Chapter 3 #2
Flower pots perched on some narrow sills, overflowing with bright geraniums and trailing ivy. The scent of blooms mingled with the faint tang of espresso drifting from somewhere nearby. It was absolutely lovely—charming and timeless, the kind of place she’d never forget.
A sound pulled her attention, and Kathleen glanced up.
There was a man coming down the alley toward her.
The sunlight slanted sharply into her eyes, making it hard to see his face.
All she could make out was his silhouette: tall, lean, wearing a pale linen shirt and pants, the kind of effortless elegance that screamed Italian.
A hat shaded part of his face, and dark sunglasses hid the rest.
As he drew closer, he smiled.
Years of suspecting everyone and everything made her hesitate, but she forced herself to smile back.
“Buongiorno,” he offered smoothly, his Italian lilting and warm.
Kathleen opened her mouth to respond, but before the words left her lips, his hand shot out and ripped her purse off her shoulder.
The suddenness of it stunned her and old fears she thought she’d shed roared back to life. Her shopping bags slipped from her grasp as instinct took over—she clung to the purse with both hands.
“Let go!” he barked, shoving her hard against the stone wall.
“Stop! That’s mine—”
“It’s not worth your life,” he hissed.
Startled and breathless, Kathleen let go. He snatched the purse and bolted down the alley without looking back. Her chest heaved, but no scream came. She couldn’t seem to drag in enough air. The sun, the shock, the memory of everything she’d survived—it all tangled together and froze her in place.
Finally, she forced herself to move, bending down to scoop up her shopping bags.
At least he hadn’t taken her brand-new clothes.
And the strap was ripped, so he wasn’t going to get much for the bag if he tried to sell it.
Those were a couple of bright spots at least. She swallowed the burn rising in her throat.
No crying. Not here. Not now. She needed a police station.
Kathleen walked into a squat stone building that smelled faintly of paper, sweat, and stale coffee. The officer behind the desk glanced up with a bored expression. “Come posso aiutarla?” he asked first in Italian, then immediately switched to English. “How can I help you?”
“I was mugged,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Mugged?” he repeated, eyebrows raising slightly.
“Yes. Mugged. Robbed?”
The officer gave her a slow once-over, gaze flicking from her shopping bags back up to her face. “What was taken?”
“My purse. My wallet.”
“Okay.” He slid a clipboard toward her. “Fill out this form.”
She frowned down at it. “Don’t you want to know what he looks like?”
“Yes. On the form,” he said without inflection. He tapped the center of the clipboard. “Describe him there.”
Kathleen sighed. She’d been having such a good day. She’d let her guard down, and now she was paying for it. She looked at the form again—and groaned. It was entirely in Italian.
“I can’t fill this out,” she said.
The officer glanced up, unimpressed. “Why not?”
“It’s all in Italian. I don’t read Italian.”
He sighed, deep and weary. “Fine. Have a seat. I’ll find someone to help you.”
Kathleen sat down on the hard wooden bench near the desk, setting her bags carefully at her feet. The officer didn’t leave his post. He didn’t pick up the phone. He just went back to reading whatever was in front of him.
Minutes passed. Then more.
“Excuse me,” she said finally.
He didn’t look up. “Yes?”
“You said you were going to find someone to help me, but you haven’t done anything.”
Another sigh, heavier this time. He stood, shuffled into the back room, and disappeared without another word.
Kathleen’s phone rang, the sharp sound startling in the quiet station.
She’d forgotten she’d shoved the device into her pocket as she left the boutique.
Thank god it hadn’t been stolen as well.
She glanced at the caller ID and hesitated.
Jamie. She almost let it go to voicemail, but if she didn’t answer, he’d just keep calling.
Her brother checked in on her constantly, and she couldn’t really blame him.
After everything that had happened—after disappearing for years—they were both scarred in ways neither of them liked to admit.
She answered. “Jamie.” Old habits died hard, including using his nickname when speaking to him directly.
“Kathleen.” His voice was tight. “Why are you in a police station in Lake Lugano?”
She froze. “How do you even know—”
“Why are you there?” he demanded, concern rippling down the line.
“I got mugged.”
Dead silence.
“Mugged?” His voice was low and sharp now. “What happened?”
Kathleen let out a shaky breath and explained, giving him the short version.
“Why are you in Lugano anyway? I thought you were going to Paris.”
“There were strikes at the Paris airport. The pilot told me that we’d have to divert to Orly. Lugano was easier.”
More silence.
“Are you okay?” he asked finally.
“I’m fine. A little bruised.”
“Bruised?” His voice sharpened again. “Did he hurt you?”
“He pushed me against the wall when I wouldn’t let go of my purse.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t you just let go?”
“I don’t know!” she snapped, then caught herself. “It was instinct, Jamie.”
He said nothing for a moment, and she forced herself to breathe evenly, trying not to let her voice shake.
“Did you lose anything important? Do you have your passport?”
“My passport is at the hotel,” she said. “It’s just my wallet. And my license.”
Her throat tightened on the last word. It was stupid to care, but the license mattered. It was in her own name, something she hadn’t been able to use for years. Losing it felt like being stripped of her identity all over again.
Jamie must have heard the crack in her voice, even though she tried to hide it. “Do you want me to come?” he asked softly.
Kathleen laughed, watery and unsteady. “No. Aren’t you in Japan?”
“I am.”
“Then why are you even awake?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”
“Jamie… Jameson Drake,” she said, using his full name like she had when they were kids, “I’m okay. I just need to cancel my credit cards.”
“Which ones?” he asked immediately.
Kathleen told him the two she’d had in her wallet.
“Done. I’ll handle it. You don’t need to worry.”
She wanted to argue, but stopped herself. Let him do this. It would make him feel better, and honestly, she didn’t have the energy.
“Okay,” she said softly. “But I don’t have any money now. My bank card was in there, too.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jamie said without hesitation. “I’ll have new cards sent. In the meantime, just stay at the hotel. Put everything on the room charge, like normal.”
She hesitated. “I can manage—”
“No arguments, Kathleen.” His voice softened. “Please. Just let me handle this.”
“Fine.” She hated this part, the dependence.
Jamie always ran things by the book, insisted everything be handled properly, no favors, no shortcuts.
Forcing him to arrange cash transfers on her behalf was going to grate on him almost as much as it grated on her.
But she didn’t have a choice, and he knew it.
“I’ll be fine, Jamie,” she said quietly.
Before he could reply, the officer reappeared. Kathleen seized the opportunity. “I’ve got to go,” she said quickly. “I think they’re finally going to take my statement.”
“Just… be careful,” Jamie said.
“I will.”
She hung up as the officer waved her forward.
“Follow me,” he said, sounding as though she’d just asked him to climb a mountain.
Kathleen stood, gathering her bags and drawing in a steadying breath.
Things could only go up from here.