“And yet,” Cain said, “it doesn’t tell us anything.”
“We know nobody’s been seen around or going into Chico’s apartment lately. We know that the local authorities don’t have a criminal file on him. We know that he has family there. And in France.”
“So we’ll track down this Chico’s lifestyle?”
“We’ve done what we can online,” Eton said. “Now it’s time to pound on a few doors.” Just then Eton’s phone rang. “Bingo.” He picked it up, smiled, and said, “What have you got for me?” He knew that, on their team, everybody was pulling in as much information as they could.
The man on the phone replied, “Ticket info has been sent to you. Pedro will pick you up at the airport.”
“Fine. And then what?” Eton asked.
“You’ve been booked into a small bed-and-breakfast at the edge of town,” he said. “The family has connections to your target.” With that, he hung up.
“Good enough,” Eton said, turning to Cain. “We have a place to stay in Sicily, and it’s with a family related, well, connected to our target, Chico.”
At that, Cain raised his eyebrows. “Is that wise?”
“Depends on whether they know why we’re there or not,” he said cheerfully. “But being strangers is a good way to get to know the area, and the hosts of those B&B places always try to be friendly.”
“Until they find out you killed their family member,” Cain said.
Eton looked at him, laughed, and said, “Well, there is that.”
“And who’s this Pedro character?”
“No clue,” Eton said. “We’ll find out.”
Cain walked to where his bag was, ready to go as it had been every morning. While they flew out, the beds at the B&B would need to be changed, so their rooms wouldn’t be ready right away. Meanwhile Cain also had a stack of paperwork to deal with. He stood with his phone on Camera mode and quickly took photographs of everything he needed, then put the rest into the fireplace and lit a match to it.
“Hey, not everybody has your photographic memory, you know?” Eton grumbled.
“You can keep your spreadsheets and bring them with us,” he said, “but we can’t afford to have these blueprints found.”
“And yet, to a layperson, they’re just blueprints,” Eton said. “Nothing special.”
“But, to a pro, they would lead them straight to Chico’s apartment or his family’s home in Sicily and then to us. But I still like to have my hands on any building blueprints, to help with my photographic memory,” Cain said. As soon as all the paperwork had burned up, he turned toward Eton. “You ready?”
“Always,” he said. “Let’s go see who this Pedro is.”
*
Petra Mirkonoc stood at the edge of the airport with a sign in her hand, wondering how, once again, she’d been conned by her aunt into picking up strangers for the bed-and-breakfast. Ever since Airbnb had started, her aunt and uncle had the idea that they could make more money with a bed-and-breakfast than they did from her uncle’s job. And they were right; they probably could. But it should be one of them standing at the airport with this sign right now, not Petra.
She didn’t like picking up complete strangers, but thankfully this wasn’t something she did normally. She would much rather be at the hospital in the labs, where she belonged. Instead, here she was, standing at the airport with a stupid sign. She studied the names: Cain and Eton.
They were very strange names to her. These were American visitors, but these didn’t sound like any traditional American names she had ever heard of.
Just then the airport door opened, and a flood of people rushed out. She held up the sign and called out, “Cain and Eton.”
Nobody turned to look at her. She groaned. It was typical for her to have people who didn’t realize they had a ride ready and waiting. Just as she was about to call out again, two men appeared, one on either side of her, almost pinning her in place. Not really, not intentionally, but they were so big that she felt hemmed in. Both stared at her with an intensity that had her gasping.
“Did you call for Cain and Eton?” the first man asked quietly.
She sucked in her breath, straightened, and said, “Yes. I’m from Pedro’s B&B.”
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Cain. This is Eton.”
“Hi,” she said, feeling a little better. She opened the trunk of her car and put the sign inside. Then she turned and held out her hand. “I’m Petra.”
Cain stopped and cocked his head. “It’s your bed-and-breakfast?”
“No,” she said. “My uncle is Pedro. I am Petra—with a T.”
“Okay, good,” he said. He motioned at the car. “Do you want us in the back seat or—”
“Anywhere you like,” she said, with a smile. “Makes no difference to me. Anything to make you comfortable.”
Cain took the front seat, while Eton slipped into the back, both opting to retain their bags. Cain noticed her eyebrows raised at that; so clearly she was observant. The car was a nice Audi, not something he would have expected a bed-and-breakfast to own. “Nice car,” he said.
She looked at him briefly, then nodded and said, “It’s mine. It doesn’t belong to the bed-and-breakfast.”
“Well, thanks for picking us up,” he said.
It appeared that he was at least attempting to be friendly, but there was something about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it—arrogance maybe. Just a sense of power around him that she didn’t quite understand. She was forced to meet many strangers because of the bed-and-breakfast. It was one of the reasons she didn’t hang around there more than necessary because she didn’t enjoy the steady stream of unknown visitors. She enjoyed the privacy that came with her own place and not having to worry about others being there.
She didn’t know whether she would feel better or worse about having these two men in the house. She told herself it depended on which side of the equation they sat on—figuring they were definitely people who had chosen a side. But she and her research work were all about the gray areas, thinking outside the box.
As she pulled into traffic, she said, “We’ll be about fifteen minutes getting home.”
“Do you live there too?”
“Oh no,” she said. “I live in the village, but I’m doing this run for my aunt and uncle.”
“Thank you again,” he said, then fell silent.
But even his silence spoke volumes. She glanced in the rearview mirror to study the other man. He had the same hard look to him. She frowned, wondering just what was going on with them. “So, you guys here for a holiday?” she ventured.
“No,” said the guy in the back seat, “mostly business.”
She nodded but didn’t quite know what to add. “What kind of business are you in?”
“Security,” he added.
That made sense. They both looked well past the stage of mere security guards, but maybe Secret Service or something like that. That power and sense of self-assurance again. Their movements were like mountain lions on the hunt.