No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Read online

  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.

  It wasn’t always that easy for him in the US Moving and assimilating into a new country had been a personal challenge on a number of fronts. Part of him had been thankful for the opportunity. Part of him struggled to fit in. Despite his affinity for languages, the English language had tripped him up on more than one occasion. Some of the cultural references and practices baffled him. Doggy bags in restaurants. Tailgate parties (a barbecue on the back of a truck bed?). No metric system. A somewhat puritan approach to the appreciation of the human body. Ice in every drink.

  His first experience with that had scarred him. Shortly after he arrived in the US, he’d ordered coffee at a café. They asked him if he wanted it hot or iced. He couldn’t even imagine the look of horror that had been on his face. What the hell kind of people drank iced coffee?

  He was completely charmed by other aspects of America, though. Americans had a reputation abroad for smiling and laughing a lot. He found that to be an accurate assessment. Americans seemed to deeply appreciate humor, even at their own expense. More importantly, they’d welcomed him when he needed a place to go, and he’d found a home there.

  It’d been Lexi who’d told him that home wasn’t a house—not even the brand-new house he’d built for her. He now understood that home wasn’t a country either. Home was where your heart belonged, where the people you loved anchored you. Home was where you could be your true self with people who loved you just as you were. That was still a hard concept for him to swallow. There were parts of him, his past, he never wanted known, especially to those he loved. He knew, better than most, that people could hurt or abandon those they loved for reasons that weren’t always clearly defined.

  He pushed that thinking away for the time being. It was time to prepare himself for the game.

  The only problem was, first he had to figure out what game they were playing.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lexi

  It was hard to concentrate at work when my mind was on overdrive worrying what was happening with Slash. He’d texted to let me know he’d arrived safely in Rome, but otherwise, I hadn’t heard another word. He needed to remain focused, but I didn’t like how any of this was playing out. He’d gone to Rome largely out of concern for me, and now he was shutting me out in a misguided attempt to protect me.

  It ticked me off.

  If he thought I was going to sit at home and play video games while he walked into potential danger, then he hadn’t learned enough about me yet. I was going to help him, even if he didn’t want it. He wasn’t going to go this alone. I needed only to organize my plan of attack. Luckily, I had a light day of work, because I knew exactly where I wanted to start.

  The package with the nkondi statue.

  That package most certainly held clues I needed to track down. At this point, all I had was the label with the shipping number and my home address. That meant a hack on Europin Shipping would be in order.

  Taking special precautions, I started the hack. Unfortunately, after conducting a thorough investigation of Europin’s defenses, I determined they had recently implemented top-of-the line cybersecurity measures. A hack was possible, but would take triple the time I’d expected.

  I’d have to revise my approach in the name of expediency. I jotted down notes and calculations on a pad of paper on my desk. Slash said the postmark had been from Rome, therefore, one certainty regarding the package was that it had been sent from one of three Europin locations there. The fact that it came from Rome meant that although there was no sender listed, there would have to have been a customs form, and by extension, a name and payment method attached in case of a claim.

  I briefly toyed with hacking into the US Customs’ site to get the information, but that, too, meant a lengthy hack. I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. There had to be a faster way in.

  Time to get myself some more coffee. On the way to the kitchen, it occurred to me that if the package had been declared lost, the shipper would be required to notify both the sender and the shipper’s insurance company to handle the claim. That meant if I could find out who the shipper’s insurance company was, I could penetrate that database and possibly come up with the information I needed.

  But first I had to find which company was the shipper’s insurer. After another hour of digging around I discovered Carriers’ Assurance International, or CAI for short, often worked with Europin. To confirm, I called CAI’s local office.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m following up on a lost package insured by CAI. Can you let me know the process for filing a claim and which forms I need to fill out?”

  “Sure.” The guy had a nice, cheerful voice. “You can get the forms online.” He directed me to a URL where all the pertinent forms and information were located.

  I spent the afternoon hacking into CAI’s systems but never made it all the way into the client database. I didn’t have to since I was able to penetrate their email system. It was enough to confirm that CAI was handling the insurance for my package, after I cross-referenced my shipping number.

  My next step was to get the two companies to share information about who’d actually shipped the package to me so I could intercept it. I took the claim form and filled it out with the shipping number and my address, declaring it was never delivered. Thankfully I wasn’t prompted to provide the shipper’s information, which was logical since I assumed they already had information linked to the shipping number.

  Unfortunately that was all I could do for the day, given the six-hour time difference between Rome and Washington. No one would read my claim until the morning. Right now everything was closed up and people were sleeping in Italy.

  I drove home from work, trying not to feel sad that Slash wouldn’t be there. When I got to the house, I made myself a bowl of Cheerios and ate it in front of the computer. It didn’t cheer me up. I gamed a bit, but my heart wasn’t in it. Feeling like I needed a change of pace, I pulled on a pair of shorts and worked out, running three miles on the treadmill and practicing my Krav Maga self-defense moves until sweat dripped down my face.

  After a while, I sat on the mat in the middle of the room, drinking water and feeling sorry for myself. I hated every minute of being alone. How had this happened to me—the girl who used to prefer solitude? I wondered if Slash had felt this way when I’d gone to the British Virgin Islands and he’d been left alone in this big house.

  The doorbell rang and I checked my phone app to see who was there. There was only one person I knew who was that short and would wear that particular shade of neon yellow. I ran down the stairs, disengaged the security alarm and opened the door.

  “Basia, what are you doing here at this hour?”

  “It’s nine o’clock.” She stepped into the house, shaking her short, dark bob and giving me a once-over. “OMG. Were you working out?”

  I felt mildly offended. “Don’t look so shocked.”

  “Are you kidding me?” My best friend pursed her lips and gave me the same affectionate, but slightly bewildered look she’d been giving me since our days as roommates at Georgetown.

  I crossed my arms defensively against my chest. “Well, I had to do something.”

  She kept looking at me, so a confession came tumbling out. “I miss Slash.”

  “Oh, honey.” Basia came in, closed the door behind her. “Finn told me that Slas
h took off for Rome yesterday. I figured you could use some girl time, but I also wanted to share some good news with you.” She held up a bottle of wine.

  Good news could mean anything to Basia. It could mean she’d found a fantastic pair of shoes on sale, the neighborhood café was serving triple espresso shot soy lattes or she’d got a raise. It was hard to anticipate. “What kind of good news?”

  She hopped on her feet in excitement. “I’ve been dying to tell you. Xavier and I found a house. We put an offer on it, and this afternoon, it was accepted.”

  That was pretty exciting news. “Really? Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. Now ask me where the house is located.”

  “Where’s it located?”

  “Three blocks from here.” She clutched my arm and gave a little squeal. “We can walk to each other’s house. Isn’t that awesome?”

  Wait, what? She and Xavier bought a home near ours?

  “Your house is in our neighborhood?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She beamed. “Xavier and I love this area so much, and we had the same issues you and Slash have with commuting. Now we’re neighbors.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, I adored Basia and often needed her advice on things ranging from languages (of which she spoke several), to relationships to fashion. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure what it meant in terms of how many times a month/week/day/hour she’d be at my house. I already saw her every day at work. Now I’d have to run some calculations on a spreadsheet to determine how I should feel. For now, I decided to express cautious optimism.

  “That’s definitely exciting, Basia.”

  She hugged me. “I’m totally stoked. It’s a brand-new chapter in our lives, right?”

  “Right.” After I reset the alarm, we went into the kitchen. I removed the cork and poured the wine while Basia grabbed some crackers and a block of cheese. We took everything into the living room and sat on the black leather couch.

  “Here’s to being practically roommates again.” Basia lifted her wineglass. “Isn’t it funny how life comes full circle?”

  It was interesting and perhaps statistically significant that we had remained in such close proximity over the past several years. I raised my glass and offered a toast. “Here’s to being neighbors.”

  We sipped our wine before Basia shifted on the couch, pulling her legs up beneath her. “Do you want to talk? Can you tell me why Slash dashed off so unexpectedly to Italy? Did it have anything to do with the fireworks at the party?”

  “Partially.” I gave her a quick rundown of the entire situation, including my hack into the shipping company and my hopes I could trace the package back to the sender in Rome.

  Her eyes widened. “Do you still have the statue? Can I see it?”

  “I do.” I retrieved it from the box Slash had left on our entry table, then handed it to Basia who cradled it gingerly.

  “Wow. That’s crazy scary. Why are there all these nails stuck in it?”

  I gave her the rundown on the evil spirits and oath enforcement thing. She set it down carefully on the coffee table. “What does a statue from the Congo have to do with Italy and Slash?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She picked up her wineglass and took a sip while studying the statue. “But he obviously did. That statue worried him enough to return to Rome.”

  “I know. Do you think that it’s symbolic of something?”

  “Possibly. It’s an angle to explore. Has Slash ever been to the Congo?”

  “I don’t know.” I stopped, looked at her in surprise. “Wait. Are you encouraging me to dig into this?”

  She waved a hand. “Of course I’m encouraging you. Do I know you or do I know you? Why suggest prudence or caution when I know you’ll never act that way? So, I might as well offer to help.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. There was family. There were friends, and there were friends who became family. Basia was my family in that way. “If I’m successful in tracking down the sender of the package, I may need your help translating documents or emails from Italian.”

  “Well, I’m your girl. Italian happens to be one of my favorite languages, after French.”

  “Thanks, Basia.” Emotion hit me again. “You’re the best friend ever.”

  “And now I’m your neighbor.” She held up her wineglass, smiling. “So, let the fun begin.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Slash

  Someone brushed up against him as he walked into the restaurant, and before he realized what he was doing, Slash pivoted slightly to his right, instinctively slipping his hand beneath his jacket for a gun he didn’t have.

  “Mi scusi.” A middle-aged man threw the phrase over his shoulder as he herded two young girls, probably twins, into the restaurant where he joined a brown-haired woman who was already seated at a table.

  He slowly removed his hand from beneath his jacket and forced himself to relax. Lack of sleep and food were putting him on edge. He needed to settle down, refuel and refocus. Jumping at shadows was not helpful. Situational awareness was key, and his thoughts were distracting him far too much lately.

  He’d arrived at the restaurant before Tito, so he requested a table in the back of the room. He took a seat facing all exits so he could see who was coming and going, and who might be paying undue attention to him.

  Hot, he removed his sports coat, revealing a white shirt with no shoulder holster. If there had been a problem at the restaurant entrance, he wouldn’t have solved it with a gun. He felt naked without it, but he had plenty of weapons stashed in various places around town and could easily get to them, as needed. Right now, he was on an information-gathering assignment only.

  He ordered a coffee and a glass of Gattinara, a full-blooded red wine, dry and crisp as hell. The coffee came before the wine and the first sip relaxed him immediately.

  Tito arrived less than five minutes later. He was tall, with his brown hair close to his scalp in a military cut. Dressed casually in a pair of khaki shorts, a green T-shirt and sandals. He spotted Slash and strode over for a hug and a handshake.

  “Good to see you, Nico. What brings you to our side of the world?” He spoke in Italian as a courtesy, but he answered him in Tito’s native German. It was safer in the unlikely event of eavesdropping, but it also gave the impression they were tourists. Blending in was always advantageous.

  “Figured it had been too long since we had a drink together,” he said.

  Tito laughed. “Yah, it really has.”

  They sat and he waved over the waitress to take Tito’s order. Tito ordered a glass of white wine and they perused their menus. When the waitress returned with the wine, Tito ordered the ravioli di capesante, a thick ravioli made with scallops, and a lettuce pesto. Slash chose the baccalà, a salt cod, and the fiori di zucca, zucchini flowers. When they were left alone, Tito leaned forward, regarding his friend across the table.

  “So, what brings you to Italy, old friend?”

  “Personal business.” Slash sipped his wine, enjoying the bold taste. “So, how’s work?”

  Tito Blickensdefer was a Swiss citizen, a good friend and a member of the Swiss Guard, the personal bodyguards of the pope. As a guard, Tito was stationed at the Vatican and sometimes did the changing-of-the-guard thing with high-stepping and fanfare every hour on the hour. However, what many people didn’t know was that the Swiss Guard also traveled with the pope in plain clothes to protect him from security threats. While they’d been trained for centuries to use a halberd—a combination of pike, ax and spear—the guardsmen were also experts at hand-to-hand combat and could adeptly use machine guns and Sig Sauer 9mm pistols. Tito was a regular on the pope’s security detail.

  Tito picked up his glass of wine and swirled the contents around. “My time is, unfortunately, limited. I turn thirty next month.”

 
Swiss Guards could be no more than thirty years of age, so Tito would have to head home unless he decided to stay and find work in Italy.

  Slash smiled and lifted his glass. “Then I wish you a Happy Birthday early. Many good returns.”

  “It’s been a ride.” Tito clinked their glasses together. “Now I’m trying to decide what else to do with my life. Being a Swiss Guard is all I’ve ever known.”

  “What are your options?”

  “Police, military intelligence, counterintelligence or maybe surveillance. I need to give it some more thought.”

  “You’d be good at any of those. It’s a new chapter in your life.”

  “It really is.”

  They talked a bit more about Tito’s discharge from the Swiss Guard until the waitress brought their food.

  Tito leaned forward, wagging a piece of ravioli on his fork. “So, how’s our girl?”

  “Our girl?”

  “You still together with Lexi, Nico? Because if not, I may have to make a trip to America and look her up.”

  Slash smiled easily, but he was pretty sure the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re engaged.”

  Tito’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in an exaggerated circle. “You? Engaged? You’re joking.”

  Slash laughed at his expression. “Come on. You can’t be that surprised.”

  “I can and I am. But not because I don’t think you make a good match. It’s because you are settling down. I never saw you as a family man.”

  “I never saw myself as that, either. But I asked her about a month ago.”

  “And she was crazy enough to say yes? I thought she was smarter than that.”

  “Apparently she had a moment of lapsed judgement of which I took full advantage.” He smiled, remembering how his proposal had gone awry. She’d stuck with him anyway and agreed to be his wife. It had been best day of his life.