Suspicious (On the Run) by Sara Rosett

hurt or sick is a positive.”
    “We’ll find him,” Jack said confidently. “First, we have to get back to the hotel and take care of that thing you mentioned.”
    “Where are we?” Zoe looked around for familiar streets or landmarks. They’d been moving along quickly and talking so intently that she hadn’t paid attention to where they were.
    “We’re not far from the hotel, and we have a tail.” They stopped to cross a street, and Jack said, “Behind my right shoulder, about fifteen feet back. Receding hairline and a mustache. Gray shirt, black pants. See him?”
    Zoe pretended to adjust the strap of her messenger bag as she glanced over Jack’s shoulder. She swallowed. “Yes. How long has he been following us?”
    “He dropped onto us a block from the police station.” The light changed, and they joined a group crossing the street in front of a line of Smart cars and motor scooters. “I’m not sure about the woman with the blue backpack and sunglasses,” Jack said as they neared the other side of the street. “She could be following us, too. Looks like Alessi cut us free so he could keep an eye on us, see what we do.”
    Zoe looked back in time to catch a glimpse of a woman much closer to them with dark hair caught up in a bun.
    “I think she may have escorted me out of the police station.”
    “Thought so,” Jack said.
    “Should we try to lose them?”
    “No, that would look odd.”
    “Okay, then. Let’s go back to our hotel—that’s a perfectly normal thing to do, except for the checking on the priceless jewelry part.”
    “Right. We’ll just keep that last thing to ourselves.”
    They consulted their map and caught a bus that dropped them a few blocks from their hotel. They made their way through the bustling Campo de’ Fiori, passing the statue of the hooded philosopher—Zoe couldn’t remember his name—but she knew the somber figure had been burned in the campo for heresy during the Inquisition. The statue had always seemed such a sharp contrast to the busy market of vendors selling fruit and vegetables, spices, flowers, and specialty foods as well as the crowds gathering at open-air restaurants that ringed the square. The statue looked especially forbidding today.
    Zoe tried to shake off the bleak feeling as they moved into the street off the campo and paused at the hotel’s front desk. The desk clerk was away, so Jack stepped around the counter and removed their key from its pigeonhole in the wall.
    They climbed the steps to their room, and Zoe went directly to the bath. The little bottle was still there, and it still felt slightly heavier than a normal bottle of lotion. She turned toward Jack to tell him, but he was near the window, positioned with his back to the wall so that it would be difficult for someone outside to see him.
    Zoe crossed the room. “Are they there?”
    “Yes, one of them, anyway. Mustache Guy is waiting at the corner.”
    She raised the bottle. “Still here.”
    “Did you check?” Jack asked softly.
    “No.” Zoe moved to the bathroom and he followed. Zoe unfolded a towel on the counter, then working over the towel, she unscrewed the lid and banged the bottle on her palm a few times until she felt the first stone. The bracelet slipped into her hand covered in globs of lotion. She used the back of her fingers to wipe away some of the lotion, which revealed the facets of the diamonds, their sharp angles catching the light. She found the stone on the end and rubbed away the lotion, revealing the broken clasp.
    Jack wiped his hand over his mouth. “That’s real. That’s it.”
    “I know,” Zoe said with a sigh. “I hoped I was wrong—that I’d made a mistake, and it would look like an imitation. But this is it.”
    “Yes. Unfortunately, I think you’re right.”
    “What are we going to do? Someone tried to frame us.”
    Still staring at the bracelet, Jack said, “I don’t know, but I think the best thing would be to get you to the airport