Lost in Italy by Stacey Joy Netzel Page B

wanted to remind the officers that she’d come to them .  She was the missing person her brother and sister were probably frantically looking for.  All they had to do was let her make one phone call.
    With annoying frequency, a small voice inside her head repeated Trent’s insistence that the police couldn’t be trusted.  But they’re the police , she rationalized, and this station was half-way around the lake, more than an hour’s drive away from where the car chase had occurred.  The police were the ones she could trust.  Not some arrogant movie star who believed his good looks and fake charm put him above the law.
    And yet, for some unknown reason, something kept her from mentioning Trent’s involvement.  She didn’t owe him a darn thing.  Well…okay, maybe she did, but he’d been nothing but a bullying jerk once they reached his house.  Threatening to tie her up!  Would’ve served him right if she had ratted him out.
    If it hadn’t been for that one moment in the car, when his eyes and voice had begged for her cooperation—
    She wondered if he’d gotten the camera battery yet.  Wondered if he’d found the murder on her video.  The thought that she may have filmed someone’s death scraped across her nerves like nails on a chalkboard.  Goosebumps rose on her arms in the wake of the chill that raced over her skin, but she pushed thoughts of Trent Tomlin from her mind with a determined sip from her cup.
    Grimacing in distaste at the extreme bitterness of the now cold espresso, she set the cup down and slid it across the table.  She rotated her head to relieve sore muscles.  Man, she missed Wisconsin.  And she was tired.  And her head hurt from where she’d hit it in the jerk’s car and on his chin.  All she wanted to do was find her family, get to the hotel, sleep for a day, then book a flight back home.  Maybe even skip the sleep and just head home.
    Italy had permanently lost its appeal.
    Seeing no sign of Officer Greco, and considering she’d been waved back to her chair with patient words of “ per favore ” and “ fra un momento ” after she’d  twice attempted to ask what was taking so long, Halli dropped her head to rest on her crossed arms.  Her eyes burned when she closed them.  Jet lag, stress and tears were a painful combination.
    Voices approached the office and she quickly opened her eyes while lifting her head in hope.  Two men, one in uniform and one in business attire minus a suit coat, walked to the door—and kept on going.  Halli sighed and resumed her position.  After two more false alarms, she didn’t even bother looking anymore.  She debated pushing to her feet again and trying to get answers, but fatigue crept up on her, despite the hard chair and uncomfortable position.  At least with her head buried in her arms, she could block the glare of the lights from her exhausted eyes.
    “Alrigo— aspetta .”
    “ Ma lei aveva la video camera ?”
    The intense, urgent tone of the hushed question directly outside the door roused Halli from a semi-dream state.  She cracked open one eye to squint toward the door without raising her head.
    “No, solo una copia del suo passaporto.”
    “Dove cozzo e? Voglio quelle video camera!”
    Wide awake now, her heart beating a rapid tempo against her ribs, Halli fought the urge to sit up straight.  The words that caught her attention may have been pronounced as “ vee-day-oh kah-mare-ah” , but even she could figure out that translation.  Equally alarming, the speaker sounded pretty upset.
    Had she mentioned her camera?  She sifted through her foggy memory of the story she gave the officers when she’d first arrived at the station.  No, she’d kept it simple; her brother and sister drove off without her, and she took the wrong bus when trying to locate the hotel and got herself completely lost.
    Outside the office, the men exchanged more words, but she couldn’t understand anything other than the anger in the one