“The secret archives. I still don’t see the connection to Maisto.”
“The collector sold the information to someone at Maisto. That person, apparently in conjunction with others, felt it a worthy enough case to investigate.”
“Worthy as meaning potentially worth billions of dollars worldwide if they were the sole owners of a cure or prescription to prevent or treat AIDS.”
Basia nodded. “Exactly.”
I sorted through the implications. “Okay, so they needed to find a hacker to attack the archives, so they brought on Rutgon. They had him cause an electronic diversion to take everyone’s attention elsewhere while he penetrated the archives. The only problem is that while Rutgon was good, he wasn’t good enough to hack into the Vatican Bank or the archives. That’s where Serafina came in.”
“Yes.”
Basia rubbed her temples, looking exhausted.
“Are you okay, Basia?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Really. Just exhausted from dealing non-stop with the officials. Not that I’m complaining about the fact that I’m alive, mind you.”
“I’m with you on that.”
She sighed. “Lexi, you should know there are Italian and American agents all over the hospital, not to mention a slew of priests and representatives from the Vatican. It’s a freaking circus. They’ll want to interview you and Slash as soon as you’re able.” She leaned back in her chair. “The whole damn thing is all over the news. Internationally. Finn has been calling every ten minutes to get a status update on you. On the up side, X-Corp is now famous. Looks like we’ll have our jobs for a bit longer.”
“Good thing I was discreet. Ha.” I rolled my eyes and it hurt. “How are Slash and Tito?”
“Slash is alive, sexy even in a hospital gown, and asking about you. He’s a terrible patient. Tito...” She looked at the floor. “They’re not sure he’s going to make it. He has a priest with him now, just in case.”
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t bear to think about it.
She patted my hand. “Look, Lexi. I’ll hold off the investigators a bit longer. Take some time to process everything. I know that’s important to you. Let me know when you’re ready. Okay?”
I nodded. “Basia, I’m glad you’re my best friend, although I don’t know why you put up with me half the time.”
She laughed. “You just saved my ass and you want to know why I adore you? You kick it, girlfriend. Always want you on my side. You know I love you. Now go to sleep. We’ll all be back in the morning.”
I hadn’t even known it was nighttime. She stood, pulled her chair back to the corner of the room and headed for the door. I stopped her before she pulled it open.
“Wait, Basia. I’ve got one more question. Do you know where my clothes are?”
Chapter Eighteen
I must have dozed a bit because when I woke, I was hungry and thirsty. But first things first. I carefully sat up, swung my legs to the side of the bed and walked to the bathroom. I felt much stronger, probably because they were no longer pumping so many drugs into my system. When I came back to the bedside, I poured myself a big glass of water and drained it. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then padded to the door to peek out.
After a moment, I slipped into the empty hallway, using a hand against the wall to brace myself as I walked along the corridor. Two doors later, I entered the room. I could hear the steady rhythm of breathing. There was a small light near the bed and I saw Slash, his head swathed in a bandage, his right arm and shoulder in a sling and his right leg elevated and in a cast. He was dressed in hospital garb, but I could see his gold cross gleaming in the light. I bent down and then squealed as his hand shot out, capturing my wrist.
He opened an eye. “Cara?”
“Slash. Jeez. Good thing we are in a hospital. You about gave me a heart attack.”
He released my wrist and smiled. “You’re okay.”
“I’m in better shape than you.”
“I’m glad.”
My legs were shaky, so I half sat on the bed next to him. “How do you feel?”
“Better now that you are here.”
“Rutgon shot you.”
“Si. Thank God he wasn’t a sharpshooter. Still the bullet grazed my head and the shock of it knocked me out. I must have hit my head hard on the ground, adding insult to injury. All in all, I’m lucky to be alive.”
“You could have killed him earlier. Rutgon, that is. You put down your gun for me.”
“I wasn’t going to let him shoot you, cara. I’m fairly confident I could have taken out both him and Bianca, but I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you.”
I swallowed hard. “Did you hear the police arrested some people at Maisto and they’re talking, confessing to a bunch of things? Basia and the others have already been debriefed.”
“I heard. I’ve already been debriefed myself.”
“You have?”
“Si. I told them you had little else to add for the time being. I wanted to give you time to rest, to think things through.”
Jeez. My friends knew me so well. Guess that was what friendship was all about. No matter what else we were, Slash had truly become my friend.
I looked down. “Bianca didn’t make it.”
He took my hand, threading his fingers with mine. “You didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I know. Honestly, I don’t feel guilty about that, well, not too much. She would have killed all of us if I hadn’t stopped her. I understand that. But if it hadn’t been for me shooting her, three times, she might have made it out of that cave alive. So, in a way, I’m responsible.”
“Not true. She made her own choices. Bianca betrayed her country, her colleagues, her church, and herself. For money. Don’t forget that. She forced you into an ugly choice.”
Intellectually, I knew he was right. Emotionally, I was having a harder time with it.
“Is that what your job is about sometimes, Slash? Making ugly choices? Is that why you carry a gun and sometimes seem so sad and detached?”
He sighed. “Si, cara. Sometimes. It doesn’t make for an easy life. But we are born to be who we are. I’m good at what I do and I like to believe I help more people than I hurt.”
I lifted his hand and saw the raw marks where the handcuffs had rubbed the skin raw. “How did you get the handcuffs off?”
“Rutgon still had the key in his pocket. Elvis retrieved it and freed us.”
“Oh. Good thinking.” I’d forgotten about that.
He touched my cheek. “How did you disarm Bianca?”
“By sheer luck. I sprayed her with Nonna’s perfume once we got into the tunnel, then we fought for the gun. While we were struggling, it went off and got me in the hand before I could get control of it. Then I shot her in the side, mostly by accident. She had a knife and wouldn’t give me the key. There was no time to argue, so I shot the knife out of her hand. After that I popped her in the knee so she couldn’t follow me to the cave and stop me from helping you guys. It was weird, Slash. Like I was another person, calm and completely detached from my body. I just kept shooting. Boom, boom, boom. What the hell happened to me? Am I a monster?”
Slash took my hand and pressed it to his cheek. “It makes you incredibly brave, cara. You did what you had to do for survival. We both know you could have killed her with one shot and ended it there. But you didn’t. Instead, you tried to save her despite the fact she would have murdered all of us. That makes you smart and very, very human.”
I felt better hearing his words. “
I’m sorry, Slash, but I lost Nonna’s perfume. I dropped it in the tunnel. I hope she didn’t want it back. It was undoubtedly the best present I’ve ever been given, in spite of the questionable smell.”
He chuckled and then winced. “There you go again. Making me happy.”
“You’re not just saying that to sleep with me, right?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Do you know anything more on Tito?”
Slash frowned, then sighed. “No. Apparently it’s touch and go. I’ve been praying.”
I envied him his faith. There was something to be said for having a bastion of hope to draw upon. How cool that he truly believed in divine intervention and the well of hope that accompanied it. Well, if anyone deserved divine intervention, it was Tito. I sincerely hoped Slash’s prayers worked.
“So, I guess this means Uncle Bendetetto is off the hook.”
“It does. The Vatican is very pleased with X-Corp’s efforts.”
“And yours. Unofficially, of course.”
“Of course.” He squeezed my hand. “Basia told me about the da Vinci parchment and how you and Elvis retrieved it from the coffin.”
“We’re a good team.”
“We all are.”
He let out a breath. “Basia said da Vinci might have been working on a prescription to treat an AIDS-like virus. It’s too bad we lost it after all this time, not to mention the glass coffin and the historical significance either items might have held. The authorities said no documents were found on Bianca’s body.”
“Well, that’s because I relieved her of the parchment after I shot her in the kneecap. We may have lost the coffin, Slash, but we’ve got the prescription. I tucked it in the inner pocket of my windbreaker. I’m afraid to unroll it from Elvis’s shirt in case I ruin it, and I don’t know how well it fared the bombing, but at least I’ve got it. I checked earlier tonight and it’s still in my coat.”
Slash looked at me, incredulous. “I...I don’t know what to say, cara. You are simply extraordinary.”
“Well, I’m being taught by the best, right? You said it yourself. You’re the teacher and I’m the pupil, right?”
He smiled and crooked his finger at me. “Come closer, pupil. There’s another lesson I’d like to teach you.”
I leaned down and he slid his hand behind my neck, pulling me to his mouth. He kissed me gently, his lips still hot and sexy even though he lay in a hospital bed.
“‘I was born when she kissed me,’” he murmured against my mouth.
I lifted my head. “Humphrey Bogart. Again.”
He smiled. “Si, from his movie In a Lonely Place. Bogart was a man who knew what he wanted. I admire that.”
He pulled me down for another kiss.
My head spun when he finally released me. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Slash?”
“Trust me, cara, it’s the best medicine in the world.”
“I do. Trust you, that is.”
He smiled and I slid my feet up on the bed and curled up next to him. He tucked a blanket over me and we talked about things that didn’t involve bombs, guns or death until we both fell asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
I’m positive I’d said that about four hundred times, but no one was listening to me.
Basia fussed with a ribbon on my dress. “This bow is not lying flat.”
“I don’t like bows. Can’t we just take off the belt?”
Basia pursed her lips. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Jeez.”
Basia apparently fixed the bow to her satisfaction because she let go of me and smiled. “Perfect.”
I looked like a dork. It had been a week since we’d been pulled out of the crypt and I still didn’t feel quite like myself. I’d been released from the hospital and the twins, Basia and I were staying in the Hotel Atlante Star while the Roman police, the Italian secret service, Vatican officials, scientists from the National Roman Museum, and members of the American Embassy took our statements. I’d turned over the Da Vinci Recipe, as we had started calling it, to the Roman authorities. We were told that the parchment was still readable with minimal damage. Scientists, historians and medical researchers were beyond ecstatic at the find. How the medical implications would play out, no one knew yet, but everyone agreed it was a priceless historical find. In the meantime, I continued to be debriefed and questioned on every aspect of what had happened, so much so that I began to dream about it. In Italian.
At some point we were informed that the Pope had invited us to a private meeting so he could thank us personally for assisting the Vatican. I hadn’t thought it a particularly good idea given my sucky social skills and lack of etiquette knowledge, but I guess in Italy one didn’t say no to the pope. As none of us had proper attire to wear to such a meeting, Finn offered to foot the bill and we had all been forced (except Basia, who went screaming with happiness) to go shopping.
I wished I could have clothes shopped with the twins, but they went off to a guy store and Basia dragged me to a girly boutique. There had been a lot of discussion with the saleswoman about Italian fashion, sparing no expense, and leather shoes. It had been nothing more than a blur to me and I had spent most of it sitting in a chair watching, but Basia had been in fashion heaven. She bought herself a dark green dress with matching pumps and a purse to match. She talked me into buying a knee-length royal blue dress with a soft belt that tied into a loose bow in the back and a pair of shoes to go with it.
I’d put on the outfit in the hotel and Basia had adjusted it and brushed my hair like a million times, leaving it long and loose. She put some cream on my hair and fluffed it, saying it shone like rich sable. I wanted to pull it back in a ponytail, but she wouldn’t let me.
After that came the makeup to hide my fading bruises and make me look a little less scary. Basia put creams and powders all over my face and eyes. When all was said and done, I thought she’d managed to do a pretty decent job of disguising the purple and black marks without it looking too over the top.
“Stop fussing.” Basia frowned at me. “Go talk to someone. Smile a little. It’s an honor to be here. Stop being anti-social.”
I glared at her. “I’m not being anti-social. I’m just not being user friendly.”
She rolled her eyes and I sighed. She was right. It was an honor to be here. Besides, I was glad to escape the relentless interrogations of the authorities even if it meant engaging in social niceties. I think Basia was glad, too. In spite of her annoyance with me, she looked excited and happy—totally in her element. Diamond studs sparkled in her earlobes and her dress swished prettily every time she moved. She made looking feminine seem so effortless.
It all felt terribly awkward and I was beyond nervous about meeting the pope. We’d already had a meeting with the monsignor in charge of protocol. He explained the dress code, social expectations, requirements for genuflection, and the list of topics I was and was not permitted to talk with him about. After he was done, I couldn’t remember a single thing I was supposed to do. My brain had shut down after I heard the words papal audience. Besides, I had already decided to nod at everything and not open my mouth. Not even once.
Now, as we waited outside the door, I fidgeted and stood close to Elvis. The twins looked amazing in matching dark blue Italian suits, red ties and loafers. Thankfully they looked as nervous as me.
Elvis put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “You look pretty.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better. I don’t feel very feminine with a bandage on my hand and make up that barely hides my hideous bruises.”
“No, I mean it. You really do look nice. Your hair looks shiny and soft.” His face turned a slight shade of red.
I touched my hair. “You’re right. It does feel soft. Want to touch it?”
He cleared his throat. “Okay. Sure.” He ran his hand down the length of my hair twice. “It is soft, and it smells nice, too.”
I sniffed at it, wondering what Basia had put on it. “Well, you guys look beyond amazing. Handsome and distinguished. Have I ever seen you in a suit before?”
“No.”
“It’s a good look on you.”
“Thanks.”
I shifted my weight on my feet. My new shoes were uncomfortable. “So, are you up for hobnobbing with the pope?”
He shrugged. “Not really. Meeting famous people is not my thing. Just between you and me, I’d rather be involved in a serious session of omphaloskepsis.”
I laughed as Basia came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I heard that. Are you guys talking geek again?”
I grinned. “Not really. Elvis just told me he’d rather be at home contemplating his navel.”
“What?”
“Omphaloskepsis. Navel-gazing.”
“That is so not a word.”
“That so is.”
She shook her head. “Seriously. You people are so totally weird sometimes.”
I laughed again, feeling much better. Being with Elvis always relaxed me. I decided to stick close to him, letting him lead the way on social etiquette. It was sort of like the blind leading the blind. But we are who we are, so I decided to go with it.
Suddenly the door opened and a priest stepped out. “Please come in.” He invited us into a small reception hall.
Basia smiled, practically pushing the twins and me inside. My nervousness increased. I felt like throwing up and hoped the whole thing would be over in minutes. Surely the pope was a busy guy. He’d smile, we’d smile, he’d thank us, Basia would say something appropriate and we could all go home. I hoped.
No Place Like Rome Page 20