Blonde Ops (19 page)

“Look out!” I screamed, and forgetting the scarf, changed direction.

At the last moment, the bike rushed past Taj—so close!

Taj spun around and shouted something, angrily waving his hands at the departing cyclist as he whizzed around an unmanned wooden blockade and disappeared down a side street.

A local police officer, an older man with longish gray hair, a big nose, and a limp, hobbled over to Taj. The agents, seeing no threat, gave Mrs. Jennings some space, although they looked tense and on high alert. It seemed like ever since she'd arrived—or earlier, ever since she'd been expected—things had gone wrong. There'd been too many accidents.

Ortiz went over to Taj and put a hand on his shoulder. I stopped short, watching while they talked for a few moments. The policeman walked away, and finally Ortiz returned to her post, scanning the area. I managed to retrieve the scarf—thankfully unpulled and unstained—off the leg of a barricade, near where the policeman stood.

Something about him … He looked at Taj with … recognition? Taj didn't return it—but then most people gave him a double take.

Throwing her arms in the air, Candace shouted, “Pack it up!”

Hoping to redeem myself at least a little bit, I jogged back and started gathering and sorting and packing the accessories.

“Hey,” said Sophie as she gave Aldo and Angelo a hand collapsing lights and screens.

I smiled back. “Hey.” I folded the scarf and tucked it into a trunk.

“Some day, huh?”

You think?

“I think I topped my ‘That was really stupid, Bec' benchmark today,” I mumbled.

She punched my shoulder lightly. “It'll be okay, don't worry about it. No one thinks you tried to kill Mrs. Jennings.”

It didn't take long to stow everything back in the trunks and pack up the vans. Candace strode over to me, stuck out a palm, and wiggled long fingers at me. “Before I go, give me your phone.”

“Huh?”

The dark look on her face told me she wasn't about to ask twice. I pulled it out. She took it and tapped the screen a few times before handing it back.

“Now we're connected by GPS. Always leave it on, and no more surprises. Tomorrow I'm escorting Mrs. Jennings to lunch, and then she has an audience with the pope. I'll see you back at the hotel tonight, but I'll be keeping tabs on you in the meantime.”

It wasn't a comforting thought. Candace strode back to Mrs. Jennings's tent, and Ortiz sauntered over to me.

“My advice to you?” she said with a pointed look. “Stay away from Romeo.”

“His name is Dante,” I shot back, peeved.

“Romeo, Casanova, Dante … Look what happened to girls involved with the likes of them. How did they end up?”

Not good, no happy ending.

“Look out for yourself so you won't get hurt.”

That was awfully cryptic and sounded like my mother.

Ortiz took her cell from her pocket and frowned at it. She tapped furiously. “Damn.”

“Problem? Maybe I can fix it,” I offered.

“Stupid battery's dead. Can I borrow yours for a sec?”

I handed it over and Ortiz walked a short distance. “National security, I can't let you hear,” she said.

I nodded impatiently and turned to watch Joe and Varon try not to make puppy eyes at each other. Ortiz returned my phone and joined the other agents.

Once Mrs. Jennings was back in her own clothes, the agents and Candace spirited her away. Much as I liked her, I was glad the shoot was done and she was off somewhere else—away from me. With her departure, the crowds had mostly dispersed. The police barricades were being removed and groups of tourists and locals filtered into the plaza again.

Unhindered by jittery agents, demanding photographers, and Candace's eagle eyes, all that was left to worry about was Kevin's detailed sweeps of the Pantheon to make sure we'd left nothing behind. That done, we were ready to head back to the office.

Kevin and Sophie sat in the middle row of the van. All the way in the back was an available seat—next to Taj.

“Taj is hitching a ride back to
Edge
,” said Sophie.

“Sometime today would be good, Bec,” added Kevin, turning toward the window.

Taj's smirk looked like a challenge, as if I might be afraid of him. I wasn't, and climbed in. He didn't say anything, and neither did I.

Sophie and Kevin were whispering. Suddenly she turned around, her eyes sparkling and her smile sly. She was up to no good.

“Candace will be busy for the rest of the day, and then with her dinner with the gala organizers, we won't see her until tomorrow.…” Her voice trailed off.

“So we're skipping out?” I was down with that.

Sophie nodded. I could see Kevin clenching his jaw, clearly not overly enthusiastic about the idea. Where ever we went, Candace could track me with the GPS on my phone, which I didn't dare disable. Even if I did, Taj was chummy with her and could report back everything I did. I'd have to be careful around him.

“Where to?” I asked.

“I don't know. Someplace fun. And nothing to do with fashion. I've had enough for one day,” Sophie said.

Taj leaned forward. “How about the Forte Prenestino?”

Sophie's eyes lit up. Mine did too—we'd be going to the place from the photo! Maybe I could learn something more about him. But then my conscience scolded me.
Shouldn't you be trying to find out what happened to Parker? Too many things have been happening since Mrs. Jennings got here—accident or not.
I silenced my inner voice. There were other things I needed—no, wanted—to know. Like who Taj was. He was keeping secrets underneath all that couture and swagger, and I wanted to find out what they were. “What kind of place is it?” I said.

Taj's mouth quirked to one side. “An old prison turned art gallery and—”

Sophie put a finger to her lips. “Don't tell her any more! She can find out herself—
if
she comes.” She grinned expectantly at me.

“I'm in.” We just had to wait for the thumbs-up from Kevin. Technically, he could order us back to the office.

“Just this once,” Sophie pleaded, linking her arm through his and leaning oh so close. “I need to have fun!”

Was she giving him
the pouty model look
? Things had really progressed between them while I was kissing Dante and almost crashing the Pantheon roof on the First Lady.

“We could find a quiet restaurant if it sounds like it'd be too much for you,” Taj taunted—a straight-up dare.

“Fine.” Kevin's lips couldn't have compressed any tighter. He was going to be a team player, but he wasn't going to like it.

The van deposited us in front of the office. We'd have to hail a taxi to get to the Forte.

We went inside, and I got my jacket and wallet, then checked my backpack, still safe in its hiding spot. Serena must have heard the door and appeared on the balcony. Her matching green bouclé pants and jacket made her look like a Chanel elf.

“Where is Candace? Mrs. Jennings?” she asked.

Kevin shrugged. “Dinner with the gala organizers, I think.”

Serena's lips puckered into a bitter frown. “Did she say when she'd be back?” Her voice was tight.

Oops. Someone didn't get an invite.

Kevin shook his head and suddenly looked desperate to leave. “Hurry up!” he said to Sophie, then hustled us all toward the door.

“At least I want to see the proofs from the shoot!” Serena sounded pathetically desperate.

“I think Angelo is coming back with them,” said Kevin, shutting the door behind us and flagging down the first taxi he saw. This time Taj sat next to the driver and I squeezed in the back with Sophie and Kevin.

“Forte Prenestino,” said Taj, sitting back with a grin.

The taxi took off, zipping through narrow streets and then onto a broad avenue. We passed a colossal statue of a Roman soldier planted solidly amongst rustic brick-fronted buildings. Suddenly the Coliseum loomed in front of us, and I scrambled for my phone to take a picture. The scenery quickly turned from ancient to modern: a few sleek office buildings, and then a vast train yard that turned into a somewhat residential neighborhood. The taxi swung into a cul-de-sac.

This
was the cool place?

The crumbling brick and cement walls were covered with graffiti and topped with rusted iron railings. Tree branches overhung in the few places where they could grow. The Forte was underwhelming, looking sadly similar to the boxlike buildings that surrounded it.

Taj led the way through a heavy archway crowned with a flashing red light and then down a long narrow tunnel lit by a spine of fluorescent lights and lined with benches on either side. Large-scale paintings hung at angles on the curved walls, covering the graffiti underneath. We came to an open area, cool and stark white. A twisty, modern-looking sculpture dominated the center.

A woman walked toward us in no hurry—until her gaze landed on Taj.

“Wait here,” he ordered us, and he went to meet her in the middle of the room. They talked a few moments, and then with a curt nod, she gestured for him to proceed. He turned to us and jerked his head for us to follow him. Sophie grabbed Kevin's hand, and feeling a little awkward, I joined up with Taj.

“We still have some time before the club opens, so let's have a look at the gallery. Some of it's interactive. I think you'll like it,” he told me.

I read a small plaque next to the first display, a collage of kites, made from old newspapers, recycled brown paper, and scraps.

D
IVERTIMENTO-NON-
M
ATERIALISTICA

“Nonmaterialistic fun,” said Taj, and he guided me to the next piece, photos of people on a beach.

Summer would be here soon, and I … where would I be? New York, as Parker said, or back home in Cali, back to my “normal” life?

Taj stared at the photos, a contemplative look on his face.

“Did you ever go to the beach as a kid?” I asked.

He nodded.

“The Pacific Ocean isn't too far from where I live. I've spent a lot of time there. What's the beach like in India?”

He shook his head. “My favorite memories of the beach are in Alter do Chão.”

“Where is that? I never heard of it.”

“Not many people have. It's in Brazil. At the edge of the rain forest.”

Sophie ran ahead to the next display, playfully dragging Kevin with her. It featured a lone guitar on a stand. Next to it was a box with a large red button and a placard, explaining the exhibit. She pushed the button and a lively salsa tune blared out of hidden speakers.

“Let's dance!”

Kevin shook his head, but he was smiling, and soon they were whirling around and around, laughing until I thought they'd fall over, dizzy.

Taj grabbed my hand, and pulled me close.

“I don't dance—”

“Relax, follow my lead, and stay on the balls of your feet.” His arm around me, we spun and I crashed into his chest when I should have twirled away. The breath whooshed out of me, but before I could recover, he dipped me over backward. His face was close to mine, his eyes unfathomable, but they darted to my lips. I was suddenly nervous that he wanted to kiss me.

Would that be so bad?

But no kiss came. Taj's smile only widened before he swung me back up and onto my feet. When I looked around, Sophie and Kevin were MIA.

“Where did they go?”

“We'll catch up with them later. Why don't we find out who's playing tonight?” He guided me down another tunnel where the walls, ceiling, and floor were painted with intersecting lines of black and white, like a swirling giant Zen-doodle. “Your attempts to dig up information about me were entertaining,” he said when I paused to take a photo with my phone.

I tried to appear nonchalant even though the statement surprised me. How did he know? It was a challenge not to look at him and let my pulse run wicked. I kept my voice cool.

“Well, at least you're entertained. Since I'm constantly reminded that I know nothing about fashion or style, who better to learn it from than you, the world-famous fashionisto himself?”

“Actually, I think you're much more fashion-savvy than the people here give you credit for. So many who work in the business are contrived.” He looked me up and down. “You have your own sense of style.”

I gave a demure, hopefully unreadable smile. Compliments were a signal to throw up the security net. We came to a large courtyard, the sky turning a darker blue as the sun went down. More graffiti decorated the walls, and sculptures made of car tires were tucked into the corners. At one end was a stage where three or four guys were busy setting up a drum kit and amps.

“No tablet today?” I asked casually. He quirked a dark brow. “I saw you at the Pantheon scribbling in a notebook.”

He smiled. “It's never a good idea to rely on technology too much. Machines break. I like to be able to work things out myself. You know, math without calculators, being able to read a map and have a sense of direction instead of just blindly following a GPS.”

I nodded, understanding—but I liked my gadgets.

“And it's a pain to haul all that stuff around sometimes. A notebook and pen weigh nothing. Did you bring all your gear up to the top of the Pantheon?”

Right. I'd seen him—and he'd seen me.

“I only had my phone,” I said. “And by the way, thanks for alerting the troops that I was up there.”

“Agent Ortiz?” he asked, incredulous. “I saw you come down with her. I don't know how she found out where you were, but it wasn't from me. I wouldn't give you away to any of Candace's security detail.”

I wanted to believe him.

But I didn't. He was too close to her.

“Are you all right?” I asked, seeming to change the subject—but not really.