The Bone Chamber

was postmortem. He died from a gunshot wound. They stripped him. All they left was his ring. The desecration was no doubt a warning, but-”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have run. Drawn attention to myself. I panicked.”

“Panicked? What were you supposed to do? Stand there and let them capture you? The fault lies with me…I shouldn’t have allowed this…” Again he tensed, tried to swallow, tried to breathe, and she wasn’t sure what happened next, if she stepped toward him, or he toward her. But a moment later, she was in his arms, and he held her, his face pressed into her hair, until his breathing evened. She tried to pull away, but he said, “Don’t. Not yet.”

And so she waited, let him hold her, hearing nothing but his heart beating against her, slowing, finally relaxing. After several minutes, she whispered into his chest, “I’m sorry.” When she looked up at him, he was staring off into the distance. She stepped back, and he reached out, let her hair drift over his fingers as though he was reluctant to let her leave. But he didn’t move to stop her this time, and so she left him there, returned inside as the night deepened into purple velvet. As she shut the terrace doors, she saw him silhouetted against the rising moon, rust red, as if it had been spattered in blood. And then he sank onto the garden bench, buried his face in his hands, consumed by his grief.

She turned away, saw Marc and Giustino looking distinctly uncomfortable. Marc was back to watching TV. Giustino was busy monitoring the equipment. She told them how Tex’s body had been desecrated, his face removed, just like Alessandra’s. Both men looked sick.

“Any more traffic?” she asked after a while, hoping for some sort of a distraction.

“None,” Marc said. He nodded toward Griffin, then asked Giustino, “Do you think the director told him about Tunisia?”

“He’ll want to go.”

“Can’t be helped.”

“In his state of-”

The veranda door suddenly opened, and the three of them turned to see Griffin standing there, eyeing them. “My state of what?”

“The traffic from Tex’s device. Bioweapons in Tunisia. Adami’s lab. They have Dr. Balraj.”

Griffin didn’t move for a full second, as though the very mention of Tex’s name pained him, then, “You have the details?”

“Yes, sir. I reported them to the director.”

“Let me know the moment the orders are back to us. I want to get an early start.”

“Sir-”

“You heard me.” He didn’t even look at them, just walked off toward his own room.

No one opposed him, and Sydney waited a beat, then followed him down the hall. “Do you really think you should be running off to some other country in this state of mind?”

“Speaking from experience?”

“What about what you told me on the plane? The whole emotional involvement thing?”

“I’ll be checking all emotions at the door.”

“Did it ever occur to you that that might be worse?”

“I need to do this. It’s clear I can’t place my trust in others.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?”

He stopped so suddenly, turned to face her, that she nearly ran into him. They stood there like that, in the darkened hallway, so close she could hear him breathing. He didn’t move, just looked at her, apparently waiting for her to protest, step back, make some sort of move. When she didn’t, he said, “What the hell is it you want from me?”

The force of his question stunned her, even more so when he closed what little distance remained between them, taking her chin in his hand, holding it, forcing her to look at him. “What do you want from me?” he whispered.

“I-” She couldn’t answer, could barely swallow as she looked up at him, saw the darkness in his eyes.

And then he said four words that started her heart pounding. “Don’t leave me tonight.”

The next morning, Sydney opened her eyes to the sound of bells pealing from the towers and cupolas of hundreds of Roman churches. A soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains on the window. She stretched out, feeling relaxed for the first time in days. And frustrated, too. Griffin had asked her not to leave him. She didn’t. They slept together. Platonically.

Her senses had been on overload. She was attracted to him, but he apparently had no intention of taking it further, and she wasn’t about to push the matter. He’d just lost his friend, after all. But hell if she hadn’t realized how very much she’d missed sleeping with a man until last night. And how very much she missed having sex.

She sighed, got up, walked to the window, and looked down onto the waking city. An old lady was feeding spaghetti to some wiry cats, who were rubbing up against her legs in gratitude. In the house across the street, a maid was hanging some washing out the window. Iron grates creaked as shops were opened, horns hooted, alarms shrieked. Then she realized just how quiet the house was. She looked around.

Griffin. Tunisia? “Son of a bitch. He left me here.”

She ran her fingers through her hair as she strode down the hall to see if anyone remained behind. Giustino was sitting at the desk, cappuccino in one hand, earphone held to his ear with the other. He glanced up, nodded a good morning, then turned back to the equipment. “They left before dawn.”

“He did that on purpose.”

“Did what on purpose?”

“Didn’t wake me,” she said without even thinking about what her words implied. The moment she realized what she’d said, she felt her face heat up, and hoped it didn’t show.

Apparently it showed quite well, because Giustino gave a quick grin, then swept it off his face as though worried it might offend her. She hurried out of there down the hall to the bathroom, where she showered and changed, then emerged to the scent of espresso, which Giustino had prepared for her in the kitchen, along with some fresh cornetti, crescent-shaped pastries. After breakfast, she walked back to the radio room. Now that she was awake, he had the radio turned up so he could listen without the headphones. No traffic sounded on the monitor. Adami’s office was quiet, just as it had been since last night.

“You make espresso and monitor radio traffic?” she said, trying to keep the conversation light as she set the plate of cornetti on the table. “A man of multiple talents.”

“So my wife tells me.” He waved off her offer of food. “You have plans, yes?”

“One part of me figures I should just fly home. The only reason I’m still here is Tex wanted me for his operation. And now…”

“Tex was a good man. The fault is not yours.”

“I don’t think Griffin wants me to stay regardless.”

“Perhaps why he left your plane ticket,” he said, just as the telephone rang. He glanced over. “If you could answer that. It’s the Journal office line.”

“I don’t speak much Italian.”

“This is no problem. The Journal, she is mostly for the American cover.”

Sydney walked to the desk, picked up the phone. “Pronto! International Journal for World Peace, may I help you?”

“I’m looking for a Mr. Griffin?” Female speaking English, no trace of an accent.

“He’s…on a business trip and I’m not sure when he’ll be available.” She glanced over at Giustino, about to ask if she should take a message, but then thought better of it, saying instead, “I’m a close associate. Is there something I can help you with?” She ignored Giustino’s bemused look, turning her back to him.

“Perhaps. My name is Francesca Santarella. Alessandra Harden asked me to contact Mr. Griffin regarding something she wanted him to have.”

“Alessandra Harden.” She glanced at Giustino, motioning for him to come over to the phone, then hit the speaker button. “As in Ambassador Harden’s daughter?”

“Yes. This number was in her note, saying I should call it when the package arrives. I would have called