Page 13 of No Stone Unturned

It hadn’t been his finest moment. But it had to be done for her sake.

As soon as he’d seen the statue from the Congo addressed to her, he’d run a series of comparative risk analyses, exhaustively examined every potential outcome, every tradeoff he’d have to make by returning to Rome, and considered the danger to Lexi, to himself and to their relationship. In the end, he had to select the option that reduced the most risk. That meant he had to go to Rome alone and shut her out temporarily. It was far safer than her discovering what he’d done in the Congo. She didn’t understand how he’d come to this decision, and that it was truly based in logic. But seeing the hurt look on her face hadn’t set well with him. Still, he could manage the problem if he handled it right. He only had to keep his head in the game and approach this situation like all others—analytically and carefully. He couldn’t even contemplate the possibility of failing to solve it or what it might mean to their relationship.

He looked around the plane, thinking it was strange to be traveling without her. At this moment, he was truly alone. He hadn’t felt that way for some time, not since he’d met Lexi. Now that he’d shut her out and surrounded himself with his habitual cloak of isolation, he felt the loneliness engulf him. At one time, he’d accepted those feelings. Now they choked him.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt even though he wore no tie and had unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

The flight to Rome seemed to be taking longer than usual, although it was exactly the same route he always took. He was restless, unable to rest, concentrate on work, or relax. He paced the aisle, drank too many cups of coffee, and thought of Lexi constantly.

He’d told her he’d be careful, and he meant it. He’d gone from a man with nothing to lose to a man who would doanythingto protect the life he’d built. But this was about her. It had becomeallabout her. Whoever had summoned him had marked her. That made him not only pissed, but extremely dangerous.

He settled into the heavily upholstered seat, his gaze drifting out the window to the dark sky. He couldn’t figure out who was summoning him or why. But the reference to thenkondiand the Congo made it clear that the summons came from high up. Someone who knew things that were closely guarded at the top echelon of the Vatican.

There were plenty of people who knew of his particular skills, but only a few knew what he’d done in the Congo. Most of his colleagues in thesodalitium pianumhad burned out, washed out or simply checked out. A few had become addicted to the danger, adrenaline, and excitement of the hunt. When it ended, they had no idea how to fit back into society again. He’d been lucky to avoid that by having other talents to fall back on, and by having someone shepherd him in another direction.

Loneliness had become a way of life for most of them, himself included. It was safer and a lot less complicated that way. He’d been lonely for a long time, although never without company if he’d wanted it. Yet he couldn’t escape the irony that while he’d traveled all over the world, he’d never really had a home of his own or anyone waiting for him.

Until Lexi.

Until now.

He looked up as the flight attendant asked if she could bring him a drink. His gaze settled on the dazzling glass credenza where an impressive array of alcohol sparkled in crystal decanters. He shook his head, declining the offer. He needed to keep his wits about him, figure out what he could before he landed in Rome. It all came back to the Vatican. Who’d send such a threatening summons, and why? This was a deliberate, provocative and systematic campaign to bring him to Rome. He knew that, understood that, and yet he had no choice but to enter the game. He had too much at stake to do anything else.

He’d moved the first chess piece on the board, although he had no intention of playing by anyone else’s rules. Besides, he had a few moves of his own. The answers were out there, and he was confident he would get them.

Soon.

Slash

As soon as he landed and cleared customs, Slash picked up his rental car and made a call.

“Hallo?” The voice was cautious and accented.

“Tito? It’s me.” Slash spoke in German, Tito’s native tongue.

“Nico?”

“Si.”

“You’re home.” Tito’s voice was delighted. “It’s been a while.”

“It has. Since I happen to be in town, are you available for lunch?”

“It’s my day off. Where do you want to meet?”

“Il Bacaro?” Slash suggested. They’d eaten there before. It was a quiet restaurant, not overly packed with tourists, and had decent food. His stomach grumbled thinking about it, as he’d eaten nothing on the flight.

“I can be there in one hour. See you soon, my friend.”

“Ciao.” Slash punched off his phone, leaving it on the dashboard.

For a moment, he thought about what Tito had said.

You’re home.

Was he? It was easy to slide back into his old life, like slipping into a comfortable pair of jeans. As the familiar scenery flashed by and the voice on the radio chatted in his native language, the duality of his life hit him. Even though his heart now belonged in America with the woman he loved, it was impossible to wipe clean the slate that had once been his life here in Italy.

Italy was the country where he’d been born, where many members of his family still lived, and where he’d meet the young, widowed mother who would welcome a scared little boy with open arms, raising him along with the son she already had and the one she would have after she remarried. But it was more than that. He knew Italy, and Italy knew him. He fit seamlessly into the country, the landscape. He spoke the language, knew the nuances of the culture, and completely blended in when he walked down the street and ordered a glass of wine or a gelato. There was no effort required, no thinking. He was simply Italian.

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