If he had to look at another Easter basket, he’d puke.
“Only five hundred more to go!”
Rake shuddered and swallowed back the nausea. They’d been loading the SUV for the last hour. Before that, the stuffing. After that, as Sofia had just reminded him, more stuffing. And what was with the pencils?
“What’s with the pencils?” he asked, following Sofia back into the hotel. “Is that a thing here? Jesus came back from the dead, so the Easter bunny hides eggs and gives out pencils? They’re not even pastel.”
Sofia giggled. She was teeny, her head coming to the middle of his chest, with masses of bright carrot orange hair that had to make up at least 15 percent of her body weight. She was in a lavender sweatshirt that clashed with her hair, jeggings, and scuffed flats. She’d been delighted with his Italian
(“Senza offesa, la maggior parte degli americani non sono fluente, anche in inglese.”
“Nessuna presa. Tutto quello che hai sentito parlare di americani è vero. Noi siamo i peggiori.”*)
and her chattering should have helped the time pass, but it didn’t.
“The pencils are for the poor children,” she explained. She had asked if she could practice her English on him, and he’d been happy to oblige. Like virtually every European he’d met, she spoke excellent English while apologizing for what she thought was poor English. “Many people donate school supplies at the beginning of the school year, but this time of year those supplies have been used up.”
“Oh.” That made sense. He knew that when money had been tight, his mother never bought anything that wasn’t on sale, including school supplies. That was fine in late August. In the spring, not so much.
“In fact, we should have had more than pencils this time. But some people, they promise and then they take back their promise. So we have to—” She cut herself off and jabbed at the elevator button, and finished as the doors closed. “Never mind. Do not bring that up with Delaney.”
“Bring what up?”
She beamed. “Yes, like that.”
“You and Delaney, you’ve worked together for a while?” Sofia looked to be in her late teens; maybe they went to the same church or something? Volunteered for the same organizations?
“Oh, yes. Her work is my work.”
“Partners, huh? You should tell her you want to trade jobs—she can haul baskets and you can hang out in the hotel room, goofing off on social media.”
“I will always do what Delaney asks of me” came the surprising and emphatic reply. “And she is not ‘goofing off.’”
“Yeah, yeah, the old ‘social networking is work’ excuse, I’ve heard it before. You should ask for a raise at least.”
“I would never take her money.” Sofia sounded shocked, as if Rake had suggested they steal Delaney’s panties and throw them in the Trevi Fountain. Dammit! Now he was thinking about Delaney’s panties floating in the Trevi Fountain. “She has given me everything. Even when she was small and had nothing.”
“Yeah? She must have set up a great dental plan. I mean, I’ve heard of employee loyalty, but you guys commit, you know?”
“You are a dolt of a man,” she said, not unkindly.
A minute later, they were back in her (their?) room and he was saying hello to Elena and Teresa, still hard at it, and Lillith, who was elbow-deep in Peeps and furtively chewing while she “helped.” He grinned at her T-shirt (BE YOUR OWN SAFE SPACE. OR BE BATMAN.).
And while it was great to see that a third of the baskets/candy/Peeps/supplies had been cleared out, it was awful to see that two-thirds remained. Still, there’d be a lot of happy kids on Easter Sunday, though he’d rather have written a check. And speaking of checks, he was that much closer to reclaiming his life, so the morning hadn’t been an entire waste.
He glanced over at Delaney, working at the desk, and told himself he definitely wasn’t hoping for a smile, or praise, or cash, or a kiss. (Or an antacid.)
Whoa. Keep it in park, pal. You’ve established this is purely a slave/master relationship, and not the kinky kind.
“Son of a bitch.”
He started. Delaney had spoken so quietly, it was more a hiss.
“Aw, hell, you’re not talking to me, are you?”
“Fuck.” She looked up. “Sorry, Lillith.”
“Fanculo,” the child put in helpfully, earning a snort of appreciation from Rake.
“Are you okay?” Rake asked, partly out of concern, and partly to be doing something, anything, besides more baskets. “Did the hotel change the Wi-Fi password? Try today’s date.”
Delaney appeared to notice him for the first time. “C’mere.” When he obediently trotted to her side, she turned her laptop around to show him the screen. “D’you recognize these men?”
He squinted, shook his head. “Never seen them before.”
“You have, you just don’t remember.”
“Vermouth is the real villain here.”
Delaney didn’t smile at his (admittedly lame) joke. “They keep popping up. I don’t like that at all.”
“Popping up?”
Delaney was glaring at her laptop. “Lake Como. Yesterday outside the hotel. Then later outside the café, which is why I split us up. And now this morning.” She looked up at the others. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s like Renner in Sardinia last year. And London two years ago—we simultaneously know too much and too little.” Sofia had crossed her arms in front of her chest and was shaking her head like a disappointed parent. “I think if you try to take them, we might learn something—or nothing, and it gets worse as you’ve forced their hand.”
“Wait, ‘take them’?” Rake asked, startled. The thought of it made his nausea, which had been in reluctant remission, surge back. And why did the room feel fifteen degrees warmer? “Maybe they’re tourists with the same itinerary. Maybe they’re deeply determined census takers. Maybe we’ve won a contest and they’re waiting for the right moment to hand us that giant cardboard check. Maybe you’re paranoid?” He stifled a burp. “And how many cameras do you have around here? Or are you tapping into the hotel’s feed, you sneak?”
Meanwhile, the kid had been decorating each of her arms with about half a dozen baskets. “I’m going to take these down to Teresa’s van,” Lillith announced.
“Hmm? Yeah, okay, hon—give me a minute, I’ll come with.” It was almost certainly warmer, and he had a sudden longing for fresh air. Even if it meant stuffing more Peeps into more baskets and handling those same baskets. Or steering Lillith down the hall, to the elevator, and outside to breathe the sweet air of the loading dock. He turned back to the women. “What about walking up to them and asking them what they want?”
Sofia snorted something, and he would bet his nonexistent fortune that it was “amateur.”
“We’ve found it works better if they don’t realize we’ve tumbled to their surveillance,” Delaney said, like this was a regular Tuesday morning for her. Which it clearly was.
“So then,” Sofia prompted, “watch them watching us?”
“Tell me again why we can’t call the—damn, Lillith didn’t wait. I’ll go with her. Don’t confront anybody before I get back!” He was through the door in a couple of strides and hung a left toward the elevators just in time to see a strange man clamp Lillith’s elbow and haul her up so high that she was on her toes.
Oh hell no. “Hey!” he said sharply, and they both looked. The man’s irritated expression was not lost on him. Neither was Lillith’s look of relief. “Hands off the kiddo.”
The short, heavyset man with thick curly hair and a dark beard—Rake recognized him from the surveillance vids—loosened his grip but didn’t let go. Instead, he pasted on an ingratiating grin. “Excuse me. I think this young lady might have stolen something.”
“That’s nice. Leggo my Lillith.” Was it just him, or was the hallway receding? And who was shutting the lights off? “Right now.”
“Ich bin kein dieb,†” Lillith muttered in— Wait, was that German? She tried to plant her feet but was still on tiptoe. And was the bearded goon—he was! He was dragging her to the elevator.
Maybe Delaney & Co. aren’t so paranoid. Damn, I hate apologizing. Rake decided it was past time to stop fucking around, and he broke into a clumsy run. “Last chance,” he warned, then grabbed the man’s shirt, yanked him close, and threw up all over him.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Warned you,” he managed before passing out.