No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven

by Julie Moffett

  He’d known he’d never be able to hold all three of them off in a hotel without special equipment and top-notch wifi speed. But he had to try. Then, without warning, they’d suddenly backed off when they were within seconds of getting the files they wanted.

  Why?

  He wasn’t sure of the answer. But he had his suspicions. Did they know it was him on the other side?

  A headache brewed behind his eyes. His shoulders ached, and he felt swamped with a sense of wasted time and useless futility. Why was he doing this? He’d placed his fiancée and his closest friends on the opposing side. How the hell had that happened? How had he let that happen?

  What is it that gives meaning to your life? That’s your direction, Nicolo.

  Father Armando’s words echoed in his head. He’d asked Slash that very question when he’d sought counsel from the father about a transfer after the incident in the Congo. Slash had truly believed the work he could do behind the computer would give his life meaning, but now he knew he’d been wrong. His work gave him purpose, but it was Lexi who gave his life meaning.

  He’d thought he could leave his past behind, take ahold of the life he’d always wanted. Lexi had offered him a new start, a chance at genuine happiness. He wanted to have that more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  Now they were worlds apart and it was his fault.

  His past would always haunt them. He didn’t know how to fix that, wasn’t sure it was even possible. He picked up his phone, held it in his hand. After a moment, he tapped out a quick text, saying the only thing he could at this moment.

  I love you, cara. I always will.

  He stared at the text for a long time before sending it, then slipped his phone back into his pocket. As he was about to stand, he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and opened it. She’d already responded to his text.

  I know you love me. Now you’re going to have to trust me.

  He stared at the message for a long time, wondering what she meant and how he should respond. He waited for questions that never came—questions he wouldn’t know how to answer. But his phone remained silent. After a minute, he set the phone aside, poured himself some coffee, then sat down to resume the work on his laptop.

  He had important things to do before he left for Genoa again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Slash

  Slash slipped the concierge a two-hundred dollar tip to have maid service first thing in the morning. He also tipped the maid well, ensuring she would do a good job. The cardinal’s team would be back, and he wanted to make sure they found only what he wanted them to find. As soon as the maid finished cleaning and left, he made some small adjustments, then took one look around the room and headed out. His visit at the Vatican, coupled with the hack on the Africa file, made it clear that time was ticking for him to get the answers he needed. And he fully intended to get them.

  He ran several errands in Rome, so by the time he arrived in Genoa it was dusk. He parked two blocks away from the small brown apartment building next door to the Cathedral of San Lorenzo and entered the building along with a young woman who let him in after he smiled at her. She gave him a long once-over, which he politely acknowledged with a slight nod before he quickly climbed the two floors to Father Armando’s apartment.

  He pushed the buzzer and waited patiently until the priest came to the door and looked through the peephole. The lock clicked and Father Armando swung open the door, looking concerned.

  “Nicolo, you’ve returned so soon? Are you okay? What happened?”

  “Emilio, can we talk?”

  His use of the father’s familiar name, as well as the grim look on Slash’s face, surprised him. But it also alerted him that something was afoot, and Father Armando was an astute man.

  “Of course. Forgive me. I’m surprised to see you. Come in.” He opened the door and Slash walked inside, waiting in the foyer until Father Armando had relocked the door.

  “To what do I owe this visit?” he asked, ushering Slash into the small living room. A radio was on in the background. From the sound of it, the father had been listening to a program about detoxifying the Christian soul.

  “I couldn’t pass up the chance to visit you again while I was in Italy. Please continue listening to your program. I’ll wait.”

  The father looked confused, but Slash shook his head and held a finger to his lips as he removed a radio frequency detector from his bag. Slash liked this model because not only could it detect most wireless cameras and microphones, it could also detect wireless bugs, and he needed to make certain the apartment was completely clean before they started talking.

  He started in the living room, stopping beneath a ceiling light fixture. Setting down the detector, he took a chair and placed it beneath the light. A couple of quick turns on the light fixture and he found what he was looking for.

  Holding the micro transmitter between his fingers, Slash snapped it as the father looked on in shock. Slash resumed his search through the rest of the apartment, but it was clean. He returned to the living room where Father Armando sat on the couch, holding a bottle of cognac and pouring a generous amount into two glasses.

  “So, it’s true,” he said, his hand shaking slightly as he poured. “Spying on me in the office and now at home. For what purpose would someone want to eavesdrop on me in my own home?”

  Slash sank into a chair across from the couch. “There’s a game being played in Rome and it involves you and me.”

  The father set the bottle down and handed Slash a glass. “What in the world would either of us have to do with any of the machinations in Rome?”

  “A lot, apparently.” Slash swirled the cognac for a moment and took long a drink, fortifying himself. “You’re a threat.”

  Father Armando pointed to himself as if he’d heard Slash incorrectly. “Me? How am I a threat and to whom?”

  “Cardinal Lazo. He has eyes on the papacy.”

  “Well, that’s no secret. But what does that have to do with me?”

  “Do you really have no idea?” Slash studied him, looking for any signs of deception, but saw none. Thank God. Father Armando was as guileless in this matter as he’d suspected.

  “I do not.”

  “You’re a popular man, Father. There are a lot of powerful people who would like to see the papacy returned to the Italians. Right now, you have a strong coalition building in Rome. Imagine what you could do with that if the pope were to pass.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m a new cardinal, and nothing more than a fierce and loyal follower of the Holy Father. Besides, I happen to be Italian, but that does not matter to God. He looks into my heart, not my ethnicity. I have no desire to return the papacy to Italians. I wish nothing more than the next pope is a true man of God and a defender of the people and poor.”

  That was exactly what he’d believed Father Armando would say. Now that he had, it made him more convinced to protect him. “But you could still be voted in if the Holy Father were to pass.” He rested his elbows on his thighs. “Listen to me, Emilio. You would have the pope’s following, as well as those who favor his more progressive agenda. Lazo, he’s no fan of the Holy Father or progress.”

  “Well, if Lazo is threatened by me, then he’s certainly desperate.” Father Armando took a swallow of his cognac.

  Slash tried to temper his frustration. The father clearly didn’t believe himself to be a threat, and Slash needed to change his perception on that.

  “He’s not desperate, Emilio. He’s shrewd, and in this case, he’s right. You could rally the pope’s forces. You’re his single greatest threat.”

  “Nonsense. I told you, I am not seeking the papacy.”

  “It is possible, and Lazo sees it. He’s the best positioned of all the cardinals right now to take the papacy, and he knows it. He could easily consolidate the Italians and
go that route, but only if you are out of his way. So, unfortunately, we’ll have to play his game, at least for a little bit.”

  Father Armando looked up sharply. “Play his game? What does that mean?”

  Setting his glass on the table, Slash looked directly into the priest’s eyes. A fist squeezed his heart, a suffocating sensation. He wanted to know the truth, but part of him didn’t. There was safety in not knowing, because knowing might change the dynamic between them, and Slash didn’t want to venture into that kind of unknown territory. But Cardinal Lazo had forced his hand, and now he needed to know. He steadied himself internally, preparing himself for the question, as well as the answer.

  “I need to ask you a question, and I pray you will tell me the truth. It may matter, it may not. But I need to have the information.” He cleared his throat a couple of times before he could continue. Why was this so hard after all these years?

  “Emilio, are you my father?”

  A myriad of expressions—stunned, shocked, scared—crossed Father Armando’s face. For an endless moment, the question hung in the air, suspended between them. Cars zoomed past on the street below, and there was faint laughter from the adjoining flat where a neighbor had the television turned up too loudly.

  They stared at each other, neither speaking. It was a simple question, but given the length of time it was taking the priest to speak, apparently the answer wasn’t quite as straightforward.

  “Nicolo, why would you ask me that?” Father Armando finally asked. Sadness and regret tinged his voice.

  It was neither the answer nor the reaction Slash expected. Hurt and confusion swept through him. “I need to know if it’s true. It’s just a question.” But he knew it wasn’t that simple. This was his life they were discussing. His identity.

  Who am I?

  “Where did you get that idea?” the priest asked. “Lazo?”

  Slash dipped his head in acknowledgment. “He wants me to publicly acknowledge you as my biological father.”

  The priest stared at him for a moment, when, to Slash’s astonishment, he started to laugh. “Oh, heaven help me. What is this? He wants to reveal you as my secret love child to remove me from contention for the papacy? Not that I believe I’m in contention for the papacy. I assume he’s the one holding up Giorgio’s wedding in order to bring you here and force a confession.”

  Slash picked up his glass again. He hadn’t realized how much this conversation would upset him, but it had. It shouldn’t even matter who was his father at this point in his life, but somehow it did.

  It mattered a lot.

  “I don’t know who is holding up Gio’s wedding,” he answered. “But my question remains on the table, Emilio. I need to know if you’re my father.”

  A shadow fell over the priest’s face. “I don’t want to play this game. Don’t let Lazo drive a wedge between us.”

  Slash curled his hands into fists, not because he was angry, but because they were shaking. He was on uneven ground right now, unsure of his judgment, confused by Father Armando’s evasion of the question, and hurting from the conflict in his heart regarding possible answers. He badly needed a shower, sleep and processing time to work through his emotions. But he needed answers more, so he pressed on.

  “This is no longer about Lazo.” His voice sounded more strained than expected. “Please, Emilio, just tell me the truth. Are you my father or not?”

  Another long silence ensued, the cars and the television set providing an uneasy soundtrack for their conversation. He didn’t know how much time had passed before Father Armando seemed to come to a decision. The priest straightened on the couch, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin.

  “Just so we’re clear, this answer is for you, not Lazo. I want you to look at me when I say this, Nicolo, so you know I speak the truth.”

  Slash met and held the gaze of the man he’d always trusted, a man he’d considered his father, whether they were related by blood or not. Emilio had been connected to him since birth. While he owed everything to the kind nurse who had become his mother, Father Armando had been an influential male figure in his teenage years, before his mother had remarried, and had served as his confidant and supporter during his time at the Vatican and for some of the most important moments of his life.

  “Yes, you’re my son.” Father Armando spoke quietly. “In all ways except blood. You always have been my child. I may not be your biological father, but I love you as if you were my own, and I always will.”

  The fist around his heart eased, releasing a flood of emotion so powerful he needed a moment to regain his composure. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to hear, but he felt enormous relief at the priest’s declaration because it meant this man he’d come to care greatly about wasn’t the same person who’d abandoned him at birth.

  “Lazo said he has evidence you are my father,” Slash finally said.

  “He has nothing.” Father Armando shook his head, a pensive expression on his face. “Because there’s nothing to be had.”

  Slash nodded, satisfied with the answer. He was a trained interrogator and Father Armando spoke the truth. He could see it in his face, eyes and demeanor. “He’s trying to get my DNA. Presumably to link me to you, but perhaps for more nefarious reasons.”

  “That’s truly despicable.”

  Slash shoved his hand through his hair, still shaken by their conversation. “Still, something isn’t adding up for me about this. Lazo is focused on me for some reason.”

  “He’s using you to get to me. I’m so sorry.”

  Slash rose from his chair and went to stand beneath a picture of the Madonna and child. Was it more than just the Congo operation? What did Lazo know that he didn’t? Was there something else about his past that Lazo could use against him? He studied the picture of the Madonna for a long moment before turning to the priest. “Emilio, did you really find me beneath the organ at the church?”

  Father Armando started so abruptly, he nearly dropped his glass of cognac. Guilt streaked across his face. He blinked a couple of times as if he hadn’t heard Slash right. “What did you ask?”

  Pain lanced Slash’s heart. He already had his answer, but he steeled himself and pressed on anyway. “Because I’m trying to get to the truth about a great deal of things.”

  Guilt and indecision played clearly on Emilio’s face, hurting Slash even more. But he said nothing and waited for an answer.

  Father Armando spoke softly. “Why are these details so important after all this time?”

  “I need to have all the information to make sure I make the right decisions.”

  “What decisions?” The priest couldn’t keep the alarm from his voice.

  Slash closed his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. And yet, here he was, once again pitting himself against someone he loved. What was wrong with him? He was bone-tired—emotionally, physically and mentally. Still, deep within him, a white-hot anger simmered and boiled against Lazo, the man who’d brought them all to this.

  “I have reasons for asking what I do,” Slash said quietly. “Did you find me beneath the organ at the church?”

  Sorrow flickered in Father Armando’s eyes. “No. But you often sat there in a basket at my feet. You were still a child when I told you that, not yet healed from your trauma. I thought it was the kindest, the softest way, to present it like that.”

  So, he’d lied. Damn, that hurt. In a relationship that had always been strong and harmonious, this conversation had become excruciatingly painful for both of them. Still, Slash had to finish it.

  “I was sixteen, Emilio.”

  “Sixteen is still a child. I adjusted the truth to protect you.”

  Slash gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to shout at the man he considered his father. How much more didn’t he know about his own life? “I don’t need your protection or adjustments any lon
ger. I need answers. Who brought me to you?”

  Misery swamped the priest’s face. “You were brought to the church by someone who couldn’t keep you. Why does it matter now?”

  “I’m not sure.” Slash studied him for a longer time, wondering if he even really knew this man. “You say you’re not my biological father, but do you know who is?”

  Father Armando held up a hand. “Please. Let’s not go down this road.”

  “We should have gone down it a long time ago.” Slash’s voice came out much harder than he intended. Feelings of betrayal were swamping him, hurting him.

  “I don’t understand.” Father Armando was pleading now. “Why do you want to drag out the past? It won’t change anything. It is what it is.”

  “So, why does everyone want to hide my past from me? I want the truth, Emilio. That’s all I want. That shouldn’t be too much to ask from you. Not from you. Never from you.” His voice broke on the last word, and he hated that his emotions were so raw and close to the surface.

  The priest spread his arms and shook his head. “Nicolo, I cannot say who brought you to the church. I am bound by my vows and by an important promise. I am deeply sorry, and I love you. If I could, I would tell you. You know that.”

  He wasn’t sure what he knew anymore. How the hell was it possible that in one hour, everything he thought he’d known about his birth had turned out to be a lie?

  “I don’t know why I never thought to ask you directly before,” he said, his voice cool. “Maybe I wasn’t ready, or maybe I didn’t really want to know.”

  “I promise you, a name would change nothing.” Father Armando’s voice broke a little, too.

  “That not for you to decide, is it?” Slash said harshly. “You lied to me.”

  “You were a child,” Father Armando protested. “I was protecting you.”

  Slash looked away, emotion choking him. “You could end this now, by telling me the truth.”

  “That’s not fair,” the priest said emphatically. “You know better than anyone what I can and can’t divulge.”