glimpse of the Colosseum in the distance as they turned into the sycamore-lined Viale Aventino. He was proud of his knowledge and probably hoped for a substantial tip. Sydney, more frightened than impressed, wondered if she’d be killed in a taxi before she had a chance to find out who had murdered her friend, then tried to murder her.
As far as she knew, the moment she stepped back in the United States, they’d come after her again. Too late to take back that burning curiosity that compelled her to find the murder scene, determine what they were covering up, and follow the trail here. Now she’d be damned if she would sit back and put her life in some other government agency’s hands. At the moment she knew of only one person who held her best interests at heart, who cared about what happened to her and those she loved. That person was she.
“Have you ever been here?” Griffin asked.
“A few times as a kid,” she said, noting that he seemed unfazed by the wild taxi ride. “My parents brought me to visit some of my mother’s relatives. She actually lived here for a few years before she married my father.”
“You speak Italian?”
“Not enough to traverse the country without a dictionary and some very patient natives who don’t mind me massacring the language, but my mother can.”
“Massacre it?”
“Speak it. Pretty fluently.”
The taxi drove up the steep Via Santa Prisca and turned into the wide and surprisingly traffic-free piazza, stopping in front of the Albergo Pini di Roma. Griffin, who apparently spoke fluent Italian, instructed the driver to wait for him while he checked Sydney in. They exited the cab, and Sydney took a good look around the hotel. With its terra cotta–washed stucco facade into which a gleaming glass entrance had been set, the Pines of Rome Hotel managed to look rustic and modern at the same time. Two low travertine steps led into the marble-floored lobby in which comfortable armchairs had been grouped at intervals around red Turkish carpets. A long reception desk ran the length of one wall.
“Nice place,” she said.
“You’ll need your passport to book the room,” he told her when they reached the desk.
Sydney surrendered her passport to the desk clerk, who punched the information into her computer. When she finished, she slid Sydney’s key across the counter and said, “Enjoy your stay.”
Her room was on the fourth floor, tastefully decorated and refurbished, a mix of vintage 1920s, the height of the fascist era, and modern updates. A large oak wardrobe occupied a corner and she set her bag on a chair beside it, then walked to the window. Her room looked out toward the Tiber River and across to the Gianicolo Hill. “Wish I really was here to paint. It’s gorgeous.”
“Perks of the job,” he said. “Drawbacks are that you don’t get much time to enjoy the perks.” He didn’t move from the door. “You think you can stay out of trouble until I come by for you?”
“As much as I’d love to get out there, the first thing on my agenda is a nap.”
“That makes two of us. I’ll give you a call this evening after I visit the ambassador for the death notification.”
“You know, I might be able to help. With the ambassador.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Mind if I use your bathroom before I leave?”
“All yours.” She stepped out onto the narrow balcony to get a better look at the immediate area. The pine-scented air was brisk, but she found it refreshing.
After a few minutes she felt his presence before he made it known, and finally she turned, saw him staring at her. “Something on your mind?”
He didn’t answer right away, just eyed her, giving her the feeling that he could see deep within her, guess that she had no intention of remaining uninvolved. “I should warn you, if you go out, don’t carry a purse. If you do, watch out for the light-fingered gypsies in designer clothes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said as he left.
Sydney didn’t move from the balcony. She waited until she saw him emerge four stories below. Just before he got into his waiting cab, he glanced up, as though he’d been aware she’d been watching him. He didn’t wave, just looked at her, then slid into the backseat and the cab drove off. A small red sedan pulled out from the curb after him, honking its horn at a woman who stepped off the sidewalk, then jumped