It didn’t work.”
A loud bang echoed just outside the closed door. Tasha’s breath caught, and she paled, even as her secretary called out, “Sorry. Just a box of file folders.”
Griffin looked down at Tasha’s hands, saw they were shaking. “What the hell is going on?”
“Besides too much caffeine? It’s nothing,” she said, clasping her hands in her lap. He crossed his arms, looked her right in the eye. “Fine. But don’t laugh. It was this curse. I know it sounds odd, but just hearing about the damned thing gave me nightmares, and I haven’t been able to sleep.”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” he said. Even though he didn’t have time for this, it was clear that Tasha needed to talk about it. “What does this curse do?”
She gave a sigh, then tried to smile, as though she knew how silly it was going to sound. “Allegedly anyone who enters the tomb will be dead within a fortnight. At least that’s the rumor according to the locals we hired.” She stared at the box containing the skull, as if to say, And Alessandra was in that tomb, so that proves it is true.
“That is not why Alessandra died—if this is her.”
“I know you’re right.”
He wasn’t sure what else he could do or say. “Maybe you should start your report on the skull tomorrow. You look tired.”
She shook her head. “Trust me. I’ll be fine. I’ll even put myself together properly before I meet Sydney.”
“Call me after your dinner. Let me know how it goes,” he said, turning to leave.
“Zach?” He stopped, knowing what she was going to say. “I can go with you, if you like. To the cemetery. I have time.”
“I’ll be fine.” He left, said good-bye to her secretary, who was busy sorting through the files she’d dropped. He continued on down the long hallway, his footsteps echoing through the dimly lit corridor. Every office door but the one he’d left was closed. Above him a fluorescent light flickered, then went out. He heard the swish of the elevator door, apparently just missing it, and not wanting to wait, he took the stairs three flights down. Once he’d reached the street he pulled out his cell phone to call his office.
When his boss answered, Zach said, “Did Natasha Gilbert say anything to you when she returned from that dig?”
“I haven’t even seen her. Why?”
“She seems on edge.” He thought about the ridiculousness of this two-thousand-year-old curse she spoke of. “Whatever it is, I’m not sure she’s telling me everything. She did recall that Alessandra spoke of a third key, but that was it.”
“You’re sure that’s what she said?”
“I’m sure that’s what Tasha said she heard.” He hesitated before adding, “And she thought there was some biblical slant.”
“Biblical…?”
“Don’t even go there. I don’t trust Dumas.”
“You don’t trust anyone. Since he’s the only religious expert we have, I don’t see a way around it. We’re going to have to contact him.”
Zach knew that, but it didn’t make things easier. Especially considering what day it was. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I need a complete dossier on an FBI agent working out of Quantico. Someone named Sydney Fitzpatrick.”
“This that forensic artist you’re trying to use?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me you have a good reason for me to get my hand spanked poking around in Bureau files?”
“Tasha’s meeting her for dinner tonight. If she can’t convince her to do this drawing, I may have to intervene and I want to know who I’m dealing with.”
Griffin disconnected, dropped his phone in his pocket, then looked at his watch. Just enough time to get to the florist before it closed.
A fitting end to an already bad day, and he wondered if it could get any worse.
2
Sydney Fitzpatrick looked at the boxes stacked around the living room of her apartment, boxes she’d yet to unpack since her transfer to the FBI Academy at Quantico almost a month ago. She thought about digging through them to find her favorite cashmere sweater, only because Tasha usually dressed for dinner, even at the more casual restaurants. Then again, anything she pulled out of a box was bound to be wrinkled, and after the errands she’d been running this afternoon, she had just about enough time to brush her hair and race out the door as she was.
Tasha was waiting for her at a table in the Ristorante Primavera, an upscale Italian eatery. She stood when Sydney approached, her gaze locked on the door behind her, for what seemed a second too long, before suddenly smiling, then