The Florentine Cypher: Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery #3 (The Kate Benedict Series) by Carrie Bedford Read Free Book Online

one had no hard shoulder. With nowhere to stop, we traveled another ten kilometers before coming to an exit.
    We crawled up the off-ramp to a roundabout at the top and pulled over on a quiet side road. The driver who’d been flashing his lights had followed and parked behind the Fiat. I was surprised our good samaritan had come to give us a helping hand.
    “Wait here. I’ll try to get this fixed as quick as I can.”
    Taddeo got out and slammed the door, making the whole car vibrate. I closed my eyes, enjoying a moment of silence after the jarring ride and his non-stop chatter. A minute later, the back door opened, and a man in a black coat leaned in. Before I could react, he grabbed my duffle from the seat beside me. I bolted upright and yelled, but he took off at a sprint, racing towards his car. I scrambled after him, ran a couple of steps and tripped over the taxi driver, who was lying on the ground, holding his stomach and groaning. The thief must have hit him.
    For a microsecond, I thought of getting up and chasing after him to try to retrieve my bag. But common sense kicked in. Instead, I crouched next to Taddeo and took my phone out of my coat pocket. It took a while for my brain to settle enough to remember the Italian emergency number.
112.
By the time I’d dialed it, the other car had shot away, the engine revving. Too late, I realized I should have noted his license plate.
    It didn’t take long for a police car to arrive, with flashing lights and a scream of sirens. For all the drama of the arrival, however, the officers’ examination of the crime scene was perfunctory at best. They took statements from me and Taddeo, who’d recovered enough to sit up and smoke a cigarette. He muttered his outrage in between puffs, berating the thug who’d had the nerve to punch him and steal from his passenger. “Never,” he said. “I’ve been driving a taxi for twenty years and I’ve never been attacked before.”
    I sympathized with him. I was furious about being lured off the road and robbed in broad daylight.
    The officers were kind, but warned me not to expect to see my bag again. “We’ve had a rash of these
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robberies in the area,” one of them said with a sigh. “These thieves get more brazen every day. They steal and they run. We rarely catch them.”
    Although the assault was unnerving, I was relieved at first that the thief had grabbed the overnight duffle, not my shoulder bag, which held my purse and passport. Losing those would have given me major problems. The relief soon passed, however, as it sunk in that the book had gone, the book that Ethan seemed to care so much about, and the reason for my visit to Florence. I wasn’t looking forward to telling him I’d lost it. Thank goodness I’d kept the key in my bag. At least I’d have something to give him.
    When Taddeo declared himself well enough to continue the journey, I got in the car. The back seat felt empty now without my duffle bag for company. As well as the book, my make-up and clothes were gone, including my favorite pair of jeans. But there was nothing to be done, other than get to Claire’s place to find out what was going on.
    For the remainder of the trip, Taddeo drove more slowly with no mobile in his hand. He gripped the wheel as though that would protect us from further harm and glanced often into his rearview mirror. I checked too, occasionally, for any sign that we were being followed, but saw nothing.
    We arrived without incident at the outskirts of Florence, where the red dome of the great cathedral came into view, lifting my spirits. All was not lost. I’d still be able to give Claire and Ethan the key. And I’d have a nice dinner with Dad with a good bottle of Sangiovese from his wine cellar.
    After leaving the
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, the little Fiat easily navigated the narrow winding roads that led towards my father’s house, a yellow stucco villa that stood at the edge of a small town south of Florence.
    Dad was waiting