by Ritter Ames
“Yeah, breaking and entering a criminal mastermind’s former residence is a rabbit trail you should avoid,” Jack said wryly. I appreciated the sarcasm in place of his usual lecture—but my relief was short-lived. “I told you, Rollie is gone. When I talked to Whatley about your afternoon’s activities he admitted they’d had someone watching the place all day and it’s still empty.” His voice softened. “I realize you’ve had a second emotional shock tonight. I agree with your assumption Rollie and/or Moran is behind it by the way, but you could definitely be in danger based on what’s happened in the last twenty hours or so. Plus, breaking and entering is illegal.”
Like it’s ever stopped you, I thought, but kept the smartass remark to myself. There was no use arguing. I’d never get Nico to help me after this turn of events.
Rollie was back, Simon broke in, Cassie and I escaped, the man who tried to capture us tried to kill one of my art restorers and was killed instead, and she clung to life while law enforcement worked to find out why she possessed a handful of phony passports. Following an attempt on Tony B’s life that sent him to the hospital, he warned Jack about me, and the Amazon surfaced after an almost four-month hiatus and finished the job the inmate in the Italian prison started. Wow. All in less than a day. Did Rollie head for Rome? Or was he starting something new? And where did Simon go into hiding this time?
“Have any of your Home Office sources found a trace of how Rollie or Simon got into the country, or if they’ve left again?” I asked Jack.
“No, nothing yet.” Weariness came through in his voice, and I understood it. He’d gotten even less sleep than me. Maybe none at all. I looked over at Cassie and saw her eyes at half-mast too.
“Rollie is gone,” I said. “You and Nico are in Rome, the Amazon is in Rome, and Tony B is dead in Rome. Sounds like all the action has been moved to your venue.”
“Yes, exactly why I’m thinking it might be better if you’re here with us until this thing is settled somehow. I don’t know when I can get back to London, and with what Tony B said, I’d feel more comfortable if Nico and I had eyes on you all the time.”
“We can’t leave. After the crime scene team is through, we have to go to the office tomorrow to check out everything. To see if we can figure out what Simon wanted or stole. I have to get the tapestry back—”
“Simon may have been after you. Tony B said, ‘Get Beacham.’ Who’s to say Simon hadn’t already received the same message? He may have been trying to protect you or planning to deliver you to whomever might have a bounty on your head.”
“Seems a little melodramatic.”
“I’m serious, Laurel.”
I knew he was. I didn’t want to think about where his mind was going. “Are you thinking Tony B worked for Moran or Simon, given we know the latter two were in collusion for the past year or more? Or do you believe it’s more likely he worked for the mysterious second criminal organization everyone whispers about? The one we’re assuming is tied to Ermo Colle?”
With an abstract gesture, I raked back the top of my hair with my fingers to keep the curls out of my eyes. I needed to think. This was too frustrating. The only known facts on the mysterious Ermo Colle was the organization functioned as an Italian importer/exporter who bankrolled the October event in Florence. With the many layers in place, we couldn’t even be sure yet if Ermo Colle was a person or group.
In Florence we found—for lack of a better term—a forgery factory in one of the palazzos near the Duomo. Nico eventually connected it superficially to Moran through outdated titles, but could not find anything proving he’d recently used it. Nothing connecting to Ermo Colle either.
However, we spotted Rollie leaving the area, and likely the palazzo, shortly before Jack and I broke in to check out the contents. Then Tony B pulled a coup and Jack was apprehended. Unfortunately, law enforcement celebrated by arresting Jack, and no one saw the truly dangerous contraband on the roof he and I found earlier.
So many pieces to the puzzle. No provable connections.
“I know nothing,” Jack replied. “But we can’t rule out anything.”
We were stymied and frustrated.
“Cassie has a new idea. I’ll let her tell you.”
While my assistant took over the conversation, I thought about every option. Another quick search of my possessions told me I likely had everything needed for any contingency. Jack’s Walther PPK was in the hidden pocket of my luggage. I moved it to my room safe. I removed the bangle bracelets, returned half of them to the jewelry box, and put everything in the safe and reset the combination. I didn’t want to risk losing them, but I wasn’t ready to temporarily give up all of the beloved touchstones either. I found a clamshell necklace box the remaining bracelets fit into and added it to my Fendi.
Cassie’s words pulled me back into the conversation. “Jack, I think you’re right. Laurel does need to go to Rome. It’s a good plan.”
I started, “Cass—”
“Hear me out,” she interrupted. “I was involved in every part of restoring the office. If there is any anomaly, I’ll spot it. I’ll stay here, go to the office tomorrow, and return the tapestry to the client if Whatley can get it released. You go to Rome. You’ve seen the Amazon. Between you and the guard, the pair of you might be able to get an even closer version sketched of her appearance. Two heads and all that good stuff. Besides, if you don’t, you’ll continue worrying about the guys while they worry about you. This way you’ll all have each other’s backs.”
“You’ll be here by yourself,” I objected. I could hear Jack’s and Nico’s voices over the speaker, adding to the protest.
Cassie talked over all of us. “I’ll make sure I have the superintendent or another officer with me at all times. When I’m done with the office survey, I’ll head to New York while you guys are tied up in Rome.”
“I don’t think—”
“It’s the best alternative, Laurel,” she argued. “I can do much more to help us get info in New York than I can being your shadow. We were already planning to send Nico in a few days. I’ll go there a little earlier and work the book angle.”
I stared at her, and she raised her eyebrows in a silent question, asking “Well?” There was no good answer as far as I could see. I wanted her safe, and I agreed the two of us sharing babysitting services wasn’t necessarily practical—but sending her off on her own sounded frightening and foolish. Even if there would be an ocean between her and whatever danger was interested in us.
“What do you guys think?” I asked.
Muffled voices came through the speaker. One of them had covered the mic. After a beat, Jack answered, “Cassie’s plan makes sense. She’ll be safer in America, and can work under the aid and protection of Beacham’s New York office while she’s coordinating with the publisher’s personnel.”
I had to agree, but voiced a few provisos. “Three conditions. One, you book a ticket as if you’re returning to your parents to continue your holiday break. But you depart the plane at New York so anyone watching you leave London will be fooled in your true purpose.”
“Good idea,” she said.
“Next, you keep Nico apprised of your itinerary at all times.” I raised an eyebrow to signal there would be no argument. “If we feel we need to call in the cavalry for any reason, we need to know where to send them.”
“Done.”
“Finally,” I placed a hand on her shoulder as I spoke, “if anything starts feeling off in any way, you bail immediately. Make your excuses and actually go to your parents’ place as quickly as you can.”
“No argument,” she said.
I shot a question to the phone, “Jack and Nico, do either of you have anything to add?”
“Have an officer go with you to your flat to pack tomorrow,” Jack said. “For tonight, stay in Laurel’s room. Don’t return to yo
ur flat until morning.”
“I’ll send a charm bracelet like Laurel’s to the New York office, Cassie,” Nico added. “Watch for it and wear the jewelry for the same reason she is supposed to.”
I caught the dig, but I knew Nico was teasing and didn’t respond. But I did when Jack added, “I’ll see who I can get to travel with you to Rome, Laurel.”
“A bodyguard would draw attention. Use those magic MI-6 powers you won’t tell me about to get me seated near the plane’s air marshal. Nico can book my flight and email the ticket.”
“Brilliant suggestion. We’ll try to get you out of London tonight. Start packing whatever you think you’ll need.”
Nine
In less than ten minutes I had an email from Nico with my e-ticket for an eight p.m. flight. He said Jack was setting up a fix on the air marshal issue. I changed into a tweed pantsuit and white blouse. My knee-length red wool coat came out to cover for the favorite leather one I left hanging on the office hook before the break-in. After so many hours on my feet, the heels had to go. I chose my short-heeled travel boots. My high heels would go into my checked bag.
I packed and called Whatley to brief him on why I needed to go to Rome rather than stay in London. He offered no lecture or warning, promising he’d be outside my hotel within a quarter hour with a car to transport me to Heathrow. As I left the room, Cassie called down to room service, and I was kicking myself for not having ordered earlier.
Whatley’s car waited at the curb, and he stowed my luggage in the boot. I slid into the seat to ride shotgun.
“I spoke to Hawkes a few moments ago,” he said as we pulled away. “Seems we’re in a bit of a hurry for you to make your flight.”
As we flew across the flyover, he asked for an update. I talked as fast as he drove, though a little concerned I didn’t know how much Jack had told him. We had enough trouble on our hands, and I didn’t want to risk more by letting something slip.
Whatley asked a couple of questions, but remained intent on driving to get to Heathrow in the fastest possible time. I was grateful for my seatbelt, as I think I’d have been flung around the vehicle otherwise.
A siren may have been employed.
Whatley and his shield got me through airport security in record time as well. My luggage didn’t make the cut though, and had to be checked. One of the security crew notified the gate I was on my way, and in a very short time I was boarded and taking my first deep breath in what felt like years.
For security reasons, I couldn’t know who the air marshal was, but Jack called right before takeoff to assure me the man with the gun had my picture and my back.
Per instructions, I was one of the last passengers to disembark from our plane at Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino airport a couple of hours later, and Jack was pacing at the gate. I wasn’t sure how he was there. I expected him at baggage claim, but I’d quit asking how the man accomplished half the things I didn’t understand. Just filed everything under “he had his ways.”
January temps in Rome are chilly. I slung my wool coat over an arm as I deplaned. “You must be starved,” he said, relieving me of my carry-on and helping me on with the coat, before ushering me down the long terminal. “Cassie said you didn’t eat dinner before you left.”
“Famished. We have to get my bag first. I had to check—”
“No, we can’t. The baggage handlers went on strike an hour ago.”
I stopped. “What?”
Jack had walked on. He turned back and answered, “There was a nine o’clock deadline on getting a contract signed. It didn’t happen.”
“Unbelievable.” I shook my head and resumed walking. “Do you know until I started working with you I never had to go without luggage? Now it happens every time.”
“This is Italy,” Jack replied, shrugging. “Somebody is always on strike for something. Tonight it’s baggage handlers, tomorrow it will be waiters or taxi drivers. To be fair, however, the first time your luggage left on the plane to Nevada without you was due to Max’s interference.”
“He might not have picked me for the job if you hadn’t caught everyone’s interest asking about the sword and Simon.”
“I thought you decided to take the job once Max told you Moran was involved.”
Why did the man always remember whatever it took to win an argument? He was right though. The first time was my boss’s fault. “Nevertheless, I blame you for getting our luggage stolen when Tony B’s guys towed away the Mercedes in Miami. We never did get any of the stuff back.”
“And we never will, so let it go.”
I stopped again and looked back toward the gate, making people drift around us as they moved out of the terminal. “You don’t think they’d let me get my own bag off the plane, do you?”
“Is crossing a picket line really how you want to spend your first night in Rome?”
“You’re right.” Time to buck up and change focus. I put my hand in the crook of his elbow and we resumed our journey. “Where are you taking me to dinner?”
“I thought room service would be nice. Got it all worked out with the concierge before I left.”
“If we were in Spain, it would be the beginning of dinner time,” I said. A yawn nearly split my jaw. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s contagious,” Jack said, yawning himself. “Proving I was right about dinner in the room.”
“Do I have a room down the hall?”
“It’s a suite. I want to keep everyone together.”
Rome is an amazing city—ancient, alive, and exhausting. I’d never choose a visit there in the scorching summer, but the tourists can be nearly as thick on a winter’s evening. If we’d arrived on tourist visas, as opposed to a whirlwind recon, I’d have divided the city into halves and hit favorite places like the Forum, Pantheon, Piazza Navonna, Trevi Fountain, and the Spanish Steps first. The next day charge to the Vatican museums, St. Peter’s Basilica, and Campo di Fiori.
As it was, we were too focused on work to play, but our hotel was within sight of the Trevi Fountain. I hadn’t seen it since the restoration funded by the Fendi fashion house, and I wanted to discover what a difference a couple of years scrubbing could make.
“Okay, a quick look,” Jack agreed. “Then it’s food and bed for both of us.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
The January air was brisk, our breaths coming out as fog, but the area was still choked with people enjoying the famous sight and favorite Travertine-stone fountain. Initially begun by Nicola Salvi in 1732 and completed by Giuseppi Pannini thirty years later, the commission didn’t have a smooth path politically when it was first awarded to a Florentine, Alessandro Galilei.
In the end, the outcome was spectacular with its papal coat of arms, plethora of angels, and even the shell chariot of Triton’s guide Oceanus as the hippocamps are tamed. The addition of the more than one hundred LED lights to update the illumination made an already glorious public art object take on almost supernatural aesthetics. Amazing what a 2.2-million-euro restoration budget accomplished.
My Fendi bag slipped from my shoulder as I stopped to rummage for a coin. Jack handed me one instead.
“On three. We’ll throw together,” he said, winking.
I smiled and pivoted with him, leaving our backs to the fountain.
“One, two…”
We tossed simultaneously with our right hands. The coins flew over our left shoulders, per tradition.
He put an arm around my shoulders and steered me again toward our hotel’s entrance.
“You know, of course, this means we’ll both return to Rome,” I said. “Think it will be together?”
“Would it be such a bad thing?”
I looked up at him. “Not if you always pick up the tab for dinner.” Movement in my peripheral vision from around the side of
the fountain suddenly turned everything serious. I leaned into Jack and whispered, “Let’s move. The Amazon is on the east side of the fountain.”
He stood straighter, but like a pro, didn’t whip his head around to look. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
He tried to get me to stay back, but I followed closely, and we kept the crowd blocking us from her view. As we dodged around loiterers and evening strollers, her height was a disadvantage. All the lights in the area easily let us follow her movements as it highlighted her auburn hair. But her height helped her spot us getting closer too. Her gaze locked with ours. She ran.
Jack passed me my carry-on so he could cut and run. I rummaged for something sharp in my Fendi in case he needed backup.
The Amazon zipped completely around the fountain like it was a roundabout, shoving people aside with her long arms. She disappeared into the dimness of a side street with Jack several strides behind. No point attempting to help him with a direct run. I angled down another street, hoping to catch her in a cross-connect. I heard a fast motor rev up and race away. Another second and Jack’s number appeared on my cell’s screen.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I responded. “I assume the engine I heard was her escape vehicle.”
“Correct.”
“I’ll meet you back at the square.”
When Jack saw me approaching Trevi Fountain again, he slid a gun back into the pocket of his leather bomber jacket. I’d never even realized he had a firearm.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the car before we left. Come on, let’s go to the hotel.”
“We might want to avoid the main entrance.”
“My thought exactly. Rear door it is.” Jack pulled me close again, steering our path toward another of the less illuminated side streets, all the while his gaze registering what was going on in every direction.
