Page 50 of The Eagle's Vault

“True.” He gave Leigh a weak smile. “Who knows more about ancient vaults than my sister, right?”

I glanced at Leigh. She was still quiet, fumbling with the phone and her gelato cup. I wanted to say something, but what would make her feel better? If I harassed Isaac, she came to his defense. If I complimented her, he deflected it before she could.

Still, they were right.

Questions nipped at the back of my brain. What if this vault was connected to the Venetian treasure, the Tesoro di San Marco? The one we’d recovered most of in Venice? The thought set my pulse racing.

Abruptly, Isaac’s phone chimed, a jaunty tune that sliced through the air. He held up the screen, cursed under his breath, and pocketed the device. “I’ve got to run. Meeting’s in a half hour.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “What’s with all the meetings, Isaac?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dad wants to expand the business here. Wants to supply a couple of companies. But you know how Italians do business—it’s all food and drinks and lots of time getting to know each other.”

There was an edge of bitterness to his words. As quickly as it surfaced, he covered it up with a thin smile.

“I better get going.” He didn’t move. The weight of his obligations seemed to anchor him for a moment, his gaze flickering to Leigh, then back to me. A silent exchange passed between us.Take care of my sister, it said.

Isaac softened as he addressed her. “Be safe, bug.”

“I’m fine.” She balanced the phone under her cup and popped a mouthful of light-brown chocolate gelato into her mouth before giving him a dutiful smile.

“Jayce is here.” Isaac nodded at Jayce. “She’ll keep an eye on you.”

Before I could snap at him about me being there, too, he turned on his heel and vanished down the road. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly, but throwing my gelato cup at him would have made me feel far better.

“Isaac’s a real jerk, isn’t he?” Jayce waved her spoon in the direction he’d gone, then jabbed it in Leigh’s direction. “I mean, I’ve told you that already. You’ve got to stand up to him, Leigh.”

Her tone was brusque, her words direct. Classic Jayce. Beneath her rough exterior was a genuine concern, a budding friendship that only strengthened my respect for her.

I rolled my eyes in Isaac’s general direction, when I spotted a broad man farther down the pedestrian street, speaking with someone.

He gave off the same vibe Rav did. Serious. Deadly. Not someone you wanted to meet in a dark alleyway, let alone a sunlit one.

I wrapped my gelato-toting arm around Leigh and took my phone back. I held it up, pretending to take a selfie. “Smile!”

Jayce jumped in front of me to ensure she was in the photo. “Hey, you aren’t even—”

“Quiet.” I spun with Leigh under my arm and headed in the opposite direction. I’d used the rear camera instead of taking a photo of us. A quick sidestep toward a trash can, and I tossed my gelato out. “Did you see him?”

“Who?” Leigh began to turn around, and I pulled her closer.

Jayce hopped in front of us, walking backward, as though we were having a fantastic time. “Creepy guy, five o’clock?”

“That’s the one.” With one hand, I forwarded the photo to Scarlett. I glanced at the wide street, choked with people. The gelateria was behind us, a clothing store to the left, a café farther beyond, closed doors, graffiti-covered garage doors. What else was there? “Which door’s most likely to get us off this street?”

“Declan?” Leigh shuddered in my grasp.

Fuck’s sake, could we not catch a break?

Jayce pointed at a small inset door, almost invisible behind stands full of memorabilia. “That one’s my guess. They’ll want tourists inside and won’t complain too loud if we say we’re going to the washroom then just keep going.”

Done. I steered Leigh toward the shop and flipped my phone up for another faux-selfie, using it to track the man’s progress. “He’s following us.”

“That he is.” Jayce ushered Leigh into the shop first and ripped the red wig off her when we were inside. She grabbed a shopping bag with ‘Rome’ written all over it and stuffed her own wig on top of the red one. “I’d normally chuck them, but Scarlett loves these wigs.”

We kept going, past displays, gaining speed as we progressed deeper into the shop so narrow we had to walk single-file.

My phone rang. I didn’t have time for this, but a quick glance showed it was Scarlett, and I answered.

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