“That rules out kids or random teens, right?”
“I would say that’s a fair assessment.”
I dumped the bottles into the recycling bin and studied him, thinking about what that meant. “Well, that certainly raises a lot of questions, but foremost in my mind is what would be the point of the firecrackers? And is it aimed at getting my or your attention?”
“It doesn’t matter. Someone put you, your parents and our close friends at risk, and that got my attention. Not in a good way.”
I waited, but he didn’t say anything further. Finally, I spread out my hands. “Slash, when were you going to tell me? Or were you ever going to tell me?”
He had one hell of a poker face, but I knew disingenuity when I saw it. And it pissed me off. “Tell you what?”
“What you picked up off the ground near the firecrackers.”
He shot me an exasperated look. “I presume that to mean you didn’t stay on the floor as I asked.” He crossed his arms and regarded me.
“Of course not. I thought you knew me better than that.”
He was totally busted, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, then passed it over to me. I tried not to be mad he hadn’t shown it to me right away, but I was.
I unfolded it and read aloud. “Daniel 9:5. Come home.” I looked up. “What does it mean?”
“It’s a message.”
“From whom?”
He didn’t answer, so I tugged on his arm. “Slash. What is it?”
He braced himself with one arm on the counter, looking like he didn’t want to be having this conversation. I wished the same thing, but I needed to know what was going on.
“It’s a Bible verse,” he said.
“I know it’s a Bible verse.” I tried to keep the exasperation out of my voice and wasn’t sure I succeeded. “Do you know what the verse says?”
I assumed he’d know, given his time as an altar boy in Sperlonga and the work he’d done for the Vatican before he came to the States. Given my nonexistent church experience, I would have to rely on Google if he didn’t know.
He pushed his fingers through his hair and avoided my gaze. “It says: ‘We have sinned and done wrong. We have been wicked and rebelled; we have turned away from Your commands and laws.’”
“What the heck does that mean?” Nothing good, I presumed, based on the way he was still refusing to look at me.
“I don’t know. My best guess it’s connected to the letter I received a couple of weeks ago.”
That letter had arrived by mail the day Slash and I returned from an assignment in the British Virgin Islands. It contained five words and no signature.
I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Slash had followed protocol and turned the letter over to the NSA. They’d tried unsuccessfully to track it down, but other than keeping a close eye on our mail, there wasn’t much more they could do about it.
“Did you show the Secret Service agents?” I asked.
He remained silent.
I crossed my arms and stared at him, not letting him off the hook. “Slash, why didn’t you show them?”
“Because they can’t help me with this,” he said quietly.
“What’s this?” This conversation was not going the way I expected it should between two people who were engaged. Why was he being so evasive and ambiguous with his answers? This was me he was talking to—his fiancée—not some stranger.
“I’m going to find out,” he said.
There it was again. He was answering my questions, but he’d told me exactly nothing. I pressed on, more determined. “Why would someone want you to come home? Or, more specifically, to Italy.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “I don’t know.”
“So, are you?” I paused, disconcerted at the thought. “You know, going home?”
He took me by the shoulders, looking into my eyes. “I am home. I’m not going anywhere.”
Relief swept through me, but also concern. Someone seemed intent on escalating this situation...whatever this situation was. Slash knew more than he was telling me, but he was either unwilling or unable to share. I felt conflicted between confronting him about it and understanding that, given the secrecy of his job in various intelligence agencies, as well as a former member of the Vatican intelligence sodalitium pianum—a group that didn’t officially exist—he might not be able to tell me.
Ever.
I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. Upset, yes, but also angry that someone would go to such lengths to torment him in this way. What could possibly be the point of dragging him back into his old life—a life he told me he’d left behind?
For now, there was little more I could do except support him. I just hoped we’d figure it out. Soon.
Chapter Six
Slash
“Your father doesn’t like me.”
Lexi raised her head from his bare chest, her hair brushing against his stomach. This was his favorite time of the day—just the two of them alone, in perfect sync, holding each other. She looked at him thoughtfully. He knew she was trying to choose the right words. Any number of wild things came out of Lexi’s mouth on a daily basis, but she was careful and deliberate when it counted, one of the things he loved best about her.
“He likes you just fine. He’s just not sure he likes you with me.”
“Great.” He blew out a breath, put a hand across his forehead.
Her hazel eyes filled with sympathy. “Give him time. He’s still in the alpha-male-I’m-protecting-my-only-daughter mode.”
“Things were progressing, and then those damn fireworks.”
“Those weren’t your fault.”
“I know. But that hardly matters at this point.”
She fell silent, returning her head to his chest. He liked that she didn’t try to change his mind with false assurances. Still, he wasn’t sure what he’d do about her father, so his mind added it to the part of his brain assigned to work on long-term problems. That was going to take time, finesse, and perhaps an entirely different approach.
He stroked a hand down her arm. Soft skin, a brilliant mind, and a kind heart. When he bent to kiss the top of her head, the sparkle of his Nonna’s engagement ring caught his eye. Emotion tightened his throat. He’d asked her to be his wife and soon she’d be part of his family. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t happen fast enough.
“Slash, I’m still thinking about the firecrackers and the Bible verse,” she suddenly said. “Those are just really odd ways of getting your attention. Almost theatrical. Do you know what I mean?”
He continued to stroke her hair. “I know what you mean.”
“If it were someone from your past, like from the Vatican or something, wouldn’t there be a specific protocol if they had to reach out to you?”
“There is, and this is not it.” Messages were always sent through approved channels with specific passwords and clear instructions. Fireworks seen by dozens of people and a Bible verse left out in the open where anyone could have found it were not approved methods.
“So, who would approach you this way?” she probed. “Who would cite a Bible verse insinuating you’re wicked and have lost your way, shaming you into returning to Italy?”
He dropped his hand from her hair and rested it on her shoulder. He’d considered many possibilities, but discarded them all. None of it made sense. He’d done many things in his life he wasn’t proud of. But those were done under orders, to serve a higher power and bigger purpose. His work at the sodalitium pianum, the top-secret intelligence agency whose existence the Vatican still publicly denied, had hardened him, made him into the man he was today. He was a dangerous man with a past that, if exposed, could hurt a lot of people. A possible chess piece in a game he knew nothing about.
Yet.
But who wo
uld summon him like that, and for what purpose?
“It’s someone who can’t, or doesn’t know how, to reach me through normal protocol,” he finally answered. “Someone who thinks I’m susceptible to intimidation.”
“Well then, clearly someone who doesn’t know you well.”
He smiled at the conviction in her voice. “Possibly.”
She sat up, crossing her legs and pulling the sheet against her chest. He immediately missed the skin-to-skin connection. “Slash, do you trust me?” she asked.
He paused, wary of the question and yet intrigued as to why she asked. “With my life.”
“Good. Because when I accepted your proposal, I signed up to work through the hard stuff. This letter, Bible verse, firecracker thing could turn into hard stuff. So, I want you to know you can count on me. That’s part of the couple deal, right?”
Her sincerity gutted him. He didn’t deserve this woman. “Right. Now, I want you to know something, cara.” He gently cupped one of her cheeks in his hand. “I’m deeply and intentionally in love with you. You can rest assured I’m not going to let anything touch what we have. You—our life—it means everything to me.”
He kept his voice calm, but his insides were churning. Their relationship was on the line and something, or someone, was coming for him. For what purpose, he didn’t know.
She studied his eyes, looking for any double meanings or perhaps trying too hard to interpret what he meant by that. Thankfully, she didn’t ask. He would never lie to her and they were veering dangerously close to topics he didn’t want to discuss.
She furrowed her brow in an expression of disapproval, which meant this discussion wasn’t over. Lexi was like that when she encountered a problem—deliberate and incredibly reluctant to let something go until she’d discovered all its secrets.
Mio Dio.
How would he keep her out of this? That part of his life was over, and he couldn’t stand for her to know any of the details. He’d been a soldier of God, had always done as he was asked to serve the greater good, even when his actions left him riddled with guilt and shame. But that was before he had anything to lose. This life with Lexi—he’d earned it. So as far as he was concerned, the greater good could be damned from this point forward.
“I’ll take care of everything,” he said firmly. “I promise you that.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. Lowering his head, he softened his mouth against hers, sinking into the comfort that was her. After a moment of hesitation, she relaxed against him and wound her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his hair.
For once in his life, he had something precious to protect. That meant only one thing.
He’d never let anyone touch what he had with her.
Ever.
Chapter Seven
Lexi
I dreamt I was in Italy with Slash’s grandmother, Nonna, chasing me around the kitchen table with a wooden spatula telling me I was leading her grandson down the path of perdition for living in sin with him. Church bells rang loudly, bringing both of us to a sudden halt at the table, staring at each other in surprise. Then, with a gasp, I woke and realized it was Slash’s phone that had been ringing and he’d already picked it up and was talking.
I shook my head because I couldn’t understand what he was saying, until I realized he was speaking in Italian. His voice had seemed happy at first, but now he sounded concerned. He spoke a bit longer and then hung up. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back toward me. I sat up and crawled across the bed, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Slash, who was it?”
“Giorgio.”
I’d met Slash’s younger brother in Papua New Guinea a few months ago. He was handsome, like a younger version of Slash with wavy dark hair, olive complexion, a square jaw and buff physique.
“Is everything okay?”
“He’s getting married.”
“That’s great.” I paused, considering. “Right?”
“Right.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Except there’s a problem.”
I swung my feet over the side of the bed to sit beside him. He’d leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, still holding the phone. “What kind of problem?”
“He’s been denied his request to get married in the church.”
“Why?”
“That’s the thing, he doesn’t know. He wants to get married in Sperlonga, but says the church has denied his marriage petition. Apparently the denial comes from Rome. He wants me to look into it.”
I took a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it around our shoulders. I could sense his distress and confusion on behalf of his younger brother. “Why would the church block his marriage? Can they do that?”
“Not legally.” Slash straightened and slid an arm around my waist beneath the blanket, pulling me closer. I liked our close connection, the physical affection he showed me so easily. “You don’t have to get married in the church, but most people do. The church can block anyone they want from getting married, and for a variety of reasons. The priest might decide they’re not ready to make a lasting commitment. There might be legal or moral issues, too, but those are usually decided by the parish priest at the local level. Only a supreme authority in the church can forbid a marriage in the church. Apparently in this case, this directive came from Rome, and they didn’t give Gio a reason for the denial. Even the parish priest is mystified.”
“That’s just weird.”
“Exactly. Gio submitted a formal protest, but that takes time. They want the wedding to happen soon. His fiancée, Vitoria, is pregnant.”
“Oh. Maybe that’s why they can’t get married in the church?” I wondered how Slash’s grandmother, Nonna, would feel about the child being conceived out of wedlock.
“No. That decision would be handled at the parish level. It would not involve Rome. A denial from Rome is extremely unusual.”
I had to take his word on that, so I considered the implication here. “You’re worried this is connected to the things that have been happening to you. The firecrackers, the note saying they know who you are, the Bible verse, and the instructions to come home.”
“Si,” he said quietly.
“So, what’s happening to you, and now your family, must somehow be connected. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to make some calls. It’s almost five o’clock in the morning here, which makes it about eleven o’clock in Rome. I’ll see if I can find out what’s going on.”
I shifted on the bed so that I faced him. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, but his brown eyes were alert and assessing. “Where will you start?”
“Where else?” He looked at me. “Father Armando.”
Chapter Eight
Slash
Lexi went back to sleep, but he was done for the night, so he headed down to the kitchen with his phone in his hand. After drinking a glass of water, he picked up the phone and tapped on the number for Father Armando’s office. It would be morning in Rome by now, and he hoped to catch the priest in the office. He didn’t have any expectations he would be put through immediately. As the Archbishop of Genoa, as well as the Vatican’s newest cardinal, Father Armando was an important and busy man. He was also the closest thing to a father Slash had ever had, as much as a Catholic priest could fill such a role.
As expected, a clerk answered the phone in Italian. Slash requested to speak with Father Armando, then provided his name and waited patiently as he was put on hold, imagining the priest’s face in his mind.
Spiritual advisor, teacher and supporter, Father Armando had played many significant roles in his life, including the most important one. Father Armando had been the person to find him, abandoned as an infant, in a basket under the church organ. Their bond had started at that moment and had somehow held and strengthened over the
years.
He leaned back in his chair and rolled his neck. It had felt good to speak Italian. While he considered himself fully fluent in English, Italian was his first language, and the language of his heart. In addition to Italian and English, he also had a pretty good command of French, German and Latin. Not that anyone spoke Latin these days except during mass, but he considered it a useful language just the same.
The clerk returned within three minutes, and he was immediately put through to Father Armando.
“Nicolo, it’s good to hear your voice.” Slash held the phone away from his ear and smiled at the priest’s booming voice. “It’s been too long since we spoke, and yet, I pray for you every day.”
Nicolo was the name Father Armando had given him as an infant. One of a long list of names Slash had gone by in his life, and one of the ones he loved best.
“I apologize for letting a few months slip past since we last spoke,” Slash said. “It’s been a busy time for me.”
The priest laughed. “No worries, of course. You’re an important man.”
“Not nearly as important as you.” In fact, more important than most people outside the Vatican knew. As a close friend of the pope, Father Armando was widely seen among many other priests and cardinals as the new, forward-thinking conscience of the Vatican. The father, however, would be appalled to be identified as such, considering himself a humble man, but Slash thought it true just the same.
Father Armando laughed. “I am but a servant of God. How are you?”
They exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes, with Slash asking the priest about his new responsibilities and getting an earful about the numerous duties and complexities of being both an archbishop and a cardinal.
“And I thought I was busy,” Slash finally said.
“You certainly are. Now, Nicolo, tell me: to what do I really owe the honor of this call? There’s something on your mind.”
“You do know me well. It’s happy news, Father. I wanted to let you know I’m engaged.”
No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 3