Page 7 of Ground Truth

“Mr. Flint. I thought we were meeting at the station?”

“Change of plans.” He had to grab for a handhold to stay upright. He wasn’t sure if his loss of balance was from the impact of his head with the roof or if the train had taken a slight curve.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’ve had better days.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Probably just a minor concussion.”

“Did you pass out?”

“No.”

“You should sit.”

“In a moment.” He pulled the foam-encased violin from his back and handed it to her. “Yours, I believe.”

Blunt took the bundle, a look of horror on her face. “What’s happened to it?”

“What hasn’t happened to it?” He sank into a seat. “But seriously, it’s sealed in foam for insulation and protection.”

She turned it over, examining the rips and scratches. “I…don’t know what to say.”

“Hedinger isn’t the kind of man to forgive and forget. From his point of view, you’ve stolen what belongs to him. You’ll need to double your security for a while.”

“I should have doubled it before I allowed that swine into my home,” Maria replied with menace. “It’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

Flint leaned back and placed his head on the headrest. When he closed his eyes, the dizziness was overwhelming. “You did arrange a car at the station, didn’t you?”

“And driver, as agreed.”

“And your yacht?”

“Fueled and ready at Marina di Varazze,” she said. “We’ll be in Italy in thirty minutes.”

“Excellent. I’m looking forward to a few days in a deck lounge.” Flint closed his eyes, fighting nausea and a killer headache.

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Chapter 5

Newark, New Jersey

Hanna Campbell glanced at the clock and dragged herself out of bed after an uneasy night’s sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed to practice inhaling oxygen and clearing her lungs without coughing. She’d finally won her battle with dangerously drug-resistant tuberculosis, but the old habits and haunting memories lingered.

Even as she craved the oblivion of sleep, silence and darkness and isolation frightened her beyond all reason these days.

Gone was the tenacious, hard-charging, brave young woman she’d been in college. The young Hanna had been so sure, so determined, so self-reliant. Hanna often wondered whether a small seed of that girl might still exist somewhere deep in her bones. A seed from which the stronger, braver Hanna might grow anew.

Humans are a resilient species, her doctors had said many times when Hanna was close to despair. Her hair and strength had begun to return over the long months of treatment and recovery. Perhaps her courage would regenerate somehow, too.

When Hanna was first released from prison weeks ago, she had sent letters and made phone calls to her sister. All of them went unanswered. After a while, Hanna had come to believe Greta must be dead. As stubborn and rigid and angry as Greta had been when they parted, surely her sister would have replied at least once if she was still living, wouldn’t she?

Hanna glanced toward the corner of her bedroom where the television offered constant reassurance and provided the soundtrack of her life with around-the-clock programming. Colorful images and silly comedies and cheerful noises soothed her overwhelming anxiety. First during her long hospitalization after she was released from prison. Now as a comforting companion.

Hanna sipped from a water glass as she reached for the remote and raised the volume. She flipped through the channels, pausing briefly on the cooking shows, more briefly on the dreadful news, seeking the old movies from an easier, simpler time.

When she landed on yet another replay of last month’s royal wedding in London, she let the images mesmerize her. She tuned out the commentary, staring once more at the pageantry of it all. Thirty-two million pounds spent to produce any wedding was a stunning amount of money. Hanna couldn’t wrap her head around it.

More than two hundred and fifty members of the British Armed Forces, the reporter said. Many rode as escorts on beautiful horses or lined the streets to corral the crowds as the procession passed. Families of the bride and groom waving toward the crowds from horse-drawn carriages. The whole production was jaw dropping.

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