Chapter 22

MONTEPULCIANO, ITALY

They leave the B and B at 7:45 a.m. and arrive at Arezzo train station about an hour later. Ryan jumps out and starts unloading everyone’s bags from the back of the van. The station is a squat building in a dreary part of town. He’s got about an hour to make it to the meeting with The Monster and he’s trying to hold it together. He lied to his friends and said he’s got to return the van to the rental company and will meet them on the platform.

As his classmates meander inside the station, Nora doubles back. “I told you, I’m coming,” she says.

“We talked about this. It’s not a good idea.”

“Oh, that’s not a good idea.”

“Seriously, Nora. I can’t put you in that situation.”

“You’re confused,” she says.

He shakes his head, not understanding.

“That you have any control over what I do. Now, let’s go before I call your parents and tell them what’s going on.”

At quarter to ten, they’re walking through the archway that leads into the medieval village. A smattering of tourists ambles about with backpacks, water bottles, and dumb wicker hats they’d only dare wear on vacation.

The narrow road soon opens up to the town square, which is bathed in sunlight. Ryan looks around. There’s no sight of the man.

This is crazy. He’s about to meet with The Monster, someone Ryan has long believed was a figment of his imagination. And if he is real, Nora’s right: He’s dangerous.

Ryan points to a café. The outdoor tables are filled with people having coffee or breakfast. He spies a table that’s empty and provides a nice line of sight to the Palazzo where he’s supposed to meet the man. The note said ten o’clock. He has ten minutes.

On the first day of their trip to Montepulciano, Ryan and the others climbed the narrow stairway to the top of the bell tower, which provides an amazing view all the way to Lake Trasimeno. He glances up at the terrace, the sun stinging his eyes. He doesn’t see anyone there.

“You can watch from here,” he says to Nora, directing his chin to the table.

Nora frowns but doesn’t fight him. She speaks to the host in Italian and is ushered to the table that’s not covered by an umbrella—the only reason it’s vacant. Before she sits, she hands Ryan something.

He looks in his palm and there’s a small fob, the size of a quarter.

“What’s this?”

“One of my AirTags,” Nora says. “From my luggage.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Put it in your pocket, I don’t know. I mean, you said he took Alison, so if…” She doesn’t finish the thought.

It’s a smart idea. If he doesn’t emerge from this meeting Nora will at least have something to give the police. The location of the AirTag.

He studies the pod in his index finger and thumb, then pockets it. Then Nora hands him something else: a tiny Taser, by the look of it. Some kind of miniature stun gun.

“My dad got it for me. Our neighborhood in Georgetown is safe, but it has sporadic crime.”

Ryan decides it can’t hurt and tucks it in his waistband.

His heart is pounding now. He’s really going to do this? He’s really going to do this!

As if sensing that he’s freaking out, Nora stands, faces him, like she’s going to give him a pep talk. Instead, she tiptoes up and kisses him.

“Be careful,” she says softly.

He shakes off the electricity from the kiss and takes one last look around the café. Plenty of people are around, so she should be safe. He checks his phone for the time, seven minutes until ten, and fast-walks to the tower.

On the main floor, he buys a ticket. The woman warns him—probably because of his height—that the steps to the tower are steep and the ceiling’s low. The stairwell to the terrace is a sweatbox. There’s no one in front of him. No one behind. Less than five minutes until the meet. Is The Monster already up here?

At the top of the stairs is an old wooden door that he pushes open. He’s assaulted by the bright sun again. He’s sweating from the heat and anxiety.

When his eyes adjust to the sun, he’s startled. Two muscular men—they’re around his own age, Italian—stand facing him. Behind them a figure emerges. Before Ryan can scan his face, his eyes jump to the stranger’s hands. His breath catches in the hollow of his throat because no question remains now:

It’s him.