Behind her, Simon shifted his weight from one foot to another. The duffel scraped against the back wall of the confessional. It wasn’t a loud noise, but to Veronica’s adrenaline-hyped body, it might as well have been a marching band playing John Philip Sousa.
She tensed, and for a moment she was sure her heart stopped.
Her eyes remained locked on the two men. Did they hear it? The one in cream stopped and said something to the man in white.
Her eyes widened and she held her breath. This was it. What would they do when the men opened the door and caught them? Her mind raced over possibilities. Tie them up? Abandon the codex?
Instead, White laughed and put out the candles that dominated the front altar. The room dimmed, and the unmistakable scent of snuffed candle reached her nose. Shuffling back toward the confessional, the men turned out the last lights and left her and Simon in utter blackness.
Veronica’s heart slowed and she pressed a hand to her chest. White and Cream hadn’t heard Simon.
The whole episode lasted just over a minute, but she felt as if she’d been in the confessional for hours. Her breath came out in a whoosh. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and said the only appropriate thought that came to mind, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Behind her, Simon groaned at the weak joke, and she was sure if the lights were on, she’d see him rolling his eyes. But it was dark and the confessional was too small to turn in.
It was so confined, Veronica realized, that Simon touched every part of her body. Thigh to thigh. Chest to back. His lips against her hair.
She sucked in a breath at the intimacy. “That was too close.” Her voice broke. “Next time we are stuck in a confessional, or any kind of situation where we might be discovered, you might want to try holding still. If those men had been younger they would have heard you.”
“You have the ears of a bat, and I doubt anyone would have heard that.” He shifted his hold on her, and his palm rested against the flat of her stomach, his fingers splayed outward. “But just in case you’re right, we might want to wait a few minutes before we proceed.”
She shivered at his touch and tone. His voice deeper than normal, he sounded as if he wanted to wait a few hours. Alone. With her. Veronica knew what he could do given a few hours to kill. She inhaled—damn, he smelled good—reminding herself that he probably rode the same adrenaline high, and that it was dangerous.
“No time,” she gasped, opening the door and breaking his grip.
The air in the chapel was cool compared to the heated environment of the confessional, and Veronica almost sighed in relief. If they managed to get out of this alive and without being caught, she was going to need a long, cold shower.
They entered the library five minutes later after a swift trek though the halls of the Vatican. Simon closed the door behind them and the scent of parchment and musty air wafted over Veronica.
She ran her flashlight’s beam through the darkness, almost feeling at home. It was much the same as she remembered. Tables and chairs were placed with precision every eight feet, and the walls were lined with book-packed shelves that rose from the floor to the top of the ten-foot ceiling.
“Let’s get this over with and get out of here,” Simon whispered, his flashlight tracing the opposite wall.
“Agreed.” The longer they were here, the better their chance of being discovered.
Veronica wove through the furniture toward the back wall, praying that whoever was in charge of this area was overconfident in his security system. If so, then it was likely the codex was in the same place. If not? The search for the Midas Stone would be delayed.
Possibly finished.
Stopping in front of the bookshelf that lay farthest to the left, she reached for the wide book in the upper left-hand corner of the six-foot shelf and pulled it out, revealing a keypad. “Hand me the code-breaker.”
Sliding his pack off, Simon fished it out.
Grabbing a chair, Veronica pried off the faceplate, stripped the wires and let Rebecca’s machine do its job.
A minute later, the bookshelf slid backward on tracks, and there was a whoosh and a hiss as cool air blew past them.
“Wow,” Simon said in awe.
“Yeah.” The room was nothing like the library. White, sterile and climate-controlled, it resembled something from a James Bond movie.
“They let you see this? I’m impressed.”
Veronica shone her light in the room. Roughly twenty feet in depth and width, it was empty with the exception of a bookshelf standing against the back wall. “Don’t be. The codex was always out on the desk, waiting for me when I got here. This little secret was courtesy of Sylvia.”
“Damn, she was a good friend.”
“Is a good friend,” Veronica corrected. “She didn’t agree with the Vatican’s policy of nondisclosure and had no qualms about breaking rules she saw as useless.”
“Thank God for that.” Simon edged past her.
The hairs on Veronica’s neck rose in warning and she grabbed his shirt, yanking him to a quick stop before he stepped onto the white floor. “Wait. Not too close.”
“What?”
She cocked her head, surprised at his slip and her gut reaction. “Goggles,” she reminded him. “Just in case.”
“Of course.”
She was sure if the room were well lit, his cheeks would be tinged red with such an amateur assumption. It was also something for her to remember. He might be able to pick a lock, but when a new discovery caught his attention, all that mysterious and useful knowledge seemed to desert him.
Perhaps it was childish, but it made her feel better to know that he wasn’t perfect. Up until now, she was beginning to wonder.
Setting the duffel on one of the tables, he retrieved the goggles, handing her a pair. Made of specially coated glass, they were heavy in her hands.
She slipped them over her eyes, the elastic band that held them snapping the back of her head. Looking through them, a grid of lasers in the secret room came into view. Viewing the lasers through his set, Simon gave a low whistle. “It’s a spiderweb.” He turned to her, lips pressed tight. “Even after we broke the code?”
“They were supposed to turn off,” she said, her lips pressed tight in frustration even as she inwardly sighed in relief for her accurate gut instinct.
She understood his frustration, but was also aware that the Vatican was nothing else if not paranoid. “There might be another keypad elsewhere.”
But a quick, two-minute search revealed nothing. It must be pure luck or bad management that the other code worked. “There’s probably a remote or something.” Veronica sat on the closest table, goggles dangling from her fingertips, but inside, she was anything but calm, knowing what she had to do.
Simon’s hands clenched into tight fists. “Damn it. And we were so close.”
Veronica “tsked” at him, surprised for the second time in five minutes. It seemed Dr. Owens had a temper when he didn’t get his way. “You might think we’re done, but I don’t.”
“How do you propose we get past the lasers?” he shot back, his mouth pulled down in a frown and his voice tight, teetering on the tight edge of anger.
She stepped toward him until she was just outside the edge of his personal space, daring him to disagree with her. “There’s only one way. I go in.”
His frown deepened.
She returned the frown. He might not like the suggestion, but it was the only way unless they wanted to give up the quest before it barely began. “I’m smaller than you, so I can get through the lasers without tripping them. Plus, I know what to look for, and the last thing we need is me shouting directions.”
He hesitated and she was sure he was weighing the odds. After a few heartbeats, he managed a curt nod. The frown never left his face. “Just be careful.”
“Of course.”
With flashlight in hand, she slipped her goggles back on, took a deep breath and stepped into the darkened,
high-security, laser-guarded room.
It really was a spiderweb. When she went over one beam, she had to watch that her head didn’t break another. Within seconds, sweat pooled between her breasts and down the middle of her back. A drop worked its way out of the edge of the goggles and fell onto her arm. She exhaled in relief. If her arm had been a fraction over, the drop would have crossed a beam.
Would a single drop of sweat be enough to trip the alarm? She didn’t want to find out.
She glanced up. Halfway there.
Now two beams came down on either side. Veronica held her breath and edged through them, wishing she were an A-cup instead of a C.
There was no way Simon could have managed this, not with his physique.
Once more, she went up and over, the beam almost coming to the top of her inner thigh. This is worse than yoga.
How did people in movies do this? They made it seem so effortless. Easy.
Damned Hollywood.
One more beam to cross over and she came out on the far side. She took a deep breath, letting it out gently. She glistened with sweat, but she’d made it through. She gave Simon a thumbs-up.
He gave it back and pointed at his watch.
Pulling the flashlight from her waistband, she propped the goggles on her forehead and started searching for the text.
Nothing looked familiar. She pulled one down that was the right size from the shelf and opened it. It wasn’t the codex. Too early and the pages were made of parchment. It was a sketchbook filled with da Vinci’s work.
Unknown da Vinci, as far as she could tell.
“Cool,” she murmured, tempted to take it. But if she took something like that, then she would be as bad as Michael.
At first glance, stealing the codex wasn’t much better than his taking the Turkish urn, and when compiled with breaking into the Vatican—the most holy of cities—she was not one to preach about morality.
But she planned to return the codex after they recovered the Midas Stone. Not keep it.
And certainly not take anything else, no matter how tempting.
She put the da Vinci back in its place. Still, it pissed her off that the Vatican kept such treasures for itself.
She glanced upward, and the familiar broken-bound pages caught her eye. “Thank God.” Grabbing it, she flipped it open, memories rushing over her.
The ancient Greek text. The careful writing. The scent of the ages. The codex.
Relief surged through her in a wave.
Slipping the codex inside her waistband at the small of her back and under her top, she started making her way back through the maze of light with a reminder to take her time. She might have the codex, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be caught.
Five minutes later, she was standing next to Simon.
Without a word, she took the book out from under her tight shirt and handed it to him.
Simon accepted it with the same reverence that some had when taking a wafer from a priest. She noticed that his hands had just a hint of tremble, and she couldn’t fault him. Now that she was through the labyrinth of lasers, she felt the same way, excited and barely contained within her skin.
He examined the binding. Shrugging his pack off, he pulled out the other half of the text and put them together. They fit—two halves of a whole. He put both in the duffel.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice filled with unexpected and sincere gratitude. “You’re amazing.”
Veronica’s lips parted in surprise at the sincerity in his voice. That was number three in surprises for the night, and she shifted, uncomfortable in his praise. “You’re welcome.” She punched the code back into the keypad and the bookshelf slid forward, once again hiding the secret room. “Now, let’s get out of here before our lucks runs out.”
As if on cue, a siren sounded.
Veronica and Simon stood in a janitor’s closet, listening while two men talked outside the door in rapid Italian. She and Simon had exited the library and had been trying to make their way back to the chapel for the past ten minutes. Once there, it was doubtful they’d be followed.
The smell of bleach stung her nose. She prayed the men would leave before she sneezed. Instead, they continued to talk. She listened harder, trying to make out what they said, but with the heavy wooden door, all she could hear was the occasional word and their tone. One man sounded eager. The other annoyed.
The air was displaced as Simon leaned toward the door, the small duffel held against his chest. She assumed he was listening as well.
The word falso caught her attention. It was the “annoyed” one. Did he think this was some kind of false alarm?
Please! She hoped her luck had returned. Even now, she wasn’t sure what had tripped the alarm. Perhaps the secret door was set on a timer? Perhaps all the doors? With the Vatican, it would be impossible to tell. The men who ran security for the City were suspicious, Old World autocrats who believed not just in God but also in keeping their piece of the world safe from all outsiders.
If they caught her and Simon, she suspected that they would not be turned over to the Italian authorities. The Vatican was a country unto itself, and as such, she was sure they dealt justice in their own fashion.
What kind of justice would it be? She remembered the bodyguard who escorted her from the city those years ago—the chill in his eyes and the tight grip of his hand on her elbow. She shivered. Whatever their method of justice, it probably wasn’t being licked to death by puppies.
Another smattering of rapid, irritated Italian caught her attention. It was the man who sounded eager.
The locked doorknob rattled. Veronica tensed and Simon leaned back. She held her breath and heard Simon automatically do the same.
A key clicked in the lock. She and Simon flattened themselves against the wall behind the door. Adrenaline pounded through her veins. She was sure they would hear her heart beating if they listened.
The door opened, barely hiding them behind it.
Veronica held her breath. Don’t come in. Don’t turn on the light.
“Niente.”
The speaker sounded irritated and a little disappointed as he slammed the door shut.
Veronica relaxed in relief as the speaker relocked it, thanking God for underpaid, half-asleep workers. Simon’s hand squeezed hers, and she squeezed back, not realizing until then that they’d been holding on to each other.
Who grabbed whom?
She couldn’t remember.
She hoped it wasn’t her. The last thing she needed was Simon seeing her as fragile or needy—especially when they were in danger.
She let go of him. “Give them another couple minutes to clear the hall, then let’s get out of here,” she whispered in his ear, her mouth brushing against his skin. He tasted like sweat.
Several minutes later, they cracked the door open. The hall lights were on—both a blessing and a curse. They could get to the chapel faster, but it would also make them easier to spot.
But it would be worse to wait much longer. Veronica and Simon stepped into the empty hallway. She paused, expecting more alarms to sound or someone to come around the corner and point a finger at them.
Their luck held. Nothing but silence announced their presence. Staying close to the walls, she led him back to the small sanctuary.
Sanctuary. She almost smiled at the aptness of the name. More voices came from behind them.
She glanced at Simon. He pumped his fist up, then down, like a train engineer puling on the train’s horn. What? She mouthed. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, pulling her into a run. Oh. Move it. Taking the lead, she let go of him, running as silently as possible through the halls. The chapel door came into view.
Almost. Almost. Veronica sprinted to it and pressed down on the handle.
It was locked. One of the guards must have done it while they were searching for her and Simon. Panic rose like bile in her throat. She wished she had Lily. I
f she did, she could blow the lock off and silence be damned.
As it was, they were going to be taken while standing in a hallway. Quickly, she scanned the area for a potential escape and spotted a small stained-glass window at the end of the hall. If needed, they could break it out and make a run for it.
Without a word, Simon shoved her out of the way, opened the duffel, grabbed his lock-picking tools and dropped to his knees.
But would he be fast enough for them to evade discovery?
The world dissolved into slow motion, and it was almost as if she watched Simon from outside her body. She saw the details of his world, the way his fingers manipulated the slender tools. The sweat beading his brow. A wayward strand of hair sticking to his neck.
She felt as if they had all the time in the world and none at all.
Simon rose. Time resumed at a normal speed.
The voices grew closer and were almost upon them.
Veronica almost flung the door open in her hurry to get through. Simon followed, shut the door and they ran for the catacombs.
Chapter 7
Forty minutes later, Veronica locked the hotel room door behind them, and every muscle in her body relaxed.
They had robbed the Vatican and hadn’t been caught, seen or struck by lightning. And until someone needed to borrow the codex for research, it was doubtful anyone would even notice that it was gone. “We did it!” she whooped, grabbing Simon around the neck. He really could be Simon Legree right now and she wouldn’t give a damn. They’d done it. He’d done it.
With a shout of his own, he lifted her off her feet and swung her in a victory circle before setting her down on her feet.
Breathless, Veronica smiled up at Simon. He returned it, the smile going up to his eyes.
Setting the duffel on the bed, he unzipped it, then stopped. “You sure you want to do this?” He teased. “We can always take it back.”
She shot him a halfhearted look of exasperation and crossed her arms. “Try it and you’ll be having a conversation with the open end of Lily.”
The Midas Trap Page 10