Free The Pursuit by Janet Evanovich

moving down the brightly lit street past clothing stores, gelato shops, and the occasional British pub catering to the annual contingent of rowdy U.K. tourists. There was a party atmosphere on the boulevard but, as exuberant and alcohol-fueled as it was, it felt to Kate more like a kid’s birthday celebration at Chuck E. Cheese’s than Mardi Gras in New Orleans. The only danger she sensed came from two men who’d been following them since they’d left the hotel.
    “Let me show you the old town,” Nick said, making an abrupt turn down an alley, not much wider than a footpath. The alley led to Via San Cesareo, a pedestrian-only street that was barely wide enough for two lines of people walking single file in each direction.
    Kate could smell garlic, lemon, fish, cooking fat, and leather as they passed the open restaurants and shops. The scent of sweat, tobacco, sunscreen, and perfume came off the crush of people.
    “This was the site of the original walled city, built by the Greeks centuries before the birth of Christ,” Nick said. “The buildings are tall and the streets are intentionally narrow to keep people in the shadows and cool in the heat.”
    Everywhere she looked, there was someone selling fresh
limoncello
and countless other lemon-infused products, from candy and soap to candles and lipstick. There were also shops selling tiles, sandals, paintings, leather bags, pottery, and other handmade goods. All produced by tired artisans who were right there, hunched over their worktables, as if to prove everything was locally made.
    Some people a few steps ahead stopped to sample the
limoncello
being offered by two rival shopkeepers on opposite sides of the street, causing a foot traffic jam that pushed Kate up against Nick’s back for a moment.
    “It’s a pickpocket’s dream here,” Kate said.
    “Not a bad place for an ambush or a stabbing, either.”
    “You saw the men behind us,” she said.
    “There were two more walking toward us before we came down here,” Nick said. “They are probably waiting in one of the alleys coming up.”
    “You led us into a trap.”
    “I thought I was leading
them
into one.” Nick looked over his shoulder at her. “Or was I mistaken?”
    She smiled at him. “You’re not. Go into that leather store on your left and head to the back.”
    They passed the warring
limoncello
merchants and entered a tiny shop stuffed with handmade leather goods. Hundreds of purses, handbags, belts, and satchels hung from the ceiling and walls. In the back of the store, surrounded by scraps of leather, an old man was sewing a handbag.
    Kate backed into a cranny beside the door while Nick moved further into the store, pretending to admire a messenger bag. She took a belt off the wall, looped it through its buckle to create a choke collar, and waited.
    A moment later, one of their pursuers stepped in. She dropped the belt loop over his head, cinched it tight around his neck, and yanked him back against her. He began to struggle, but abruptly stopped when he felt the sharp tip of her knife against his spine.
    “If I jam my knife between these vertebrae, I’ll cut the nerves that control your lungs. You’ll suffocate from a stab wound,” she whispered into his ear. “At least I think so. I’ve never had a chance to try it. But I’m eager to see if it works.”
    Hard to tell if the man understood English. Good to see that he understood the seriousness of the knife at his back.
    Nick stepped up, removed the gun that the man had half-tucked into his pants, and aimed it at the doorway as the second man came inside.
    “Good evening,” Nick said. “Come in and join us.”
    The second man saw the situation his partner was in, and the gun aimed at his own gut, and raised his hands.
    “Drop your gun in a handbag,” Nick said. The man did as he was told, dropping the gun into the nearest open purse. “Now, gentlemen, do you speak English?”
    They nodded yes.
    “What was the plan this