The Rules in Rome (27 page)

“You’re about a foot from the next ledge. I’ll move my grip from your wrists to your hands, but I can’t lower you any more than that. You’ll have to land and lean forward.”

“All right.” Gracie’s voice trembled. Could she survive a four-story drop if she fell?
If you do survive, you’ll be caught, and the end result will be about
the same.
Pain shot through her hands when Angelo lowered her down.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” She might not have been ready to drop, but she was ready for him to let go of her hands. He released her, and a second later, her feet hit the wall of the balcony below.
Lean forward.
It wasn’t graceful, but as she tumbled into the balcony, hitting her back and then her knees, she knew it was better than being arrested and better than falling to the street below.

Gracie pushed herself to her feet and peered through the glass door into the flat. She couldn’t see anyone, which was a relief. She looked back where she’d come from, expecting to see Angelo’s shoes. Instead, she heard shouting and saw Angelo leap not down but across to another balcony on the same higher level. He was out of sight after that, but she heard two Italian voices, a man she assumed was one of the plainclothes police and a woman, the mother whose dinner they’d interrupted.

“They were right here,” the woman’s voice said. Gracie crouched in the center of the balcony, where she’d be invisible unless someone looked out from the flat the balcony was attached to.

“They can’t have gone far.” The male voice grew louder. “Bruno, did you see anything?”

“No.” The next voice was male, and it sounded like it was coming from the street.

How did he miss me dangling from the balcony above?
He must have been at a bad angle or been looking in the wrong place.

“Keep an eye out.”

Bruno would see her if she stood, especially now that he was focused on this part of the building, and the man above would know to look in the bordering flats first.
Where is Angelo?
She waited for what seemed like a long time, then peeked over the balcony wall. She spotted a man in the street, but her face was in a shadow, and he didn’t seem to see her. He was too far
away for her to be sure, but she thought he was the one Angelo had shot almost two months ago.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Gracie couldn’t stay where she
was. She reached for the latch, planning
to go through the flat, when she heard a soft call.

“Concetta?” The voice came from the balcony diagonally above her. “Meet me here.” Angelo pointed to the balcony directly below him.

She stared. Only two feet separated each terrace, but she still couldn’t get over the long drop down, and there was a man on the street watching for them.
Just one long step
, she told herself.
From one narrow concrete ledge to the next.

“Hurry,” Angelo whispered. “I can hear them in the hallway, and I need your help to get down.”

Gracie climbed onto the ledge and tried to ignore the sudden fear that gripped her.
Don’t look
, she told herself.
This isn’t any worse than when Angelo lowered you down.
Still partially crouched over so she’d be harder to spot, she
extended her left leg and shifted her weight forward. Her back leg slipped at the awkward angle, but she managed to tumble into the next balcony.

Seconds later, she saw Angelo’s feet dangling from the balcony above. “Pull me in,” he said.

She grabbed his leg, then his belt and did her best to keep him from falling backward. He hit the concrete floor hard, but she reached out just in time to keep his head from cracking into the ledge.

“Stop!” a voice from the street shouted. “Down one floor, over two units.”

The search must have moved from the mother’s apartment to the left while Angelo had jumped to the right.

Gracie yanked open the door and almost ran into the flat’s occupant, an aged lady armed with a broomstick.

“Get out of here!” she yelled.

Gracie quickly obeyed, and Angelo stayed on her heels. They ran into the hallway again as noise from the search party sounded in the stairwell.

“Psst.”

The sound came from behind her. Gracie turned and saw a wrinkled hand motioning to them from a doorway a few units away. Gracie met Angelo’s eyes, and he nodded. They didn’t have many options now, so they’d have to trust a stranger. They sprinted for the door, and their unknown benefactor ushered them inside.

The apartment was just as rundown as the others, but the large man who’d saved them seemed less downtrodden than either of the women. He shut the door softly, put a finger to his lips, and pressed his ear to the door.

“How many are chasing you?” he asked.

“Five,” Gracie said. “But at least one is outside still.”

“They’ll probably search each flat, and I don’t have anywhere to hide you. If you take the stairwell at the end of the hallway and go to the basement, someone there will be able to help you.”

Gracie nodded. She looked at Angelo, and he too seemed willing to follow the man’s instructions.

The old man scratched his chin. “We have to hope they all search flats at the same time and don’t leave anyone in the hall.”

The wait was tense. Gracie was sure both men could hear her heart pounding.
Angelo looks just as nervous as you feel
, she told herself
.
After a few minutes, the sounds from the hallway grew quiet. The resident softly cracked the door and slowly stuck his head out. He glanced both ways, then motioned them forward and pointed toward the stairwell.

“Good luck,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” Gracie said.

The man winked at her before returning to his flat.

They had to pass several doors before they reached the stairwell, and as Gracie grasped the lever, one of the Italian plainclothes finished his search and spotted them. Angelo drew his Beretta and fired. Gracie saw the man drop.

“Hurry. They’ll all be after us now,” Angelo said.

Gracie sprinted down the stairs to the ground floor, and then Angelo caught her by the shoulder and motioned for her to slow. He put a finger over his lips. Someone above burst into the stairwell, and as the rattle of his footsteps echoed through the passage, Angelo and Gracie tiptoed to the basement.

Please don’t let the door squeak
, Gracie prayed when they reached the basement. She could still hear their pursuer, but he seemed to be stopping at each floor to check if they’d run into the hallway. Angelo cracked the door open, and to Gracie’s relief, it didn’t make a sound.

She stepped inside, and Angelo closed the door softly. A single dim lightbulb lit a long, dusty corridor lined with mechanical closets.

“Where do we hide?” she whispered.

“He said there would be
someone
to help us.” Angelo walked ahead of her and stopped at the first full-sized door they saw. He raised his hand to knock, then looked back at Gracie for confirmation. She nodded.

Gracie heard a shuffling behind the door before a short, balding man opened it.

“Can you hide us?” Gracie asked.

“A man on the third floor sent us,” Angelo added.

“My chess partner, no doubt.” The man stepped back so they could come inside. “I’m the building’s caretaker.” He smiled, then let out half a laugh. “And caretaker for any of the Gappisti friends he sends my way.” He led them into his living room, past the kitchen, and through a bedroom. He pointed to a short bookcase. “Help me move this.”

Angelo stepped forward and helped slide the bookcase to the side. Behind it was a recessed alcove no bigger than a normal bed.

“They’ll probably search every flat. I’ll let you out when they’ve finished.”

“Thank you,” Gracie said.

“Go ahead.” Angelo motioned her inside.

The room was only four feet high, so she ducked and crept forward before sitting on the hard concrete floor. Angelo climbed in beside her, and the caretaker slid the bookcase in front of them, enveloping the two fugitives in darkness.

“I feel like I’m in a tomb,” Angelo whispered into the black silence.

Gracie was simply glad they hadn’t been forced to hide in the catacombs. “Do you think they’ll find us?”

“I still have a mostly full clip if they do.”

The niche was so small that their shoulders and hips touched. Angelo took her hand and gave it a squeeze. He’d probably meant to comfort her, but she gasped out loud as pain shot through her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Angelo said. “I forgot. Are they still bleeding?”

Now that they weren’t running, the throbbing in her hands was just about all she could concentrate on, but she couldn’t see them in the dark. “I can’t tell.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Did you get any cuts?”

“No, I had the brick in one hand, and the other never touched the window. I’m sorry I didn’t think to offer it to you.”

“Well, we didn’t have much time to think, did we?”

Angelo put an arm around her shoulder. “There, is this more comfortable?”

His arm was warmer and softer than the wall. “For now,” she said.

Time dragged on, and they didn’t dare speak above a whisper. They both grew restless, and it was hard to find positions that didn’t quickly grow uncomfortable. Gracie shivered in the cold, but the coolness of the walls
and floor eased some of the pain in her hands when she rested them against the hard surface.

Eventually, someone came to search. Gracie was afraid to breathe as she heard muffled voices from the other side of the bookcase. Then it was quiet again. She drifted off to sleep for a while—she wasn’t sure how long—and when she woke, she had a kink in her neck. Angelo had fallen asleep too,
leaning on her shoulder. She couldn’t see him, but the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing convinced her he was dozing.

Gracie felt like they’d been
hiding for hours, maybe all night. Her hands still ached, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Finally, a crack of light appeared, then widened. She blinked at the sudden brightness, and Angelo woke and straightened.

“The last of them have gone,” the caretaker said.

“What time is it?” Gracie asked.

“Almost three.”

They’d been hiding for close to nine hours. She wasn’t sure how much of that time had been spent sleeping and how much had been spent staring into the darkness, but she guessed she’d been awake for most of it.

She felt stiff as she crawled into the bedroom. “Thank you for hiding us.”

He smiled at her. “You should be fine using any of the ground-floor exits. Just watch for patrols.”

Gracie asked to use the bathroom before they left. The lighting was so poor she could barely make out the cuts, and it hurt when she tried to peel away the napkins, so she put off cleaning her hands until she could see better. She left the basement with Angelo and stepped carefully up the stairs, trying to stay silent. She held back a yawn, wishing she was already home so she could wash and slip into bed.

“Let’s use the back exit,” Angelo said.

Gracie nodded her agreement. If there were patrols out, she thought they’d be on the main road.

As they left, a wave of cool, fresh air helped Gracie drive the lingering fogginess from her head. The waning moonlight reflected off marble and stucco, and Gracie sighed with relief that the evening’s ordeal was finally over.

“Which way are you headed?” Angelo asked.

“North.”

“So am I.” He smiled, letting his guard down as they crossed a street, moving away from the building they’d hid in. “What a night.”

A crack sounded, and the window to their right shattered. Gracie spun to the left and locked eyes with the Italian man, Bruno. Then she glanced at his pistol and ran.

Angelo kept pace with her, and Bruno fired another three shots, but he didn’t hit either of them. When a second man stepped from the shadows and blocked their path, Gracie suspected Bruno hadn’t been trying to hit them. He’d simply been driving them toward his partner.

Angelo yanked on Gracie’s arm and pulled her into the recessed doorway
of a bakery. He took out his pistol and fired at the nearest man, then shot the lock out of the store’s doorknob. “Inside!”

Gracie rushed through the front of the bakery, heading for the back room, where she hoped she’d find another exit. The smell made her
stomach rumble, but she knew Bruno wasn’t far behind them, and perhaps
some of his friends too.

“Here.” Angelo handed her the pistol and reached for the padlock on the back door.

Gracie suspected most bakeries had large stocks of ingredients in their storerooms, but not this one. Rome was starving, and the shelves were bare. She spotted a key hanging on a nail behind an empty flour bin and reached for it as the door from the front of the bakery crashed open.

Bruno barged into the room and aimed his pistol at her, so she immediately lifted the weapon she held in response. She pulled the trigger and gasped as the man fell. Angelo quickly kicked the man over and confirmed the truth: Gracie had just killed a man.

“Nice shot,” Angelo said.

Gracie could barely breathe as she stared at the corpse. She’d shot him in the neck, and his blood was all over the floor and on two of the walls. It was horrifying, but for some reason, she couldn’t pull her eyes away. Bruno
had been alive not three seconds earlier. Gracie’s hands started to shake.

Angelo took the pistol from her and slipped it into her pocket. “Hide that.” He rearmed himself with Bruno’s pistol and searched through the dead man’s pockets, finding an extra clip of ammunition and Bruno’s OVRA
ID. “Fascist secret police. That’s what I thought. Let’s get out of here.”

They left the building the back way to avoid more of Bruno’s friends. Gracie tried not to think about what had just happened. She had to focus on getting away, had to exercise caution with each street they crossed, checking for patrols and avoiding the moonlit patches of road. After a few blocks, Angelo guided her into an alley and paused, listening for the sounds of anyone following them.

They were close, their bodies touching. She could feel his heart beating and the flow of blood rushing past her ears. She felt physically ill but didn’t know if it was because her body was out of adrenaline or because she was having a difficult time wrapping her brain around the fact that she’d just
ended someone’s life. Was the man she’d killed married? Did he have children waiting for him to come home?
What have I done?

Angelo’s hands gripped her shoulders. “Are you all right, Concetta?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

One of his hands slipped to her chin, and he lifted her face into the moonlight. “You’re trembling.”

“Well I . . . I just . . . I just killed someone.”

Angelo’s lips pulled into a smile. “He was a pest. You don’t need to feel any more remorse for killing him than you’d feel for exterminating a rat.”

“But how do you know that? It’s not like you talked to him. What if he was a good person?” Gracie could feel sweat beading along her forehead
and the back of her neck, and she was starting to feel lightheaded.

“Don’t worry about him,” Angelo said. “He was trying to shoot us, remember?”

Gracie nodded, but the queasy feeling in her stomach was getting worse.

“You did well tonight,” he whispered. Then he pulled her closer and kissed her mouth. She was used to being kissed, but Angelo’s move was an unwanted surprise. He was kissing her too hard; he was holding her too tightly. And she still felt ill. She pulled away, but it took a few seconds for her to fully extricate herself.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as his fingers found her face and ran into her hair.

“I’m sorry. Now’s not a good time. I’m not feeling well.”

His face hardened into a frown. “You’re overreacting.”

Gracie could feel herself shaking again.

Angelo’s face softened. “Look, people are dying in Rome every day. But what’s rare is almost getting caught like that and surviving. We’ve been given a second chance at life—or maybe it’s a third or fourth chance—and we should celebrate. My place isn’t too far away. Come back with me. I’ll
help you forget about what happened.” He kissed her again, a brief but suggestive invitation.

Gracie shook her head, trying to clear away her confusion and the massive headache that was building behind her forehead. “I’m supposed to
meet another contact this morning. I don’t want to miss his information, and it’s a long walk.”

Angelo ran his fingers along her jaw, then down her neck, stopping when he reached her blouse and hooking onto the fabric, following the neckline across her collarbone and up to her shoulder. Gracie would have pulled away,
but she was standing against a wall. “Maybe you should meet him another time.”

Gracie shook her head again. “No, I have to go,” she lied. Ley wasn’t back at work yet, so he wouldn’t have any information for her, but she suddenly needed to see him again more than anything.

Angelo leaned toward her again. Gracie turned her face so his lips brushed her cheek rather than her mouth. He shook his head and walked away. After a few yards, his steps slowed, and he turned back. “I’m sorry, Concetta. You’ve had a hard night, and I haven’t been very understanding.” He took a few steps toward her. “Don’t worry about what happened in the bakery, all right? I’ll see you next week. I wrote the address on my report.” He pointed to her pocket,
where she’d stored his report hours ago, before turning around again and leaving.

Gracie walked three blocks and then vomited into the gutter. She stayed on her knees for a while, catching her breath, then crept through the dark streets, wondering if she should return to her own apartment. But she was closer to Ley’s room than hers, and her desire to see him hadn’t diminished. She sneaked past a few guards and entered the hotel through the back door, stepping quietly up the stairs to his suite. She let herself in with her key and
closed the door softly behind her. She didn’t want to wake him, so she left the light off and felt her way to the couch.

Maybe she just needed time to think. She’d known she might have to shoot someone when she volunteered for fieldwork, but she hadn’t realized how dirty she’d feel, how many doubts she’d have. Couldn’t there have been some other way?

A sliver of light appeared under the bedroom door, as if someone had just switched on a lamp. Not long after, Ley opened his door.

“I thought I heard someone come in,” he said. “Are you all right?”

Gracie opened her mouth but wasn’t sure what to say, so she just shrugged her shoulders.

Ley walked across the room, slowly, with one hand over his injured abdomen, as if bracing it. Only half the buttons on his shirt were fastened, and it wasn’t tucked into his trousers. His feet were bare. He lowered himself onto the couch next to her and turned to study her face. “What’s wrong?”

Gracie hesitated, but when she met his eyes, full of concern, partially lit by light from the other room, it tumbled from her mouth. “I killed someone.”

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were more somber than before. “What happened?”

Gracie took a deep breath and blinked away warm tears. She told him what had happened, from when she rendezvoused with Angelo until Bruno had burst into the back room of the bakery. “He had his gun out, and . . . and I shot him.” Gracie finished with a sob.

Ley slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into an embrace.

Gracie cried harder and leaned into him, burying her face in his chest. “I keep wondering if he has a family. What if I orphaned his children or widowed his wife? What if he has a mother depending on him? What if—”

“Shh.” She felt Ley’s hand on her hair, felt the vibration of his voice when
he continued. “Don’t go there, Gracie. There’s no need to beat yourself up over it.”

She sobbed again. No one had consciously called her Gracie since before she’d left Switzerland. How long would this assignment last? It was turning into a nightmare.

“You’ve been up all night?” he asked.

She nodded into his chest. “Mostly. I dozed off a little while we were hiding.”

“You’ll feel better after you get some sleep.”

“But what if he was a good man?”

“There are a lot of good men in the Fifth Army. Some of them are married, and some of them have children, and most of them have mothers at home praying they’ll make it through the war. Your work will save some of their lives.”

“I still feel awful about it.” Gracie tried to calm her sobs. She was getting his shirt wet.

“I’d be surprised if you just shrugged it off. What you’re doing here isn’t easy. But it is important, and you’re doing a good job.”

She listened to his words, but she wasn’t convinced. It had taken her a long time to adapt to life in the field, and she’d made far too many mistakes.

As if he sensed her lingering doubts, Ley sighed and continued. “Have you ever heard of Ehud?”

“Who?”

“Ehud, from the Book of Judges?”

“No.” Gracie was embarrassed that she hadn’t. Of the two of them, she was supposed to be the more religious one, but she’d always preferred the New Testament or Book of Mormon over the Old Testament. They were
easier to read, the stories and teachings easier for her to understand.

“What about Nephi, from the Book of Mormon?”

“How do you know about Nephi?” she asked.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is if you’ve heard of him. I assume you have?”

“Of course I know who Nephi is. Except there was more than one.” She felt Ley shift underneath her, and she lifted her head to look at him, studying his stubble in the dim light.

“The first one. You remember the story, how he had to kill Laban?”

“Yes.”

“And you remember why?”

Gracie nodded. “There were a couple reasons. Laban wouldn’t give them the records they needed, and he was threatening to kill them.”

“It was for the greater good. And so was what happened this morning with the police officer you shot. At least he was sober—he had a fighting chance. I imagine Nephi had to second-guess himself a little too, so you’re in good company if you’re uneasy about it.”

Gracie wiped at her tears with the back of her hand.

Ley gently took her wrists and turned her hands palms up. “What did you do to your hands?”