Life-Changing Love Page 3

  As if by impulse, Keefe reached for his phone. Why wouldn’t Jarret call him back?

  Papa spoke before Keefe drew his phone out. “I’ll need to see the list of museums, dealers, and buyers.” Even before they’d left for Italy, he’d had Keefe compiling lists. Their mission was to locate and reacquire the collection of antique paintings that once belonged to the Giodarno family. The collection had been with the family for generations until a frivolous young heir decided to liquidate it to support his lifestyle.

  “We’ll be spending the afternoon and the next few days making visits,” Papa said.

  Glad for the change of topic, Keefe stepped inside to get the list. With wall-sized frescoes of mythical battle scenes, high ceilings, and ornate antique-style furniture, their hotel room was a step into the past.

  “What about the churches and cloisters?” Keefe said, his voice sounding loud in the quiet hotel room.

  “We’ll get to those.” Papa spoke from the balcony. “On the weekend, we’ll head over to Bagno di Romagna.”

  “Where’s that?” Keefe flipped through folders until he found the one with the lists.

  “About fifty miles due east. But we’ll have to wind around some mountains to get there. So, about a two-hour drive. We’ll stay one night at least. There’re a few people and an old basilica we’ll need to visit.”

  Bagno di Romagna meant nothing to Keefe, but the two-hour drive meant he’d have an opportunity to get in touch with Jarret . . . if Papa didn’t have him working on something in the car.

  Chapter Four

  Caitlyn

  Roland and Caitlyn didn’t have a single class together. It hardly seemed possible, and it wasn’t fair. They did, however, share the same lunch period, though he often sat at the back of the school property, hidden behind an old maple tree. She sat with him once, shortly after they’d met. They’d talked on and on, connecting as if they’d known each other a lifetime. That was before she accidentally leaked one of his secrets to a group of gossipy girls, a terrible rumor spread about his deceased mother, and he stopped talking to her. She’d apologized through tears and he’d forgiven her, he said so anyway, but he’d been shy around her ever since.

  Zoe pushed open a door to the back schoolyard and held it for Caitlyn. “It’s chilly.” She zipped her white sweater and sauntered toward the picnic tables. “I don’t get why you want to eat outside every day. What’s wrong with the lunch room? We always eat in the lunch room when it’s cold outside.”

  Caitlyn stumbled along behind Zoe, trying to keep up without dropping her lunch. “It’s not that cold. It’s perfect. Besides, don’t you just love the fall? I always want to eat outside in the fall. You always want to eat in the lunch room.”

  Zoe glanced over her shoulder and threw Caitlyn a coy grin. “So, why are we doing things your way now? Don’t I always get my way?”

  Caitlyn giggled. Zoe did always get her way. Caitlyn had considered herself to be flexible, like a sapling content to bend with the wind. Things were different now.

  Zoe said something, but Caitlyn didn’t catch it. Hoping to spot Roland, she peered at the old maple tree.

  He didn’t appear to be out there today. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t gone out there on lunch period since his brother Keefe left for Italy. Caitlyn scanned the school grounds.

  Off to the left, kids played basketball. Girls and couples strolled along the building. Smoke traveled from around the corner of the building, the smokers’ hangout. A few kids sat at picnic tables. Where was Roland?

  “I can’t believe I agreed to go,” Zoe said. “Do you think I’ll regret it? You know how I love my Keurig and taking a bath in lavender oil.”

  Caitlyn skipped a few steps to catch up. “Go where?”

  She looked at her, smirking. “You aren’t listening to me at all.”

  They neared the picnic tables. “Sure I am. What’d you say?”

  Zoe laughed and sat at the only picnic table not littered with acorns and leaves. “I was talking about camping. I can’t believe I agreed to go on this silly camping trip of yours.”

  “Silly? It’s not silly. It’s fun. You’ll love it. It’ll be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.” Caitlyn couldn’t wait. Peter had said Roland was going, so she would have an opportunity to hang out with him without having to worry about courtship practices.

  “So who are you scouting for?”

  “What?” Caitlyn walked around the picnic table and sat across from Zoe, immediately opening her lunch. Her stomach had growled all through Algebra class, and she couldn’t wait to get something into it. “What makes you think I’m scouting for anyone?”

  “I know you’re looking for someone.” Zoe turned suspicious eyes to Caitlyn. “Who is it? A guy?” She opened her insulated, designer lunch bag, that looked more like a purse, and pulled out a container with a pink lid.

  Caitlyn grabbed a sandwich wrapped in newspaper from her brown paper bag. Mom had run out of sandwich bags, but Caitlyn was too hungry to let it embarrass her. “I wish you didn’t know me so well. How’s a girl to keep a secret?”

  “You can’t keep secrets from your BFF.” Zoe’s honey-colored eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

  “Fine. You’re right.” Caitlyn meant to admit whom she was looking for, but she couldn’t stop shoving her sandwich into her mouth. The turkey roll and Swiss on Italian bread with mayonnaise and pickle tasted so good today. Besides, she hated to tell Zoe whom she liked. It was laughable that she hoped someone as hot as Roland would be interested in her.

  Zoe grabbed Caitlyn’s lunch bag. “Tell me or I’m eating your lunch.”

  Caitlyn laughed. Zoe only ate healthy food. She would die before eating what she’d find in the bag: chips, cookies, and a Twinkie. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

  “You know I won’t tell. We’re best friends.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “Okay, I promise.” Zoe tossed the lunch bag to Caitlyn.

  “Do you know Roland West?”

  A smile spread across her face. “I know him. He’s in most of my classes.”

  Caitlyn huffed. It figured.

  “You like him?” Zoe leaned across the picnic table, smiling.

  Caitlyn nodded, regretting her confession and wondering if Zoe was about to laugh at her. “Out of my league, huh?” She ripped open her lunch bag, dug out the Twinkie, and wrestled with the wrapper.

  Zoe sat straighter and folded her arms, a sly smile on her face. Her gaze clicked to some point behind Caitlyn. She shook her head. “No, he’s not out of your league . . . Is he Goth?”

  “Goth? No, he’s not Goth.” Despite herself, she instantly felt defensive. “He just likes dark colors. It’s not like he wears make-up or has piercings or does strange things to his hair.”

  Zoe shrugged. “I swear he was wearing black nail polish last week.” She continued staring at something behind Caitlyn. “He does something to his hair. It’s so full and wavy.”

  “That’s just the way his hair is. Some people have naturally wavy hair.” The more Caitlyn talked, the more defensive she knew she sounded and the more her face burned. She really needed to chill. Zoe was entitled to her opinion. “My hair curls naturally.” Caitlyn shoved the Twinkie in her mouth to keep from further defending him.

  “Well, if you really like him . . .” Zoe’s eyes shifted to Caitlyn again. “. . . you’d better think of a plan to get his attention.”

  “We’re fwends aweady,” Caitlyn said, mouth stuffed.

  Zoe cleared her throat and her gaze shifted again to the point behind Caitlyn. “You’re not the only girl attracted to him.”

  Caitlyn lost her appetite just like that. She swallowed hard and took a swig of water. “You like him?”

  Zoe’s gaze shot to Caitlyn, and she laughed. “No, he’s too shy.”

  “Someone else told you they like him?”

  “No.”

  “Well . . . then how do you know?”

  Zoe nodded towards whatever she had been staring at over Caitlyn’s shoulder, so Caitlyn turned to look.

  Roland, dressed in black jeans and a black denim jacket, leaned against the smokers’ corner of the school building. Mya Taylor, dressed in a cute plaid skirt and no jacket, leaned next to him.

  Second only to Zoe, Mya was the last girl Caitlyn would want for competition. Caitlyn was plain, bone thin, and had a full head of untamed red hair. Her every movement led to an accident or disaster. Mya was a clone of Marilyn Monroe. She idolized the actress, copying her laugh, her hair, her clothing style. Guys fawned over her.

  And there she stood, fawning over Roland West.

  Chapter Five

  Roland

  In a thin strip of woods that separated the older neighborhoods from the newer ones, Roland sat on his bike, leaning on the handlebars. And waiting. Caitlyn’s house was just down the road. She might even be outside. He wouldn’t risk glancing though, not with Peter beside him. Peter always had something sarcastic to say when Roland looked her way. Roland wasn’t in the mood for it.

  Peter sat on his bike with one foot on the ground. He fidgeted with the black box he claimed would pick up the signal of the tracking device Roland had hidden in the Lexus.

  Hiding the device hadn’t been easy. Jarret spent little time at home, and he guarded the keys to the car. Roland had planned to make his move early in the morning while Jarret worked out with his weights in the basement, but his alarm clock hadn’t gone off. The sound of the bathroom door slamming had woken him. Then the shower blasted. Roland tumbled out of bed, bolted to Jarret’s room, and swiped the keys. Heart pounding in his throat at the fear of Jarret catching him, he’d dashed for the garage. Twice he dropped the keys while trying to unlock the door . . . only to discover it hadn’t been locked. Then he couldn’t decide on the best place to hide the thing, so he shoved it under the back, passenger-side floor mat. He raced through the house and back upstairs.

  By that time, the shower had stopped. And the instant Roland mounted the top step, the bathroom door swung open and Jarret emerged in a towel. He saw Roland standing there with his mouth hanging open and his hands behind his back.

  “What’s your problem?” Jarret had said.

  Roland gave no reply. Feeling doomed, he just gulped.

  “Why do you look like that?”

  “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you.” Roland had backed into Jarret’s bedroom and tried to slip the keys onto the dresser, but they dropped to the floor.

  Jarret glanced at them but not suspiciously. “So what d’ya want?”

  “Uh . . . I was wondering if, um . . . Want to ride the horses with me after school? They could use the exercise.”

  “Can’t.” Jarret stooped for the keys and tossed them onto the dresser. “You should though. And brush Desert. She needs a good brushing.” Desert was Jarret’s horse and he usually took good care of her, spending more time grooming and exercising her than Roland or Keefe did their horses.

  “What’re you doing after school?” Roland asked.

  “None of your business.” He shoved Roland from the bedroom. “I’m glad you’re taking care of the horses. Mr. Digby don’t exercise them long enough. Better get dressed if you’re riding to school with me.” He closed the door.

  Roland had exhaled, hoping Jarret hadn’t suspected anything.

  As Roland sat on his bike, he desperately hoped Peter’s tracking device would work and they could keep enough distance to avoid being caught.

  “You really think this is the best place to wait for him?” Roland twirled a foot pedal with the toe of his boot. “What if he doesn’t come this way? Maybe he doesn’t go to the same place every day. And what if he sees us when he drives by?”

  “Relax, little buddy, and stick to the shadows. The way you’re dressed, all that black, you’re like the Invisible Man.” Peter peered down at his own mustard-yellow sweatshirt then rubbed his chest. “I should-a changed when we got home from school, but you were in such a hurry. I’m like a traffic light. Anyway, if I’m right, Jarret was headed this way until he realized we were following him. Leo, the big goon, he’d never make a good spy. He practically rode Jarret’s bumper. Did you see Leo at school today?”

  “Sure. I saw him.”

  “Did you talk to him? He’s really mad.” Peter smiled. “He said Jarret was out in the school parking lot looking over cars. He’s worried Jarret’s gonna come after him once he recognizes his car. Think he will?”

  “Probably. He doesn’t like people in his business.”

  “I bet Leo starts taking the bus to—”

  The black box strapped to Peter’s handlebars beeped.

  “Ha!” Peter lifted a foot to the pedal. “Game on.” Peering through the woods, he inched his bike forward.

  Roland rolled to where he could see the road. A moment later, the silver Lexus sped by and slowed at the intersection. Jarret turned left where he had turned right the other night.

  “When I’m right, I’m right.” Peter led the way from the cover of the woods and out onto the street.

  “What’s down that road?” Roland pedaled up beside Peter, his eyes on the intersecting road.

  “New neighborhood, I think. Maybe your brother has a new friend, a new conscience.” He smirked.

  They turned left riding side by side. Newer, two-story houses lined the streets on their left, older houses and empty lots on the streets to the right. The Lexus was nowhere in sight.

  Peter tapped his tracking device. The beeping had stopped. “He must’ve turned here. He’s got to be over a quarter of a mile away.”

  “So how’s that supposed to help us? We can’t keep up with a car on our bikes.”

  Peter threw up a hand. “Chill, man. You West boys are so impatient. Some things you just have to wait for.”

  They pedaled past a few more streets when the beeping sounded again.

  “Told ya.” Peter gave a cocky grin. “Patience, my friend, and we’ll find him.” His grin vanished, and his eyes opened wide. “Shoot! Maybe we ought to turn around.”

  Roland turned to see what Peter saw. His gaze snapped to the Lexus halfway down one of the older streets, backing toward them. Jarret caught them again.

  “I’m outta here.” Peter whipped his bike around, skidding one tire.

  Roland rode over a curb and dropped his kickstand in the grass.

  “Are you crazy?” Peter did an about-face and rode up to him.

  “I’m going to talk to him. He saw me already.” Roland swung a leg over his bike and waited as the Lexus stopped and the driver’s door flew open.

  Jarret climbed out of the car and gave Roland a nod, inviting him over. Dressed in gray sweatpants and an old black concert t-shirt, he leaned against the car and lit a cigarette.

  “No way.” Peter shot a laser beam of hate across the street, at Jarret. “Don’t go to him. Get back on your bike.”

  “I’m just gonna ask what he’s been up to.” Roland stepped off the curb.

  “Well, been nice knowing ya.” He rode his bike several yards back and turned to watch.

  Roland chuckled, but his humor died when he made it across the street and got within spitting distance of Jarret’s sneer.

  “Following me, huh?” Cigarette in hand, he picked something off his tongue then spit to the side.

  Roland shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Hi, Jarret.”

  “Were you in the black Taurus following me the other day?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  Jarret took a hit off the cigarette and gazed into the distance, probably considering how to retaliate. It would probably hurt.

  “Since Keefe’s been gone,” Roland forced himself to say, “you haven’t been yourself. I’m worried about you.”

  A combination of annoyance and amusement flashed in Jarret’s dark eyes.

  Roland’s breath caught. Jarret had a temper only Keefe knew the secret of cooling. What would Keefe say if he were here now?

  Jarret pushed off the car and straightened. “Didn’t you already ask me where I’ve been going?” He closed the little distance between them with slow steps.

  Roland resisted the urge to back away. “Uh . . . yeah.”

  “What answer did I give you?” Jarret stopped inches away and blew smoke in Roland’s face.

  “You said . . .” Coughing from the smoke, Roland made a move to step back, but Jarret grabbed his shoulder. “I guess you said it was none of my business.”

  Jarret leaned and whispered in Roland’s ear. “That’s right and now you’re gonna remember it.” He drew a fist back and slammed it hard into Roland’s side.

  Pain shot through him. He groaned, cracked his knees to the pavement, and doubled over. He reached for the car to pull himself up, but the car door slammed and the Lexus sped away.

  “Hey, you all right?” Peter jogged to him and squatted. “Your brother’s a jerk, man. And I hate to say I told you so, but . . .”

  Clutching his side and trying to shake off the pain, Roland forced himself to his feet. “I’m all right. He just gets mad when—”

  A car whined, the Lexus backing up the road again, coming toward them.

  “Get outta the road!” Peter shouted, dragging Roland by the arm.

  The car squeaked to a stop near them, and the driver’s window lowered. “You want to know what I’m up to?” Jarret shouted over the heavy metal blaring from his radio. “You really want to know?”

  Roland stepped forward, but Peter dragged him back. Roland nodded to Jarret from where he stood. “Yeah, I want to know.”

  “705 Bradberry Lane. That’s what I’m up to.”

  “Who lives there?”

  “Nobody lives there, not yet.” Jarret peered through narrowed eyes, but at least he was talking.

  Roland yanked his arm from Peter and approached the open window. “So what’re you doing there?” Roland said.