this do?”
“As good as anything.” He handed her the gun, then took the belt. “At least tell me you caught a license number on that car?”
“Sorry. I was a bit occupied.”
“Probably stolen anyway.” He walked behind the suspect, pulling his hands behind him, tying them to the back of the chair with the sash. “My suggestion? Be very careful. The lady has no qualms about blowing your brains out. The wine goes to her head pretty quickly.” Griffin pulled the belt tight, asking, “Who are you, and who do you work for?”
The man said nothing.
Griffin didn’t bother questioning him further. He searched his pockets, found no ID and no more weapons. Five minutes later there was a knock at the door, and someone called out Griffin’s name. He opened the door to four men.
They stepped into the room, remained near the door, conversing quietly in Italian, every now and then glancing either at the prisoner or at Sydney, who had taken up residence in an armchair, where she could keep watch on the man. Earlier the man seemed calm, unruffled over his capture. But the longer the group spoke, each time they glanced his way, he seemed more disturbed. A sheen of sweat soon covered his brow and upper lip, his jaw clenched, and a vein in his temple seemed ready to burst. When two of the men walked over, switching out Sydney’s sash for handcuffs, then each taking one of his arms to escort him out, his face paled. So be it, she thought as they left.
And no sooner had they stepped out the door, when a tall, stocky man walked in after them. She recognized Tex from Griffin’s office in D.C. He gave her an appreciative glance, smiled in greeting, then said to Griffin, “Why is it I never get the pretty girls in bathrobes on my assignments?”
“Luck of the draw. But watch yourself. She’s dangerous.”
“And,” Sydney said, “she’d like to go up to her room to change. Or is that too much to ask?”
“We’ll walk you up,” Griffin said. “Your hotel has been compromised.”
“Which means what?”
“You won’t be staying here tonight. It’s not safe.”
Tex held the door, and she cinched her robe even tighter, feeling very conspicuous as the two of them walked her across the lobby to the elevator. “One minor problem. No key.”
Griffin left her and Tex at the elevator, walked up to the manager, whispered something in his ear, nodded toward Sydney, and the man went behind the long registration desk to retrieve a duplicate key.
Once up in her room, she gathered her clothes and stepped into the bathroom to change. When she came out, the men were standing before the window, and she heard Tex say, “She really took him down with a bottle of prosecco from the minibar? You know, Griff, we could use her—”
“She’s not available.”
“But—”
Whatever Griffin interjected was in Italian, and judging from the tone of his voice as he argued with Tex, not a subject he wanted to discuss, a fact confirmed when Griffin walked out onto the balcony, apparently frustrated with whatever Tex was telling him.
“Is something wrong?” she asked Tex, sitting down to put on her shoes.
“Guess that depends on your point of view. Mine’s thinking you might be perfect for the party at the Adami villa. Lots of dignitaries, and you’d look a damned sight better on my arm than he will, no matter what his disguise, since my so-called date never made her flight out here.”
“A party? You’re kidding, right?”
“We’re using the party as a cover to get me in the door. Have a—”
Griffin stepped back in the room. “Enough!”
“If she’s going, she has a right to know what she’s getting into.”
“And who said she’s going?”
“You have a better idea? The lodge aside, I’m supposed to be a rich American, looking to buy art. We all know rich Americans like to have beautiful women on their arms. And her presence will take notice off of me.”
“It’s too damned dangerous. I don’t want her involved.”
“Maybe,” Sydney said, “someone should ask me?”
“Much like you asked if it was okay to hop a plane to Italy, involve yourself in an investigation you shouldn’t have involved yourself in?”
“And it’s a damned good thing I did,” she said, grabbing the folder of university papers and shoving them in the small suitcase. She zipped it shut. “Or they’d be scraping your sorry ass off the pavement.”
Tex laughed, until he saw her pick up the bag, then her purse, and walk to