Page 107 of No Stone Unturned

In.

Father Koenhein said something else in Italian. He sounded irritated, annoyed. I clenched my teeth together in full-on anxiety mode, hoping he would stay on the phone for a few more seconds.

Six, five, four, three.

Father Koenhein said something and moved to replace the receiver. I snatched the thumb drive, pulling it out and pretending to itch behind my shoulder as he swiveled around in the chair.

“I apologize,” he said. “The computer people know better than to call during working hours, but sometimes it’s an emergency.”

“I totally understand. I know you’re busy.” I shifted the thumb drive to my palm and brought my arm down by my side. “I think I’ve got enough material to work with and have taken up quite enough of your time.”

“What about the video?” he asked.

Oops. I totally forgot about the video.

“Of course. The video.” I reached into my purse, dropping the thumb drive inside and grabbing my phone. “Please tell our audience a little about yourself and what it’s like working at the Vatican.”

I set up the camera and he spoke for a few minutes. I intended to end the interview after the first question, but when he finished, I impulsively blurted out another question.

“How does it feel to come to work every day when your boss is the pope?” I asked.

He thought about the question and then answered, “It feels great to be a part of history. The new pope is quite refreshing in many ways. He is a man of the people. He does not desire the wealth or status of this position. He lives simply and treats all of us who work at the Vatican as equals. We’re never just the butler, the janitor, the driver or the clerk. He’s trying to bring about change in the Vatican, but...” He paused, considering. “But change is hard. It takes a lot of courage to stand up to beliefs and standards that are centuries old.”

He fell silent for a long moment, then abruptly stood. “Is that enough?”

I lowered the camera, feeling like we’d had a moment. It unnerved me more than I thought it would. “Yes. Thank you.” I clicked off my phone and stuck it in my purse. “I’ve taken up more than enough of your lunch time.”

“It was my pleasure. Will you send me a link to your article?”

“Um...sure. I can do that.”

As we were walking out of the building, he mentioned the crucifix around my neck. “Do you mind if I ask where you got that?” he asked. “It’s beautiful.”

I reached up to touch it with my gloved hand. “It was a gift from someone special.”

“I’ve only seen one crucifix like that before. It, too, was special.” We stopped on the stairs in front of the building where he made the sign of the cross over me. “Bless you, child. May your heart always be in the right place.”

“Thank you, Father. I sincerely wish the same for you.”

Chapter Fifty-Five

Slash

Slash was already neck-deep in a review of Cardinal Lazo’s email account when Lexi walked in. He looked up, giving her a smile and a thumbs-up.

“Did it work?” she asked him as she set her purse on the bed and took off the wig and gloves.

“It worked. It was close, but you did it. Good work, Agent Carmichael.”

“Ha, ha. Thank goodness, because I don’t think I could do that again. Way too much talking and smiling. I know I said it before, but I kind of liked him.” She came over and stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, looking at his screen. “Can I help?”

He reached behind him and pinned her hand beneath his. “You already have. The emails are all in Italian. I’ll take it from here.”

“Okay, if you need me, I’ll be on the balcony doing a little work of my own.”

He didn’t know what she was doing or how many hours passed as he worked steadily, ruthlessly, methodically. Lexi brought him coffee and food, but otherwise didn’t interrupt. He appreciated the ability to stay singular in his focus. She understood that was what he needed, and he valued her discretion highly.

When he finally pushed back from the desk, he realized it was dark outside. Lexi had fallen asleep in the balcony chair, a light blanket draped over her torso, the laptop open and running on the small table beside her. One arm hung loosely from the chair, the white bandages on her hands in stark contrast to the night. Her brown hair was loose and spread around her, the slender column of her throat open and vulnerable. His heart stumbled in his chest.

---