pair of handcuffs to go with that lethal weapon, do you?”
She smiled. “Unfortunately, no. Budget cuts have really taken their toll.” She withdrew her sash from her robe. “Will 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
“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 the door. “You’re not going to let her take off, Griff.”
“Actually, I am, because I can guarantee that once she finds out this covert operation isn’t sanctioned by the government, and that she could very well jeopardize her position with the Bureau, she’ll refuse.”
Sydney stopped cold, thinking about what Carillo had told her about this team Griffin was working on. She’d been tired, wasn’t making the connection until now. “ATLAS is black ops, not special ops?” she said, eyeing them both.
Griffin crossed the room, stood face-to-face with her. “How do you know about ATLAS?”
Anger surged through her. “Tasha died for some black op gone awry? Find another guinea pig, because whatever game you’re playing at isn’t one I want in on.”
“Since you’re not in on it, no worries.”
Tex put his hand on the door to prevent her leaving. “Sounds like she does want in on it, Griff. Or she wouldn’t be protesting so much.”
“Let her go, Tex.”
But Tex didn’t move. “Can I apologize for whatever he did?”
“Or what he didn’t do?” she said, her hand still on the door, thinking about how Griffin had kept Tasha’s death from her.
“I’ll admit he isn’t the easiest man to work with.”
“Work with?” She glanced over at Griffin, who stood there with his arms crossed, glaring at them both. “I didn’t even know who the hell he works for until about an hour ago, and even then, I wasn’t sure. What I do know is that from the moment my plane touched down in Quantico, he’s managed to-”
“Be a royal pain in the ass?”
“Something like that.”
“He’s a tortured soul.”
“Tell him to get in line. A few of us have the market cornered.”
Tex gave her an empathetic smile. “That we do, darlin’. But we get on with our lives. So, give us a chance to convince you to change your mind?”
“You heard her, Tex. She doesn’t want any part of this.”
Tex ignored Griffin, saying, “I’d really like to plant this device in that bastard’s office. You’re perfect for my cover. You studied art, you know the classics, and I’m allegedly there to buy a painting.”
She wasn’t surprised he knew her passion for fine art. Not with the background Griffin had done on her. And as much as she was tempted by the thought of getting to see some actual paintings, it wasn’t worth the price. “Sorry. I only packed business casual.”
“See?” Griffin said. “She can’t do it.”
“We have connections, darlin’.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sydney replied. “There’s nothing you or anyone else in here could say that would make me change my mind. Nothing.”
To which Tex said, “You want to nail the group we think killed your forensic anthropologist friend?”
It seemed several heartbeats passed as his words sank in. “Nothing except that.”
Before they left the hotel, two of Griffin’s Italian team members, both special agents in the
