The Bone Chamber

committee he’s ever sat on. I want to know about the girl and what she’s involved with. And last but not least, I could use a legit reason to get on a plane to D.C. ASAP, so I can get the Bureau to pick up the tab. If I’m going to be unemployed soon, I’d rather not be out the airfare.”

“I’m sure I can dig up an old case for you that needs follow-up in the D.C. area,” he said, and Carillo heard the click of his keyboard as Doc Schermer started typing. “Give me the names of all the involved…”

Sydney looked around her apartment, trying to figure out all she’d need for the trip. Everything except her work clothes was still in boxes. Her indecision on where to look for an apartment was now costing her time, and she wished she’d just let Scotty pick out a place. A few minutes later her contact at Homeland Security called her back.

“What’s the good word?” she asked Levins.

“Your guy’s flying to Rome, Fiumicino, via Dulles at seven P.M.”

“What are the chances you can book me on that flight in the seat next to him?”

“Can’t. But I can put you in the row right behind him.”

“Works for me.”

“Ciao. And you owe me. Credit card number would be a good start. I’ll think of a proper extortion after you get back.”

Perfect, she thought, looking around at all the boxes, searching for the one marked “Important Papers.” Time to pull out her damned passport.

Zach Griffin’s seat was near the rear of the plane, far enough back to be able to see what was going on up front, and the best way he knew of scanning and profiling each passenger on board. It was one of the reasons he was always the last to board, when circumstances necessitated public transportation. He preferred knowing whom he shared a plane with, because he didn’t like surprises.

And he didn’t like finding unexpected passengers seated one row behind him.

He stopped at his seat, eyed Sydney Fitzpatrick, who occupied the middle seat right behind his. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Good to see you again, too.” She smiled.

He didn’t smile back. Instead, he looked at the twenty-year-old kid sitting next to her in the aisle. He dug a few bills out of his wallet and waved them in front of the kid’s face. “Yours if you switch seats with me.”

The boy shrugged, grabbed the bills, and got up to switch seats.

Zach swung his bag in the overhead bin, then sat next to Fitzpatrick, who sat with her hands folded on top of some file folder in her lap. He eyed it, then her. “What the hell are you doing on this flight?” he asked.

“I’d ask you the same, but I figure it has something to do with this.” She opened the folder, then slid out a section of a newspaper, the article and accompanying photograph on Alessandra Harden, while making sure no one else could see it.

“How did you discover who she was?”

“How was it you didn’t?”

“Besides the obvious?” he asked, referring to the victim having no face. Or fingerprints. “We had a suspicion, but needed confirmation. Hence the need for your services. As you can appreciate, they are no longer needed.”

Sydney tucked the article back in her folder. “Well, here’s the thing. A couple guys tried to Ten X me last night, and, just a quirk of mine, I tend to take those sort of things personally. The way I see it, with one of them still at large, it’s in my best interest to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“It would have been in your best interest to fly home on the plane we’d provided. Had you done so,” he said, keeping his voice low, “and not involved yourself in something you shouldn’t have been nosing around in, you wouldn’t have been made into a target.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it? And speaking of being in my best interest, how is it I had to learn from someone else that my very good friend, whom I personally recommended for your case, was killed. What if her parents had decided to hold a local service?”

“Like I said, on the off chance it was something more than a hit-and-run, we didn’t want you there for the obvious reasons.”

“The off chance?” she whispered. “Had you informed me of everything from the beginning, last night’s events could have been completely avoided.”

He glanced over at her, saw she was staring straight ahead, doing her best to keep her temper in check. “You’re welcome to get off the plane.”

“Not going to happen.”

“How’d you get permission to fly out?”

“Simple. I called the security officer at HQ, told him I had hankering to go to Italy, because I got a real good deal on a flight, but only if I leave now. He told me I knew the drill. Leave my gun at home, and see him when I get back for a security briefing. Italy’s not way up there in the countries of concern, you know.”

“So you lied.” That was something he hadn’t expected, not based on her background.

“Bent the truth a little. I’m thinking about visiting the Vatican. You?”

Griffin buckled up his seat belt as the flight attendant made her rounds for the preflight check. “Haven’t decided yet. But wherever I go, it’ll be without you. You lost your friend, and for that I’m sorry. But that makes you emotionally involved. It’s something I can’t afford.” He leaned back, closed his eyes. “So how was it you found her?” he asked.

“The crime scene photograph. The red sandstone. Looked it up on the Internet and discovered the Smithsonian was built with it. From there it was basic. Looked up vehicles towed in the area, found one that was connected to a missing person, who happened to be a student in a history class she assists with,” she said, patting the folder on her lap. “Their professor confirmed it this morning.”

Impressed by her powers of observation and deductive reasoning, he was still bothered that she’d found the connections so easily, primarily because it had put her in danger. Even so, she’d handled herself well, better than the two agents he’d assigned to follow her. “Sorry about losing you last night.”

“Yeah, well, it all worked out in the end.”

“Except you let the second guy get away.” He opened one eye, smiled at the dark look she gave him. “Would’ve been cleaner had you gotten him, too.”

“Win some, lose some.”

He laughed. Sydney Fitzpatrick was nothing like he’d been led to believe. That didn’t mean he was keeping her on, but at the very least, it was going to make his flight less tedious.

The plane touched down at the Leonardo da Vinci Airport in a smooth landing, and the moment the seat belt lights were shut off, the passengers rose from their seats and started digging for their carry-ons. Zach retrieved his and Sydney’s, then they both remained seated, waiting for the passengers in front of them to depart. Sydney unzipped her bag, dropped in the folder of the conspiracy report, then sat back to wait, thinking that Griffin might actually let her in on his investigation after all.

That illusion lasted until he said, “When we get off the plane, you’re going back on the next flight to the States.”

“You can’t order me,” she told him. “I’m on vacation.”

“Watch how fast I get you ordered back.”

She didn’t doubt for a second that he could do it. “At least let me see Bernini’s Daphne and Apollo at the Villa Borghese. Not letting an artist see Bernini is like…like not letting a cop shoot a gun.”

“That’s the lamest analogy I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m sleep deprived.”

“Fine. Daphne at the Villa Borghese tomorrow. And then you’re out of here. Where are you staying?”

“I haven’t gotten that far.”

He took out one of his business cards, wrote the name of a hotel on it and below that a number, then handed it to her. “This place will be perfect. Modernized and secure. And the number is my emergency contact number while I’m here. And I mean emergency. When I get off this plane, we are simply two passengers who chatted on the