulish. I guess I see how that’s related to the vaccine, especially now that there’s officially an epidemic. But Brent couldn’t have seen that coming.” She tapped her fingers on the side of her mug. “I don’t know how it fits in with the rest of what he wrote, though. I’ve been checking into some of the other things this morning.”

“Like what?”

“Random stuff, like the fact that Moncure got a new vendor for the color-coded vaccine syringes. No worries there until the shipments of about a million of the red ones were delayed for a week then shipped from a different city where the vendor only has a satellite office, not a plant.”

Gio furrowed his brow. “That seems odd.”

She nodded. “But that’s all I’ve got on the syringes so far.” She gazed into the distance. “Somehow Matthew’s meeting here last March with Thomas Sorensen might be related.”

The name scratched at the back of Gio’s mind. “Thomas Sorensen. Why do I recognize that name?”

“He’s an assistant director-general from the WHO.”

“And he and Matthew met here in Lucerne?”

“Yep.” Mia look at him expectantly.

“Your mother and Secretary Dartmouth met with him, too.”

She scrunched her face. “Here? Are you sure?”

Everything that had happened around that time was kind of hazy in his mind. Mia had left for Haiti not long before, then he’d found out she wasn’t coming back for months. “I could check the exact dates. I remember it mostly because I figured they’d want press releases and photos for a high-profile meeting like that, but they didn’t. It wasn’t confidential, but they didn’t want it to make the news, either. They tacked the meeting onto what they called a vacation.”

“Matthew’s two-bedroom suite at the Palace hotel doesn’t seem quite as extravagant if my mom and Richard stayed there, too.”

“I can’t confirm that, but I can give you a firm answer on the Sorensen meeting if you think it might lead to something.” Gio caught himself. He was eager to help Mia, her grandmother, and their company, and to bring a murderer to justice. But had he been too quick to volunteer information about Senator Moncure and Secretary Dartmouth? His stakes in this were already high. He’d risked his job by lying about being sick and then skipping the country to play James Bond. Now he’d put his boss front and center in an investigation that couldn’t possibly lead anywhere good.

He quickly downed the rest of his coffee, struggling to figure out where his loyalty ought to lie. All he’d had before Mia were his parents and his job. His parents would always be there for him. But this situation with Mia could cost him everything he’d worked for. His white-knight armor didn’t seem so shiny in the light of day.

“What other random leads do you have?” he asked, eager to draw the attention away from Senator Moncure.

She pulled the torn sheet of paper from the envelope and scanned it. “Not many more. Brent mentioned Picasso and there’s a tenuous connection there through Sorensen. Seems his longtime companion is a docent at a modern art museum here in town. I was headed over to check that out when you showed up.” She handed him the ragged-edged section of Brent’s letter. “See if you can decipher any of it.”

Gio scanned the paper, none of the words making much sense without the rest that had been torn away. His throat nearly constricted when he saw his own name in Brent’s handwriting.

Gio told me…
…
suspected something was goin…

“What the hell?” His pulse thrummed in his ears. “What’s my name doing on here?” Mrs. Moncure hadn’t shared that shocking bit of intel.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Mia looked at him searchingly. “Why did you tell him about us, Gio? There was no reason for you to do that.”

Gio fought to suppress his rising anger. He couldn’t believe Mia would think for a second that he would’ve told Brent about their night together. Why the hell would he? Brent had been the one who’d talked to him about Mia. She had run off to Haiti and left both of them behind. Now she seemed more concerned about what Brent had known than she’d ever been about Gio’s feelings. She had no idea who he was if she thought he had leaked their secret—especially to Brent. He’d come all the way to Switzerland to help her, and she accused him of this?

His chest tightened and he glared at her. “What would I have had to gain by telling Brent I fucked his ex-girlfriend?” The scathing words left his mouth before he could bite them back.

Mia flinched. Her expression turned stony and her eyes glinted with enough anger to make Gio thankful she’d left the revolver in the room. He braced himself for her comeback, but she didn’t say a word. She turned her back, strode into the room, and closed the door behind her.

…

Mia stood in the middle of the hotel room, arms crossed and pressed tightly against her. Gio might as well have punched her in the stomach. All those months she’d believed what he’d said when they’d been together that first night—that what they’d experienced was
real
…

“Before I leave, you’ll have no doubt about that.”

Mia would’ve sworn he’d proven it again when they spent the night together in New York. She might not have deserved another chance with him, but he’d seemed willing to take it. Then he’d told the harsh truth in anger.

Every dull thud of her heart had her questioning her assumptions about his feelings for her. She didn’t really know him, or how he operated with women. But she’d thought he had been sincere. How could she have been so naive? She’d been wise to run away the first time, and it felt like a damn good idea now.

Logic told her to stay here and face him, that he’d come all the way to Lucerne to help her and her family—even Brent. But what other motive was he hiding? He worked for her mother, for God’s sake, and she was the last person they needed involved in this. Could Gio keep it to himself? Mia rarely doubted Lila’s judgment, but her idea to send Gio to Lucerne had been dead wrong.

She stepped over to where she could see Gio’s silhouette beyond the sheer shade covering the glass door to the balcony. He had his elbows stiffly propped on the ledge, as if he didn’t plan to come inside any time soon. Clearly he had little regret over what he’d said, and there was no way she was going to stay here with him. She could do this alone.

Mia grabbed her suitcase, quickly tossed her clothes and toiletries inside, zipped it closed, and put her laptop in the front pocket. Another glance at Gio’s statue-like silhouette made her tense with renewed anger. She slid the revolver off the desk, put it in her coat pocket, and headed out the door. The latch clicked behind her with the hollow sound of finality.

Chapter Nineteen

Mia hurried out of the hotel, just in case Gio had gone back into the room, found her missing, and decided to come after her. But why would he do that? He hadn’t even been interested in coming after her when she’d been there.

She hailed a cab, thinking back to the night she’d tried to do the same thing at the 9:30 Club in DC when she’d let Gio take her home instead. How different would her life have been over the last nine months if the cab driver who had picked up the other waiting group had chosen her instead? In hindsight, she’d have paid him double what the others had, or more if he would’ve saved her from…what? Herself? Gio?

Love?

Mia warned herself not to be stupid. She knew better than to attach such a heavy emotion to a man who would say something like what Gio had just said to her. It crossed her mind that she might have been better off just staying with Brent all those months ago—that relationship had little fire, but she’d been less likely to get burned.

The cab driver put Mia’s suitcase in the trunk, then opened the back door for her and she ducked into the car. He got behind the wheel and cast a where-to look over his shoulder. Longing for something familiar, she said, “Hotel des Balances.” Tears pricked her eyes. That’s where she, her dad, and Lila had stayed when they’d been in Lucerne years ago. She hadn’t initially chosen to stay there because she wasn’t sure she could stand the memories mixed with all the other emotions she was dealing with right now.

Mia remembered the historic flair of the hotel, nestled in the “old town” section of the city on the shore of the Reuss River. She and her dad had stood on their upper-floor balcony and watched the swans swimming in the river below.

Not only was the hotel somewhat familiar to her, it was also far enough away from the Hotel Ameron Flora where Gio would be—if he decided to stay. Mia couldn’t imagine why he would.

She checked into the hotel to find that it had been recently renovated, yet it still managed to convey the same comfort she remembered. And she could use a little comfort. During the few minutes she’d been outside, she’d been hyperalert, scrutinizing every man she saw, fearing he might be the one who threw her into the river last night and had come back to finish the job.

As much as she longed to, she couldn’t succumb to the comfort of her nostalgia right now. She grabbed another cab and headed to the Museum Sammlung Rosengart, which turned out to be way too close to Gio’s hotel. The city was small enough that she might run into him somewhere—as if she hadn’t had enough to worry about already.

Mia stepped inside the modern art museum, a stark contrast to the medieval architecture outside. High ceilings soared above dark walnut floors. Walls of white served as a perfect blank canvas for the world-renowned works of classic modernism. Huge, shaded windows allowed natural light to seep in.

Mia walked over to the admission desk.

“Guten tag.” The smartly dressed balding man behind the desk smiled at her. She could tell he was trying not to stare at the angry scrapes along her jawline.

Mia glanced at his nametag.
Heinrich. “Sprechen sie Englisch?”
She spoke and understood a little German, but not enough to carry on a conversation.

“Yes.”

“Oh, good.” Finally something was going her way. “Are there any public tours today?” she asked, although she already knew the answer from their website.

He furrowed his already wrinkled brow. “I’m sorry. Only on Sundays—in German. But we have private tours in English.”

“That’d be awesome,” she said with more enthusiasm than she felt for the idea of touring the entire museum. “Some friends of mine took a tour here not too long ago. They recommended their guide…” Mia pressed her lips together as if she were trying to remember. “Katrina, or Katia, I think?”

His eyes brightened behind his round, rimless glasses. “Katia. She’s our Picasso specialist.”

“My friends are bilingual, so I’m not sure if their tour was in English or German. Does Katia speak English?”

“She speaks several languages, so she’s popular with the tour groups. She’s the only docent who speaks Chinese.”

Mia practically saw the red flag waving in front of her eyes. It was a long shot, but she was trying to make any connection she could with the items from Brent’s letter—or what little she had of it. Could the delay of the red-coded syringes and their arrival from a different Chinese city have anything to do with a Picasso specialist who spoke Chinese and was the longtime companion of an assistant director-general of the WHO? None of it seemed related, except in Brent’s letter.

“I’m sure that keeps her busy,” Mia said. “Any possibility she’s available for a tour?” She gave him a pretty-please look.

He pressed his palm to his heart as if it pained him to answer. “I wish I could say yes, but Katia’s not here this morning. Let’s see if she’s coming in this afternoon.” He squinted at his computer screen and clicked the mouse a few times. Shaking his head, he said, “Looks like she won’t be in until Monday. She lives up on Mount Pilatus and doesn’t come down too often.”

Mia’s heart clamored. Katia Glasser
lived
on Mount Pilatus…where Brent had died? Maybe she was starting to piece things together.

Without any help from Gio.

“People live there?” Mia asked.

“Some people have homes and land at the lower elevations, and there’s a hotel at the top. Katia lives there—in the Hotel Pilatus-Kulm.” He leaned toward her, cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, “She’s a little eccentric.” He raised his eyebrows and drew back, looking pleased that the two of them shared a secret. “But she sure knows her Picasso.”

“Too bad I’ll be leaving Sunday, so I won’t get to take her tour.”

“Would you like to schedule one with someone else?” He squinted at the computer screen again. “We have an English-speaking docent coming in tomorrow morning.”

As much as she appreciated the art, Mia didn’t really want a tour. She wanted to meet Katia Glasser. “I’m kind of booked up through Sunday, except for the next couple of hours. How about I go ahead and take a self-guided tour now?” She figured she should at least see the Picassos in case Brent intended for her to learn something from them, even though she wouldn’t have the slightest clue what she was looking for.

Mia paid the admission fee and walked into the first gallery where several storied Picassos were displayed. She’d never “gotten” the cubist style, but she was starting to relate to it more by the day. It seemed as if nothing was where it was supposed to be, with everything all mismatched and jumbled—just like this mystery Brent had concocted. And just like her feelings for Gio. She was a walking Picasso.

Several patrons milled about the museum as Mia made her way through. Toward the back of the first floor, she walked down a short hallway that connected one gallery to the next. There were no works of art in the hallway, but the single large, framed picture that hung there caught her attention. Printed on a taupe mat with black letters in a modern font were the words “Our Docents.” Below that, rows of five-by-seven black-and-white photographs of the docents were mounted with their names printed beneath them.

Mia’s pulse ticked faster as she scanned the pictures, looking for Katia Glasser. Her name brought to mind a delicate blond ballerina, so Mia figured she’d come across a woman like that each time she set her gaze on the next photo.

Katia Glasser.

Mia drew her head back as she gazed at the picture. Katia Glasser was neither delicate nor blonde, nor did she look like a ballerina—at least from what she could tell by the photo. The woman appeared to be in her midfifties with dark hair, going gray, and cut in a messy, layered bob. Her bangs were wispy and too long, and kept out of her eyes by black-rimmed glasses with roundish frames. She had a prominent nose and a square chin, and a bit of a crooked smile. Something in her eyes kept Mia staring, but she couldn’t figure out what.

She had worn a plain blouse for the picture, and what looked like a silver necklace with a charm that was some kind of Chinese symbol. Since she hadn’t found any pictures of Ms. Glasser online, Mia pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of Katia’s picture. Glancing at the screen, Mia saw that she had a new text message that she hadn’t heard come in. She tapped the icon.

It’s Gio. Call me. Or answer your phone.

As if she wouldn’t have recognized his number, but this was a different phone and she didn’t have it programmed in. And dammit, Lila must have given him the number of her new phone, because Mia hadn’t. Sure enough, there was a missed call from him, too. She checked the ringer volume to find that the phone had been muted, maybe by the impact with the water last night. At least it had stayed mostly dry when she’d been in the river last night. After a quick debate with herself, she left it muted—at least while she was in the museum. Lingering in a couple more galleries would give her some time to decide what to say to him…if she decided to call.

Mia wandered into the next gallery and sat on a lone bench facing another brightly colored Picasso depicting a picnic as she’d never imagined one. She looked through it, really, wondering what to do about Gio, knowing there was no easy answer.

A Chinese woman sat next to her and gazed at the painting for a while. Mia sat there staring, too, absently rolling the beads of her bracelet between her fingers.

“
Xiang si dou
,” the Chinese woman said to Mia as she studied the bracelet.

“
Xiang si dou
?” Mia asked.

The woman smiled knowingly. “Mutual love beads,” she said with a heavy accent. “Longtime symbol of love in China.”

Mia pressed her lips together. No way could she feel any guiltier, or be plagued by more regret. Brent had left her a lasting symbol of love in the form of a beautiful bracelet. And what had she done to him?

The woman sat in silence a while longer then nodded good-bye to Mia, stood, and rejoined her group as they prepared to leave. Soon Mia was alone, the quiet contradicting the chaos in the paintings. Sitting here wasn’t going to solve anything, so she decided to go. Just as she stood, the Chinese woman rushed back into the gallery, wearing a buttoned coat and looking windblown, as if she’d been outdoors. She clasped Mia’s hand and lifted it. The bracelet encircled her wrist—matte ivory beads and delicate silver ones glinting in the lights.

“Be careful,” the woman said to Mia and clutched her hand tightly. She smoothed her finger over the ivory beads. “These can kill you.”

…

Gio finally calmed down enough to leave the balcony and face Mia in the hotel room. Besides, he was half frozen from standing outside after the heat of his anger had cooled.

Within seconds, he realized Mia had run away again.

Shit!

He buried his face in his hands.

Should’ve seen that coming.

And he should’ve known she would run, since that was her go-to defense mechanism. She might be a stranger to him in many ways, but he knew that about her, for sure. The person he wasn’t sure about was himself. He’d been an even-keeled guy—nearly carefree except for the stresses of work—until he’d gotten involved with Mia. The emotions she stirred up in him were more than he knew how to handle. He’d clearly picked the wrong woman if he was interested in easily ever after, much less happily.

Mia was probably long gone, but he checked the hallway and the lobby to see if he could catch her on her way out—if she’d left, or maybe as she registered for another room. There was no sign of her either way. If she stayed true to form, she’d run farther than a couple floors down, so he doubted she was still there. She was out in the city with the same lunatic who’d thrown her off a bridge last night. Mrs. Moncure had sent Gio to watch out for Mia, and he botched the job already—news that was sure to impress her.

He returned to the room and started pacing, wearing a path in the hardwood floor. Chasing Mia would do nothing but drain his time and energy. She had been headed to a modern art museum when he’d arrived, but her plan had probably changed in favor of finding a different hotel. Maybe she’d calm down after that, and answer her phone if he called. But what could he offer her then? They both owed the other an apology. Her for accusing, and him for overreacting.

The only ways he could think to make things somewhat better were to cut his losses and leave, or to stay true to his commitment to help figure out what had been going on with the vaccine and what happened to Brent. Maybe then Brent’s ghost would stop haunting them.

“You’re losing it,” he said to himself, never one to believe in ghosts or hauntings. Maybe he was changing his mind.

Leaving would be cowardly, and word was out at his office that he was down with the flu. Even so, he’d been checking email and texts reaffirming that plenty of other Americans were sick with the flu for real, and dying in growing numbers. Statistics were showing the mortality rate leveling off in children and adults, but the rate escalating for seniors. With the help of the media, the government had doubled its promotional efforts for the vaccine, without consulting Senator Moncure’s office. That suited Gio fine since he wasn’t there to direct his staff. It might even satisfy Senator Moncure. None of the epidemic-related news was good, and she wouldn’t want it associated with her.

Gio had convinced himself to stay, but what could he do without more information from Mia? He tried to call her again, but got no answer. No surprise there. He thought back through the information she’d given him before he’d seen Brent’s letter and all hell had broken loose.