Fatal Cover-Up

by Lisa Harris

  She jerked away, surprised at her response. How did she explain that she was scared stiff? That no matter how hard she tried to fight the panic that had welled up within her, it wouldn’t go away? And that she had no idea how to shake it?

  Instead of answering, she took him down a side street, to a quiet spot she knew was located off the beaten path, and slipped under a darkened archway. She’d always been drawn to the places off the main thoroughfares, where you’d never find tourists and their cameras. Her father had first showed her a number of Rome’s hidden jewels, and those excursions had given her a zeal for the city that went far deeper than simply a shopping list of famous attractions.

  She slowed down once they were inside the private courtyard and took in the familiar old buildings, with their twisted grapevines climbing up the sides, earth-colored paint jobs and flower-lined balconies. A woman glanced down from a third-story window and smiled before turning back to her laundry hanging in the wind above them. It was a quiet place, a reminder of what Rome had looked like decades ago. Simple. Unencumbered. And how her heart had once been before it had lost so much.

  She turned around to face Joe, then held up her palm to stop him from talking. Not yet. She needed her heart to stop racing. She didn’t need him feeling sorry for her. She just wanted to find a way to put an end to this before someone else got hurt.

  “I’m sorry.” She drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly then sat down on a cracked step leading up to one of the apartments. “I just need a quiet place to calm my nerves for a few minutes.”

  The sun shone on him as he looked down at her, bringing out red and blond highlights in his hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  She swallowed hard. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re an FBI agent. You know how to handle situations like this, but I don’t. I’m used to spending my days showing tourists this city, but this… I don’t know how to deal with people threatening my life and the lives of my family.”

  “Which is why I’m coming with you. So you don’t have to deal with this on your own.”

  “And if that’s not enough?” She heard her voice rising and pressed her lips together in an attempt to stop her emotions from spiraling out of control. He didn’t deserve her backlash. “The point is that you can’t guarantee my protection. Or my sister’s. We don’t know who’s behind this, but we do know how far they are willing to go. They’ve already murdered at least one person.”

  He sat down beside her. “Take a deep breath.”

  Talia frowned. She didn’t want to take a deep breath. She wanted to run away as far as she could and forget any of this happened. She wanted to go back to a time when all she had to worry about was the occasional obnoxious tourist. Not this.

  Besides, she’d come to Italy to get away from losing Thomas, and now it was as if it was starting all over again. She didn’t want to deal with her past. Didn’t want to relive to the moment when her heart had been broken by all the lies he’d told her.

  She looked at Joe, who was sitting just close enough to where their shoulders were touching on the narrow staircase. She really didn’t know anything about him. Only that he’d agreed to come with her, and that her heart kept telling her to trust him. But was his presence going to be enough to keep her safe? Thomas had been a cop, and it hadn’t saved him. Nor had it stopped him from betraying her.

  But Joe wasn’t Thomas. And it wasn’t fair for her to make that comparison.

  “I just feel as if it’s happening all over again,” she said, breaking the silence between them. “The days after Thomas’s death were like a nightmare. Not only did I have to deal with questions from our friends about what had happened, but the police believed that I knew about what he had been doing. That I had somehow been in on it. After he was killed they brought me in to an interrogation room, read me my rights and made me sit for hours of questioning.”

  “I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been.”

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the flow of memories from seeping through the cracked walls she’d diligently placed around herself. “How do you explain to your close friends, to his parents, that the man you’d fallen in love with and married—the man you’d trusted with your life—had been leading a double life? Once the police were finally convinced I wasn’t involved, I decided to move here. I was so tired of the questions and people avoiding me because they didn’t know what to say. Especially when all I needed was for them to ask me how I was doing, and did I need someone to talk to?”

  “Tell me about this place,” he said. “I’m assuming it’s not just a random courtyard you stumbled into.”

  He was trying to distract her. Giving her the time she needed to take back control of her emotions, despite the wave of reminders that refused to let up.

  “My father loved history. He brought us to Italy almost every summer while we were growing up. He came specifically to teach at one of the local universities, but during his time off we explored the city and countryside. And while at some point we hit all the famous tourist attractions, he and my mother always preferred discovering the places most visitors had never even heard of. The places where only the locals went.”

  “Like this little corner of the city.”

  She nodded. “We’d head off on Saturdays and Sunday afternoons and comb through cemeteries, and rose gardens, and churches. Then we’d head off to one of his favorite cafés and eat homemade pasta or dumplings. My father always complained about it not being quite as good as his Italian grandmother’s, but he always ended up ordering seconds and eating every bite.”

  She smiled at the memory, knowing things couldn’t have stayed the same, but how she’d do anything for one more meal sitting across the table from her father with the scent of fresh basil and mozzarella between them as they talked about history and politics.

  “And Thomas? Where did you meet him?”

  She hesitated at the question.

  “Thomas was the son of a colleague of my father’s. We were introduced one summer. I was smitten from day one. Thomas was four years older, so it took a bit longer for him, but he seemed…perfect. He was Italian, good-looking, and my father approved, which was important to me.”

  “And your parents now? Have they been supportive?”

  “They died in a car wreck before Thomas was killed. They never knew what he’d done. It would have crushed them. Just like it’s crushed his parents. None of us ever guessed what he’d been involved in. I still find it hard to believe.”

  Joe’s phone ran, pulling her back into the present.

  “Give me a second. It’s Esposito, my contact with the Italian crime team.”

  She watched Joe stand up and step away as he listened to his contact on the other end of the line. A minute later he hung up and turned back to her.

  “He was able to get some information on the man the police arrested at the Metro.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Matteo Arena. He hasn’t said much so far, but it sounds like you were right about him being scared. The officers interrogating him believe someone has been holding something over him.”

  “Blackmail.”

  Joe nodded.

  “What else has he told the police?”

  “Not much. He seems to be more scared of whoever hired him than the police. He hasn’t given them any names. But with us not there to press charges, there’s a good chance they’ll let him go eventually unless they can find some more evidence.”

  “But we need to keep going,” she said. Her heart had finally slowed down, but that didn’t mean the fear had completely vanished.

  “You don’t have to come to Venice with me. I can do it on my own.”

  She shook her head. “I want to come. I need to. Sitting here twiddling my thumbs will only drive me crazy.”

  “Okay.” He shoved his phone into his back pocket and hesitated. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but you can trust me.”

  �
��I’m trying.”

  “I know.”

  She let him help her up off the stair, then quickly pulled her hand away as she took one last look at the peaceful courtyard. “Let’s go.”

  *

  Fifteen minutes later, Joe stepped into the kind of cookie-cutter hotel room that could be found in any major city around the world. Its basic amenities consisted of a flat-screen TV, abstract art on the wall and a view of the parking lot. But he’d picked the chain for its location, not for its Italian charm. He pulled his backpack out of the hotel closet and dumped in enough clothes for the next couple of days, then stuck his wallet and passport inside a zippered pouch to hopefully deter pickpockets.

  He glanced at Talia, who stood at the long window looking out over a row of cars By the time they’d made it back onto the Metro, she’d seemed calmer. And instead of panic, that inner strength he’d first noticed—despite everything that had happened to her—had begun to emerge.

  Vulnerable yet capable. Broken yet still strong.

  There were still so many things he didn’t know about her. What triggered her panic? What calmed her down? He dropped in his shaving kit then zipped up his bag and dropped it onto the bed, wishing none of those questions mattered to him. But for some reason they did. She’d already dealt with losing her husband, and while her wounds seemed to be mostly healed, having to rehash the investigation and Thomas’s ultimate betrayal all over again couldn’t be easy.

  Still, he had to fight the feelings of familiarity. The feeling that he’d known her for years rather than just a few hours. Because he didn’t know her. Not really. He might have become good at reading people, but he’d barely scratched the surface of who she really was. And yet somehow, he couldn’t suppress his feelings of wanting to learn more about her.

  The problem was that as soon as this was over he was going to leave for Washington and she was going to stay here. Which was why any connection he might feel toward her didn’t matter. He’d do everything he could to protect her, but that didn’t mean falling for her. And even though he might understand what it meant to lose someone, he wasn’t going to let her vulnerability wedge a hole in his heart.

  He’d done that once before. Allowed his heart to get involved when he should have left well enough alone. That was the only way this job worked. Treating every case for what it was, a file with a number that needed to be solved. Because that’s what they were.

  That’s all Talia ever could be to him.

  “Better?” he asked, grabbing his charging cell phone off the table.

  She turned around and looked at him. “For the moment. I’m sorry I fell apart.”

  “I’ve already said you have nothing to be sorry about. You’ve been through a lot today, and unfortunately we both know it’s not over.”

  She shook her head and turned back to the window. “I’ve always been the strong one in the family. Especially after my parents died. My sister was always reminding me that I was the glue holding both of us together, but today… I don’t know. Maybe it’s all the memories of the past surfacing at the same time…but I feel anything but strong.”

  “Having to hold your family together isn’t easy.” He knew, because he’d tried that for years, as well.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “We’ll figure this out, Talia. I promise.”

  She nodded and picked up her bag. “I know. I just hope that in the meantime no one else gets caught in the crossfire.”

  He caught the pain in her eyes as she blinked back the tears. He knew what she was thinking. It wasn’t just her life that was hanging in the balance, it was her sister’s, as well. Which was why this case was different.

  Talia wasn’t just a number.

  And this time he wasn’t just trying stop the looting of rare artifacts from museums or catch a dealer trafficking art by making undercover deals in some shady hotel room. It was personal. He needed to ensure her safety from whoever had killed her husband. And make sure someone else didn’t die because of them.

  “You ready?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  He nodded, took one more look around the room, then shoved the hotel card key into his pocket and slipped into the hallway behind her.

  *

  Rome’s central train station was more like an airport terminal with its clusters of shops and restaurants, long lines of travelers pulling suitcases and dozens of ticket machines. An announcement was being made over the loudspeaker in Italian as he finished buying two tickets to Venice via Florence from one of the self-service machines.

  “Train’s leaving on time,” Talia said, repositioning her backpack on her shoulder as they merged back into the throng of travelers.

  “Good.” Joe glanced up at the large electronic departures board. “Which means we’ve got about ten minutes to get to the platform.”

  So far, so good. He didn’t think they were being followed, but they clearly weren’t out of the woods yet. Not until he had the paintings in his hand and he could put an end to this. Which had him once again second-guessing his decision to bring her with him. The crowded terminal made it harder to protect her, which meant he was simply going to have to be even more diligent. He continued studying passengers as they made their way to the platform, because while the man in the hoodie might be in police custody, he wasn’t the only one involved.

  The train had just arrived when they reached platform six. They stepped up onto the train and headed down the narrow aisle and found their assigned seats. He nodded at her to take the window seat, then sat down beside her. Passengers were filing onto the train and stowing bags above them before sitting down in their seats.

  “I was wondering if you had a file on the cases.” Talia unscrewed the lid to the bottle of water she’d bought and took a long drink. “I’d like to know everything there is about both cases and how they connect.”

  Joe reached for his backpack then pulled out a folder from the back zippered section. “I thought you might. I was given permission for you to see this, but let me warn you that there are a lot of codes, file numbers and redacted text throughout the paperwork.”

  Talia took the folder, opened it and began scanning the first page.

  She shook her head. “You’re right. I might need you to translate most of this. What’s CIPAV, for example?”

  Joe smiled. “That stands for Computer and Internet Protocol Address Verifier. It’s used to track and gather location data on suspects under electronic surveillance.”

  “Like Thomas?”

  “Not in this instance. He wasn’t on anyone’s radar until the night he died.” He glanced out the window as they pulled out of the station and the train began picking up speed. “But one of the suspects connected to the museum robbery was being watched by the FBI.”

  “So where do we start?” she asked.

  “I’d like to go over the list of everyone who was in on the raid that day, as well as the dealers and gang members connected to the case, and compare them to the list of people who were at the museum that day. I’m convinced there’s a connection.”

  “Didn’t the police already do that?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean something wasn’t missed.”

  She dropped the folder onto her lap and glanced up at him. “Can I ask you something first?”

  “Sure.”

  “Whenever you talk about this case—especially the museum robbery—your voice… I don’t know, but it seems like this is more than just another case. Like it’s personal to you.”

  Joe hesitated. Disconnecting his personal life from his work was usually easy. There were some divisions of the FBI where agents dealt with victims of violent crime and trauma on a regular basis. But for the most part, he spent his time investigating and recovering stolen pieces of art, and sorting mounds of paperwork. But she was right. This time there was no chance to escape the connection between the two cases. But he’d planned to avoid telling her about it. His jaw tensed. He’d convinced himself that there w
as no reason for her to know the truth behind his interest in the case. But if that was true, then why did he suddenly have the urge to tell her the entire story?

  “Joe…what is it?”

  He turned back to her and caught her gaze. “I told you about the man who was killed in a museum robbery? And how the bullet they found in the body matched the bullet that had killed your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  He stared out the window as the train whizzed by acres of green fields and passed small towns surrounded by groves of trees. He’d been told by a colleague that the views of the Italian countryside from the train were stunning, but he didn’t really see any of it. Instead, all he could see was a body with a bullet through the head, lying on a slab of concrete at the morgue.

  Something that never should have happened.

  “That man,” he said, turning back to her. “That man was my brother.”

  SIX

  “Your brother?” Talia caught the marked pain in Joe’s eyes. “Wow. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  As surprised as she was with his revelation, the all-too-personal facts of the case suddenly lined up. “Which means the gun that fired the shot and killed my husband killed your brother. And it explains why this isn’t just about finding some lost pieces of art.”

  “No.” He looked at her, seeming to stare right through her. “I’m here because I want to find out who killed my brother, and make sure it doesn’t happen again to someone else.”

  While she might be surprised at the connection between the two murders, from the moment they’d met outside the Colosseum she’d sensed an intensity toward his job. A purpose fueled by a hidden motivation. But this connection to the case and the death of his brother… She hadn’t realized it was so personal. His brother’s death explained that motivation. Explained his insistence on coming with her to Venice to find the paintings. He was determined to find whoever was behind this and hand them over to the authorities himself.

  Two connected murders. One gun. No suspects. He wanted—needed—closure to the case. And she understood why. She needed the same thing, as well.