“She revealed nothing?”
“She said no.”
But he wondered.
Brian Jamison worked for Bene Rowe. He was to Rowe as Rocha was to him. Jamison being in Vienna and connecting with Alle was a clear message that his Jamaican partner was both well informed and perturbed.
He’d been ignoring Rowe.
But Rowe had not been ignoring him.
Luckily, he and Rocha had discussed contingencies before he’d left Austria for Florida. One of those dealt with what would happen when Alle Becket was no longer useful. “Handle things with her, as we agreed. With nothing to find.”
“She may not cooperate.”
He knew what Rocha meant.
“I will make sure she does. Give me an hour. And, one thing. After that stunt you pulled today, don’t do this yourself. She will go nowhere willingly with you. Use someone else.”
And he ended the call.
———
ALLE WAS BOTH ANGRY AND CONFUSED. ROCHA HAD FOLLOWED her back to her apartment with Midnight leading the way. The man who called himself Brian was gone, but his warning lingered in her mind. Rocha had quizzed her on what had happened, and she’d told him the truth.
For the most part.
But how could that be? Zachariah seemed so genuine. They’d spent a great deal of time together. Thirty years separated them in age, but she found him both charming and interesting. Apart from some glowing compliments, which also seemed sincere, he’d remained the perfect gentleman and confined his attention to business. Not that she would not have minded an advance or two. He’d been nothing but open and honest in their discussions, never a hint of deceit, and he seemed to genuinely care about their religion.
She sat alone in her three-room flat, the windows open to a cool night. Vienna was enchanting after dark, and the angle afforded her an impressive view of the brightly lit and ornately patterned glazed tile roof of St. Stephen’s Cathedral.
She thought of Mount Dora, remembering all the summers she spent with her grandparents. Such a picturesque place, with its tree-lined lanes, Victorian streetlamps, parks, shops, and galleries. Later in life, she came to see how much the town resembled New England. It occupied rolling terrain that appeared downright mountainous for central Florida. Numbered avenues ran east to west and rolled steeply down to Lake Dora—both the town and water named for Dora Ann Drawdy, the first permanent homesteader. Alle had always been fascinated with Drawdy, reading about her, listening to the tales from locals.
Fiercely independent women interested her.
She considered herself one of those, as her mother had been.
Her laptop dinged, signaling an incoming email. She stepped over to the desk and saw a message from Zachariah.
All is well here, but I need your assistance. We will be traveling extensively for the next week so could you pack all of your things? Rocha will arrange for you to be driven to the airport. I imagine you are upset over what happened during the video. I am, too, and I will personally deal with Rocha. Your flight leaves in three hours with a connection through New York. I will be at the Orlando airport waiting on your arrival tomorrow afternoon. I apologize for the short notice, but will explain once you are here. Take care.
She wondered about the urgency, but she actually preferred leaving. Rocha had gone too far. Not to mention Brian, who’d appeared from nowhere. She’d feel safer being with Zachariah. Still, she wanted to know something, so she replied.
I was contacted today by a man named Brian. Rocha advised me he was a threat of some kind, but wouldn’t elaborate. What’s going on?
The reply came back quickly.
He informed me. There are people who would like to stop what we are trying to achieve. There have always been such people. For your safety, it is better if you are here with me. I will explain it all once you arrive.
She decided not to press and started to pack.
She’d arrived here a month ago from Spain with only a few clothes, not expecting to stay long. Her summer wardrobe was not exactly Austrian-friendly, so Zachariah had taken her shopping. She’d felt a little uncomfortable at his generosity, but he’d assured her that it was the least he could do.
That day with Zachariah in Vienna had reminded her of another, years ago, when she was only eleven. Her father, for once, had been home and took her to the mall. School was starting in a couple of weeks and he’d wanted to be there as she picked out some new clothes. They’d wandered the stores, searching the racks and tables, trying on items. In the end, they’d left with several bags full.
One of those magical days she would never forget.
