Fatal Error, page 3
CHAPTER FOUR
Jess sat in a small, square police interview room. Her back ached from the hours she’d spent in one of the room’s two small plastic chairs. They were light, one-piece scoops that flexed as she moved. The kind of cheap seats found on patios the world over. The second white scoop was directly facing her on the other side of a heavy-duty aluminum table bolted to the floor. The table’s surface had been polished to remove graffiti scratched into the metal. The result was only half successful. The words it bore were in Italian, but they were obvious enough to keep her from resting her arms on its surface.
A single overhead light cast a yellow hue on thickly painted walls. They bore more pictures than words, and the same effort had been put into removing them, with the same imperfect results. Jess suspected it was a losing battle.
She shifted her weight in the chair. It was hard, cold, and uncomfortable, much like the rest of her experience in the room.
The Italian police had taken her phone and her belongings. They’d also taken a mug shot, her fingerprints, and a blood sample. The latter done by a nurse who communicated only in grunts and the waving of a needle.
They hustled her into the interview room, and left her for hours before a man who introduced himself as Colonnello Vanelli had questioned her. His suit flattered his tall physique, broad in the shoulders and trim at the waist.
In the moments when he wasn’t glowering at her, his face was good enough for the front page of any magazine. Dark hair, gleaming white teeth, olive skin, smoldering brown eyes. In any other circumstance, she would have been okay with his undivided attention. But not in a police interview room when she’d been detained on unspecified charges in a foreign country.
She’d explained about Roger and Harriet’s desperate attempt to get their son back, about Luigi and Enzo Ficarra, and the ransom. She’d told him about the planned handover at the Rome Airport when the couple landed.
Colonnello Vanelli was unimpressed. He didn’t believe her claim that she had become caught up in the affair. Nor did he believe that her escapade at the airport was simply a concerned citizen acting in the public’s best interest.
She had been on the verge of explaining about Morris and the FBI when Vanelli had taken a call and left the room.
That was an hour ago.
She stood up, the plastic chair scraping on the hard floor. Her stomach growled, and she wanted to do the same. What right did they have to hold her? What did they really have against her? That she’d chased a man from the airport with her camera? And why the hell weren’t they more interested in Wilson and the Ficarras?
The door creaked. She jerked her head in its direction.
FBI Special Agent Henry Morris walked in, his lips a thin line across his face, and his eyebrows pushed down, almost meeting in the middle of his forehead. His breaths came in snorts through his nose. He kicked the door closed without taking his eyes from her.
She took a deep breath. “Hello, Henry.”
He grunted. “Sit down.”
“I just got up.” She sat and he perched on the edge of the table.
He didn’t smile. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“He was there. Enzo Ficarra.”
“I’m interested in what you’re doing here.”
She leaned back in her chair. “You saw the Grantlys. Do you think I’m going to abandon them?”
“This is a law enforcement issue, not interesting fodder for your magazine.”
“I—”
He held his hand up. “No. That’s not a discussion point.”
She shrugged.
“You’re in some serious trouble here, Jess.” He ran both hands over his head. “Italian laws are not as lenient as ours. You’ve got to know that.”
She looked down. Problem was, she did know. It was easy to do something illegal here. She’d been briefed.
“The carabinieri want to lock you up.”
“For what?”
“You gave them a laundry list to choose from.”
“They can’t—”
“Aiding and abetting? Here, that’s two to five.”
“I wasn’t aiding or abetting any—”
He placed a hand on her forearm. “These people don’t play games, Jess. Carabinieri take on the mafia, terrorists, serious stuff. They’re the go-to guys when the CIA wants something done over here.”
“Do you think I popped out of the ether the morning I met you?” She scowled at his hand and shook it off her arm. “Carabinieri. A branch of the Italian military. Sort of a very serious and well-trained police force, but more. Red and Blue colors. Colonnello Vanelli in charge. I get it.”
“You know the op you screwed up was ROS, the special ops end of the carabinieri.” He cleared his throat, “Raggruppamento Operativo Speciale.”
Her lips twitched at Morris’s struggle to enunciate.
He leaned down, maybe to avoid being overheard or recorded. “It’s not funny, Jess.”
She shook her head. “I’m not laughing.”
“You screwed up their operation.” He jerked his fist, thumb out, toward his chest. “Our operation. One reason I was late? Twisting the arm of our liaison in Rome to get the Italians to help us.”
“Why?” She frowned and her eyes narrowed. “They should want to help. This is a crime. On their soil. It’s their job.”
“Maybe. We think. We don’t know for sure.” He sighed and shook his head. “We’re asking a favor here. Quite a few favors. We can’t bite the hand that helps us.”
“Look, we’re doing them a favor, aren’t we? If we find this guy, they lock him up. Italians are safer, too, right?” She shrugged. “What else can I say?”
Morris’s nostrils flared. He blew a long stream of air through stiff lips. “I damn well nearly didn’t get approved for this operation, Jess. The things I had to promise defy belief. So how about you don’t make my job any harder than it already is? Can you do that much?”
She cocked her head and said nothing.
“Between us,” he lowered his voice, “the State Department isn’t thrilled about the FBI working outside the U.S. They’re trying to shut us down, here and all over the world. Cut costs. Leave U.S. interests to foreign governments. Replace us with paper pushers.”
“I see.” She frowned. “Maybe I could highlight that problem in my story. Sometimes shining a bright light on dumb ideas gets that kind of thing abandoned before it gets started.”
“Story?” His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared again. “You have no story. Nothing. Nada. You dare publish one word of—”
“Take it easy, Morris.” She held up her hands, palms out. “I’m not publishing anything. Not yet, anyway. Remember me? I’m on your side.”
He narrowed his eyes and gazed into hers as if he might read her mind and her heart. “Okay, Jess. Let’s start over. Another reason I was late getting in here to talk to you? Keeping your name out of the papers. You were arrested today. Booked. Your involvement in this is a matter of public record now.”
Her breath caught. She’d been wrapped up in getting free of Colonnello Vanelli and finding Enzo Ficarra before he killed Wilson Grantly. Publicity over her arrest hadn’t been as high on her radar as it should have been.
“The Ficarras aren’t the sort to forgive and forget,” Morris said. “Last thing we need is for Enzo to find out you shot his brother before we have him behind bars.”
“You’re right. Of course. My arrest would likely be international news because of Taboo. Thanks.” She nodded and gnawed on the inside of her lip. “The only edge we have here is the element of surprise. We need to work quickly before we lose that. I’ll be more careful.”
“We? What ‘we’?” He shook his head. “Jess, I could leave you here. You’d have to call Taboo and get their lawyers to persuade the Italians to let you go. By the time that happened, we’d have completed the Ficarra operation. That’s what Colonnello Vanelli wants me to do, anyway.”
“You could do that.” Jess narrowed her eyes and nodded. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, but her voice was steady. “You’d both have a big black eye in the press to show for it, though. And you’d be throwing away one of your biggest assets here.”
“That’s what I told Vanelli. I told him you were close to the Grantlys. I told him you could act as a private citizen and do things we can’t do and we can’t stop you, even if we might want to. I explained that you are the one who found Luigi in New York and disabled him until we arrived.” Morris stopped for a deep breath. “And so far, he’s been listening to me. But he’s not required to, Jess. I’ve only got so much persuasive power here.”
“He was there. Enzo Ficarra. I saw him.” She stood rigidly straight, fists clenched at her sides, chin out, and defiance bubbling in every fiber of her body.
“So, you thought you’d just run after him? Chase him off? Scare him with your overnight bag?” Morris stood, too. His voice rose to near shouting. “You think Enzo Ficarra goes anywhere without some serious firepower? Where was your backup?”
She clamped her jaw tight. Lips pressed hard together. Eyes narrowed. Heat rose into her face, but she said nothing. And she didn’t look away.
“Do you think I’m so damn stupid, I couldn’t organize a sting in twelve hours?” Morris’s nostrils flared and his face flushed. “You think I was going to let him walk away because I couldn’t find enough clean underwear to go traveling around the world?”
And there you have it. Morris was pissed because she’d underestimated him. He felt disrespected. Well, welcome to my world.
But putting a label on his reaction calmed her. He wasn’t throwing his weight around. He was defending his turf. Which was something she understood totally.
“Okay.” She relaxed her posture and her tone. “He was there. At the airport.”
“And we have to assume that he saw you, as well.” Morris seemed to stand down a bit, too, as if he’d lost some of his iron-fisted control and he didn’t like it. “By now Enzo Ficarra knows all about us. And he’ll adapt. If we’re not smart about all of this, he’ll kill Wilson Grantly and leave us in the dust.”
“He really wants that money, though. Look at everything he’s gone through to get it.” Jess stood and paced the room. It felt good to stretch a bit. “He’ll consider it a debt of honor to best us. To avenge his brother.”
Morris finally moved to sit in the chair opposite. His shoulders sank a little more. His glower softened. He unclenched his teeth.
“You did a great job stateside. You turned up things we didn’t.” He nodded curtly, but his voice was calmer, all business again. “And I want to find Enzo Ficarra, and drag him back to the U.S. at least as much as you do.” He leaned forward. “So, let us do our job.”
She nodded. She wanted him to do his job. But she fully intended to keep her promises to the Grantlys and to do her job, too.
“Can you use the video and the photos I shot?”
Morris shook his head. “The man you chased wasn’t Enzo Ficarra.”
“What do you mean? It had to be him.” The air in the room grew stifling. Jess tugged on her collar. She frowned. “The bags had the Grantlys’ names on them. Who else would want their luggage?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Morris sighed. “I wrote those name tags. I even bought the damn suitcases last night at JFK. And at airport prices.”
Jess blinked. “And the money?”
“Went through diplomatic channels.” He leaned forward. “You didn’t think we were going to stuff cash in a bag and send it economy, did you?”
Her shoulders sagged.
Morris shook his head. “You chased the wrong guy, Jess. You probably scared some tourist half out of his wits.”
“He took the Grantlys’ bags.”
“Not the first time someone’s walked off with the wrong luggage. Won’t be the last.”
“But…but, didn’t you have a transmitter or something? In the cases?”
Morris scowled. “Europe. Different frequency or it got damaged or something. It worked and then it didn’t. We’re looking into it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t you bring your own receiver?”
“What do you take me for?” His nostrils flared again. “I’ve driven half the city waving the thing out of the window, and nothing.”
“And the farm? Two hours north of Rome? The phone calls. You said Wilson—”
“I know what I said, Jess. And there is a farm two hours north of here. It’s on a hillside. They grow olives. An old family business that supplements its income with tours. They even have a gift shop. With a phone booth.” He sagged back in his chair. His red-eye flight in coach class was beginning to get to him. “Anyone could have used it.”
Jess looked down at her hands. He was glad of the quiet. He rolled his head around, stretching his neck.
“We know what will happen if the ransom isn’t paid,” she said.
“Certainly do.”
She lifted her head. “Was Enzo at the airport?”
“Don’t know. Vanelli’s got a team scouring surveillance videos.”
“Wilson?”
Morris shrugged. “Same thing. Vanelli’s men didn’t see Wilson anywhere, but until they’ve reviewed the videos we won’t know much.”
She let out a long sigh. “When can I get out of here?”
“Vanelli wants you locked up until they have a line on Enzo and Wilson.”
“A line?”
Morris grimaced. “One dead, one alive sounds like his preference.”
“Mine, too.” She nodded. “The man I chased. He took the Grantlys’ luggage.”
“So I heard.”
“You’ve seen the videos?”
He shook his head. “Vanelli had a man at the lost luggage counter.”
“The slow guy?”
Morris nodded. “Guess he was just in character.”
She rolled her eyes. “How could I have missed that?”
Morris grinned. “I keep asking myself the same question.”
She shook her head. Slow. Her jaw locked in place.
“You okay?” he said.
She swallowed. “Wilson might be a slime ball for dragging Roger and Harriet into this, but they’re his parents, and I promised them. I remember Harriet’s face. Her eyes.”
“We’re going to get him back, Jess. We are. You can’t think otherwise, or this job just becomes too much.”
She rolled her shoulders and stretched tension from her neck. “What’s going to happen next?”
He pushed his lips out and moved them around, thinking. “Vanelli doesn’t trust you. He’s suspicious by nature. All cops are. He thinks you could be working with the Ficarras. Or a rival.”
She slapped her hand to her forehead. “Oh, good grief.”
Morris shrugged. “I’m just telling you the facts.”
“Great. Can’t you use your influence? Get me released.”
He laughed. “This is Italy, not Little Italy. I don’t have a lot of power here.”
She shrugged. “So you said.”
“They’re good people, Jess. They want the same things we do.”
She snorted. “That’s pretty hard to tell from where I’m sitting.”
“Stop fighting the system, Jess.” He sighed and shrugged at the same time.
She clenched her teeth.
He leaned over the table. “We can both be useful. You just have to stay out of the enforcement side of the business. Understand?”
She opened her mouth a fraction. “Meaning?”
“You keep away from Ficarra.”
“No. You said, we can both be useful. I have a job to do, just like you do.” She squared her shoulders. “The right kind of publicity released at the right time can only help, Morris. You know that.”
Morris shook his head. “You’re a civilian. It’s my job to keep you away from people like the Ficarras. But I’ll keep you informed,” he leaned forward, “as long as you keep everything off the record until we have Ficarra and Grantly where we want them.”
“So I’m part of the team?”
He paused. She’d been key to bringing down Luigi, and she could be a key part in Enzo as well. But it was a risk. A big risk. He wasn’t on American soil. He didn’t have any power. He was wholly dependent of the goodwill of the carabinieri. And goodwill could change in a moment.
But she didn’t back down, and if it came to it, the suggestion of bad publicity for the Italian authorities might be a bargaining chip he could use.
He nodded. “Part of my team. The Italians, I can’t speak for. But I’ll keep you informed.”
“All the time?”
He nodded.
“I can live with that.” She gestured to the door. “And Vanelli?”
He levered himself out of his chair. “He’s persuadable.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jess stirred in her bed. The thinnest slice of light crept around the edges of the drapes. She rolled on her side, and drew the duvet tighter around her shoulders. The bed was divine.
She breathed out, relaxing her muscles, and quieting her thoughts. She breathed in, savoring the scent of the linen, only to breathe out, and do it all again. She closed her eyes.
How long had it been since she had gone to bed without setting an alarm? She couldn’t remember, and lying in the arms of Morpheus’s own bed, she didn’t care.
The light under the drapes spread across the room, thickening and fanning out. Long shadows eased into crisp edged lines of darkness that traced their way from the legs of the furniture. She lay still, leaving the chemicals that numbed her arms and legs to work their magic, washing away the Atlantic crossing, the time changes, and the memories of the carabinieri’s interview room.
This was what she needed. It was what her body and her mind craved. A break from pressure and tension. Relief from the weight of responsibility. Peace for her conscience.
Though…
She rolled onto her back. Enzo Ficarra was still at large, and Wilson Grantly was still a hostage. She sighed, and ran a hand across the gentle form of the duvet. Wilson’s fate was in the hands of the FBI and the carabinieri. Despite the events of the previous day, they were good hands. Yet Harriet’s eyes were ingrained on her memory, and Jess wouldn’t accept anything less than her best, fullest, most complete effort to save Wilson.
Jess sat in a small, square police interview room. Her back ached from the hours she’d spent in one of the room’s two small plastic chairs. They were light, one-piece scoops that flexed as she moved. The kind of cheap seats found on patios the world over. The second white scoop was directly facing her on the other side of a heavy-duty aluminum table bolted to the floor. The table’s surface had been polished to remove graffiti scratched into the metal. The result was only half successful. The words it bore were in Italian, but they were obvious enough to keep her from resting her arms on its surface.
A single overhead light cast a yellow hue on thickly painted walls. They bore more pictures than words, and the same effort had been put into removing them, with the same imperfect results. Jess suspected it was a losing battle.
She shifted her weight in the chair. It was hard, cold, and uncomfortable, much like the rest of her experience in the room.
The Italian police had taken her phone and her belongings. They’d also taken a mug shot, her fingerprints, and a blood sample. The latter done by a nurse who communicated only in grunts and the waving of a needle.
They hustled her into the interview room, and left her for hours before a man who introduced himself as Colonnello Vanelli had questioned her. His suit flattered his tall physique, broad in the shoulders and trim at the waist.
In the moments when he wasn’t glowering at her, his face was good enough for the front page of any magazine. Dark hair, gleaming white teeth, olive skin, smoldering brown eyes. In any other circumstance, she would have been okay with his undivided attention. But not in a police interview room when she’d been detained on unspecified charges in a foreign country.
She’d explained about Roger and Harriet’s desperate attempt to get their son back, about Luigi and Enzo Ficarra, and the ransom. She’d told him about the planned handover at the Rome Airport when the couple landed.
Colonnello Vanelli was unimpressed. He didn’t believe her claim that she had become caught up in the affair. Nor did he believe that her escapade at the airport was simply a concerned citizen acting in the public’s best interest.
She had been on the verge of explaining about Morris and the FBI when Vanelli had taken a call and left the room.
That was an hour ago.
She stood up, the plastic chair scraping on the hard floor. Her stomach growled, and she wanted to do the same. What right did they have to hold her? What did they really have against her? That she’d chased a man from the airport with her camera? And why the hell weren’t they more interested in Wilson and the Ficarras?
The door creaked. She jerked her head in its direction.
FBI Special Agent Henry Morris walked in, his lips a thin line across his face, and his eyebrows pushed down, almost meeting in the middle of his forehead. His breaths came in snorts through his nose. He kicked the door closed without taking his eyes from her.
She took a deep breath. “Hello, Henry.”
He grunted. “Sit down.”
“I just got up.” She sat and he perched on the edge of the table.
He didn’t smile. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“He was there. Enzo Ficarra.”
“I’m interested in what you’re doing here.”
She leaned back in her chair. “You saw the Grantlys. Do you think I’m going to abandon them?”
“This is a law enforcement issue, not interesting fodder for your magazine.”
“I—”
He held his hand up. “No. That’s not a discussion point.”
She shrugged.
“You’re in some serious trouble here, Jess.” He ran both hands over his head. “Italian laws are not as lenient as ours. You’ve got to know that.”
She looked down. Problem was, she did know. It was easy to do something illegal here. She’d been briefed.
“The carabinieri want to lock you up.”
“For what?”
“You gave them a laundry list to choose from.”
“They can’t—”
“Aiding and abetting? Here, that’s two to five.”
“I wasn’t aiding or abetting any—”
He placed a hand on her forearm. “These people don’t play games, Jess. Carabinieri take on the mafia, terrorists, serious stuff. They’re the go-to guys when the CIA wants something done over here.”
“Do you think I popped out of the ether the morning I met you?” She scowled at his hand and shook it off her arm. “Carabinieri. A branch of the Italian military. Sort of a very serious and well-trained police force, but more. Red and Blue colors. Colonnello Vanelli in charge. I get it.”
“You know the op you screwed up was ROS, the special ops end of the carabinieri.” He cleared his throat, “Raggruppamento Operativo Speciale.”
Her lips twitched at Morris’s struggle to enunciate.
He leaned down, maybe to avoid being overheard or recorded. “It’s not funny, Jess.”
She shook her head. “I’m not laughing.”
“You screwed up their operation.” He jerked his fist, thumb out, toward his chest. “Our operation. One reason I was late? Twisting the arm of our liaison in Rome to get the Italians to help us.”
“Why?” She frowned and her eyes narrowed. “They should want to help. This is a crime. On their soil. It’s their job.”
“Maybe. We think. We don’t know for sure.” He sighed and shook his head. “We’re asking a favor here. Quite a few favors. We can’t bite the hand that helps us.”
“Look, we’re doing them a favor, aren’t we? If we find this guy, they lock him up. Italians are safer, too, right?” She shrugged. “What else can I say?”
Morris’s nostrils flared. He blew a long stream of air through stiff lips. “I damn well nearly didn’t get approved for this operation, Jess. The things I had to promise defy belief. So how about you don’t make my job any harder than it already is? Can you do that much?”
She cocked her head and said nothing.
“Between us,” he lowered his voice, “the State Department isn’t thrilled about the FBI working outside the U.S. They’re trying to shut us down, here and all over the world. Cut costs. Leave U.S. interests to foreign governments. Replace us with paper pushers.”
“I see.” She frowned. “Maybe I could highlight that problem in my story. Sometimes shining a bright light on dumb ideas gets that kind of thing abandoned before it gets started.”
“Story?” His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared again. “You have no story. Nothing. Nada. You dare publish one word of—”
“Take it easy, Morris.” She held up her hands, palms out. “I’m not publishing anything. Not yet, anyway. Remember me? I’m on your side.”
He narrowed his eyes and gazed into hers as if he might read her mind and her heart. “Okay, Jess. Let’s start over. Another reason I was late getting in here to talk to you? Keeping your name out of the papers. You were arrested today. Booked. Your involvement in this is a matter of public record now.”
Her breath caught. She’d been wrapped up in getting free of Colonnello Vanelli and finding Enzo Ficarra before he killed Wilson Grantly. Publicity over her arrest hadn’t been as high on her radar as it should have been.
“The Ficarras aren’t the sort to forgive and forget,” Morris said. “Last thing we need is for Enzo to find out you shot his brother before we have him behind bars.”
“You’re right. Of course. My arrest would likely be international news because of Taboo. Thanks.” She nodded and gnawed on the inside of her lip. “The only edge we have here is the element of surprise. We need to work quickly before we lose that. I’ll be more careful.”
“We? What ‘we’?” He shook his head. “Jess, I could leave you here. You’d have to call Taboo and get their lawyers to persuade the Italians to let you go. By the time that happened, we’d have completed the Ficarra operation. That’s what Colonnello Vanelli wants me to do, anyway.”
“You could do that.” Jess narrowed her eyes and nodded. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, but her voice was steady. “You’d both have a big black eye in the press to show for it, though. And you’d be throwing away one of your biggest assets here.”
“That’s what I told Vanelli. I told him you were close to the Grantlys. I told him you could act as a private citizen and do things we can’t do and we can’t stop you, even if we might want to. I explained that you are the one who found Luigi in New York and disabled him until we arrived.” Morris stopped for a deep breath. “And so far, he’s been listening to me. But he’s not required to, Jess. I’ve only got so much persuasive power here.”
“He was there. Enzo Ficarra. I saw him.” She stood rigidly straight, fists clenched at her sides, chin out, and defiance bubbling in every fiber of her body.
“So, you thought you’d just run after him? Chase him off? Scare him with your overnight bag?” Morris stood, too. His voice rose to near shouting. “You think Enzo Ficarra goes anywhere without some serious firepower? Where was your backup?”
She clamped her jaw tight. Lips pressed hard together. Eyes narrowed. Heat rose into her face, but she said nothing. And she didn’t look away.
“Do you think I’m so damn stupid, I couldn’t organize a sting in twelve hours?” Morris’s nostrils flared and his face flushed. “You think I was going to let him walk away because I couldn’t find enough clean underwear to go traveling around the world?”
And there you have it. Morris was pissed because she’d underestimated him. He felt disrespected. Well, welcome to my world.
But putting a label on his reaction calmed her. He wasn’t throwing his weight around. He was defending his turf. Which was something she understood totally.
“Okay.” She relaxed her posture and her tone. “He was there. At the airport.”
“And we have to assume that he saw you, as well.” Morris seemed to stand down a bit, too, as if he’d lost some of his iron-fisted control and he didn’t like it. “By now Enzo Ficarra knows all about us. And he’ll adapt. If we’re not smart about all of this, he’ll kill Wilson Grantly and leave us in the dust.”
“He really wants that money, though. Look at everything he’s gone through to get it.” Jess stood and paced the room. It felt good to stretch a bit. “He’ll consider it a debt of honor to best us. To avenge his brother.”
Morris finally moved to sit in the chair opposite. His shoulders sank a little more. His glower softened. He unclenched his teeth.
“You did a great job stateside. You turned up things we didn’t.” He nodded curtly, but his voice was calmer, all business again. “And I want to find Enzo Ficarra, and drag him back to the U.S. at least as much as you do.” He leaned forward. “So, let us do our job.”
She nodded. She wanted him to do his job. But she fully intended to keep her promises to the Grantlys and to do her job, too.
“Can you use the video and the photos I shot?”
Morris shook his head. “The man you chased wasn’t Enzo Ficarra.”
“What do you mean? It had to be him.” The air in the room grew stifling. Jess tugged on her collar. She frowned. “The bags had the Grantlys’ names on them. Who else would want their luggage?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Morris sighed. “I wrote those name tags. I even bought the damn suitcases last night at JFK. And at airport prices.”
Jess blinked. “And the money?”
“Went through diplomatic channels.” He leaned forward. “You didn’t think we were going to stuff cash in a bag and send it economy, did you?”
Her shoulders sagged.
Morris shook his head. “You chased the wrong guy, Jess. You probably scared some tourist half out of his wits.”
“He took the Grantlys’ bags.”
“Not the first time someone’s walked off with the wrong luggage. Won’t be the last.”
“But…but, didn’t you have a transmitter or something? In the cases?”
Morris scowled. “Europe. Different frequency or it got damaged or something. It worked and then it didn’t. We’re looking into it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t you bring your own receiver?”
“What do you take me for?” His nostrils flared again. “I’ve driven half the city waving the thing out of the window, and nothing.”
“And the farm? Two hours north of Rome? The phone calls. You said Wilson—”
“I know what I said, Jess. And there is a farm two hours north of here. It’s on a hillside. They grow olives. An old family business that supplements its income with tours. They even have a gift shop. With a phone booth.” He sagged back in his chair. His red-eye flight in coach class was beginning to get to him. “Anyone could have used it.”
Jess looked down at her hands. He was glad of the quiet. He rolled his head around, stretching his neck.
“We know what will happen if the ransom isn’t paid,” she said.
“Certainly do.”
She lifted her head. “Was Enzo at the airport?”
“Don’t know. Vanelli’s got a team scouring surveillance videos.”
“Wilson?”
Morris shrugged. “Same thing. Vanelli’s men didn’t see Wilson anywhere, but until they’ve reviewed the videos we won’t know much.”
She let out a long sigh. “When can I get out of here?”
“Vanelli wants you locked up until they have a line on Enzo and Wilson.”
“A line?”
Morris grimaced. “One dead, one alive sounds like his preference.”
“Mine, too.” She nodded. “The man I chased. He took the Grantlys’ luggage.”
“So I heard.”
“You’ve seen the videos?”
He shook his head. “Vanelli had a man at the lost luggage counter.”
“The slow guy?”
Morris nodded. “Guess he was just in character.”
She rolled her eyes. “How could I have missed that?”
Morris grinned. “I keep asking myself the same question.”
She shook her head. Slow. Her jaw locked in place.
“You okay?” he said.
She swallowed. “Wilson might be a slime ball for dragging Roger and Harriet into this, but they’re his parents, and I promised them. I remember Harriet’s face. Her eyes.”
“We’re going to get him back, Jess. We are. You can’t think otherwise, or this job just becomes too much.”
She rolled her shoulders and stretched tension from her neck. “What’s going to happen next?”
He pushed his lips out and moved them around, thinking. “Vanelli doesn’t trust you. He’s suspicious by nature. All cops are. He thinks you could be working with the Ficarras. Or a rival.”
She slapped her hand to her forehead. “Oh, good grief.”
Morris shrugged. “I’m just telling you the facts.”
“Great. Can’t you use your influence? Get me released.”
He laughed. “This is Italy, not Little Italy. I don’t have a lot of power here.”
She shrugged. “So you said.”
“They’re good people, Jess. They want the same things we do.”
She snorted. “That’s pretty hard to tell from where I’m sitting.”
“Stop fighting the system, Jess.” He sighed and shrugged at the same time.
She clenched her teeth.
He leaned over the table. “We can both be useful. You just have to stay out of the enforcement side of the business. Understand?”
She opened her mouth a fraction. “Meaning?”
“You keep away from Ficarra.”
“No. You said, we can both be useful. I have a job to do, just like you do.” She squared her shoulders. “The right kind of publicity released at the right time can only help, Morris. You know that.”
Morris shook his head. “You’re a civilian. It’s my job to keep you away from people like the Ficarras. But I’ll keep you informed,” he leaned forward, “as long as you keep everything off the record until we have Ficarra and Grantly where we want them.”
“So I’m part of the team?”
He paused. She’d been key to bringing down Luigi, and she could be a key part in Enzo as well. But it was a risk. A big risk. He wasn’t on American soil. He didn’t have any power. He was wholly dependent of the goodwill of the carabinieri. And goodwill could change in a moment.
But she didn’t back down, and if it came to it, the suggestion of bad publicity for the Italian authorities might be a bargaining chip he could use.
He nodded. “Part of my team. The Italians, I can’t speak for. But I’ll keep you informed.”
“All the time?”
He nodded.
“I can live with that.” She gestured to the door. “And Vanelli?”
He levered himself out of his chair. “He’s persuadable.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jess stirred in her bed. The thinnest slice of light crept around the edges of the drapes. She rolled on her side, and drew the duvet tighter around her shoulders. The bed was divine.
She breathed out, relaxing her muscles, and quieting her thoughts. She breathed in, savoring the scent of the linen, only to breathe out, and do it all again. She closed her eyes.
How long had it been since she had gone to bed without setting an alarm? She couldn’t remember, and lying in the arms of Morpheus’s own bed, she didn’t care.
The light under the drapes spread across the room, thickening and fanning out. Long shadows eased into crisp edged lines of darkness that traced their way from the legs of the furniture. She lay still, leaving the chemicals that numbed her arms and legs to work their magic, washing away the Atlantic crossing, the time changes, and the memories of the carabinieri’s interview room.
This was what she needed. It was what her body and her mind craved. A break from pressure and tension. Relief from the weight of responsibility. Peace for her conscience.
Though…
She rolled onto her back. Enzo Ficarra was still at large, and Wilson Grantly was still a hostage. She sighed, and ran a hand across the gentle form of the duvet. Wilson’s fate was in the hands of the FBI and the carabinieri. Despite the events of the previous day, they were good hands. Yet Harriet’s eyes were ingrained on her memory, and Jess wouldn’t accept anything less than her best, fullest, most complete effort to save Wilson.
