He nodded. "I have a feeling this is exactly the ticket we've been looking for."

I held out my hand and whistled. The cab pulled over. "The event probably doesn't start until eight. I don't know about you, but I'll have to pull together some kind of outfit or get Ca.s.sie working on it. Frankly, I have no idea what I have in my bag to choose from."

I got into the backseat and started to shut the door.

"Laurel, what do you think you're doing?" He held onto the door so I couldn't close it.

"Let go. I'm going to my hotel to take a nap. I'll meet you tonight on the Ponte Vecchio. I'll get there early. About seven."

His brows moved dangerously close together. "Where are you staying?"

"It's safe. I'm fine. Ca.s.sie knows where I am."

"Signorina-" The poor taxi driver looked concerned.

I waved and smiled, as if to say, "Don't worry."

"Jack, you're bothering the driver. Find your own cab." Another car scooted around our cab, horn blaring, and almost clipped him. That was all I needed to get the door away from him and locked. I cracked the window. "I'll meet you on the Ponte Vecchio at seven-ish." My driver started moving away. I called out, "Don't try to track me. I'm removing the cell phone battery again. But I'll put it back in and call you right before I get to the bridge tonight."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Since Jack's win over the event protocol and my escape in the taxi shortly after meant we were tied once again in our private ego battle at one apiece, I figured I'd better do well on my end to prepare for the evening, or I might not get away from him the next time. I may not have asked for a partner, but he was turning into something not at all bad. And our ideas meshed in a good way when he wasn't trying to control everything. Yet a lot of that control was due to the changing kaleidoscope this project seemed to entail. I understood. To be completely honest as well, it was nice sometimes having someone to worry over me. Just not too much.

His idea for tonight held promise, if indeed I was the connection we'd been looking for. It sounded a little conceited to think so, but if his plan worked and our being in the very public place smoked out some player in this farce, it was worth the effort. I still worried though. His rationale was valid, but it was he, after all, who was tied up in the Orlando airport. I could have easily caught the flight without him. Was it Tony B, since he'd spoken to Max the day before, or someone related to the painting Jack stole earlier that morning? Or was it someone else entirely? We knew Tony B was responsible for the Miami car thieves in the Honda-at least he laid claim to the credit-so that tallied over to the side shoring up Jack's idea. But if his henchmen waylaid Jack and tied him up like a Thanksgiving bird, why didn't Tony B brag about the accomplishment too? It wasn't like the slimy b.a.s.t.a.r.d not to sing his own praises.

Too many things to consider and not enough sleep. My brain was exhausted. As the cab pulled up at the pension, I pa.s.sed over a few of my dwindling supply of euros to the cabbie and headed inside to call Ca.s.sie.

The balcony drapes were still closed, giving me a more secure feeling that my landlady likely hadn't poked around in my things while I was gone. Not that there was much problem with so little to go through. All of the top-secret stuff stayed in the bottom of my Fendi.

The bed called to me. "In just a minute, you wonderful little bed. I promise," I said. I dropped my purse on the dresser top and pulled out my Italian phone. Probably costing the foundation several times as much per call, but that was Max's problem. He put me with Jack and gave him a blank check. Of course, since I'd told on my boss for giving away too much info to the enemy, Jack was less likely to be quite so accommodating with the information Max thought he was cultivating. Not that I think Jack ever told Max the truth either, and vice versa. I was tired, and my brain was dithering again. Time to set Ca.s.sie with a new task.

"Hiya, Laurel." Ca.s.sie sounded distracted when she answered, and I could hear the sound of computer keys clicking in the background.

"Hate to bother you, Ca.s.s, but I need you to do something for me. I need to look fabulous tonight for an event. Big blowout. Got any ideas?"

"Hmm." I heard Ca.s.sie slow her typing. "You probably don't have anything suitable there. I put in a nice dress or two, of course, but nothing that says 'wow.' Nico is here in the office. We're tag teaming on something I want to tell you about soon but not until we know more. We need a coffee break anyway. We'll go get some java and throw around some ideas for tonight. When do you need it?"

Lovely, both members of my A team would be on the hunt. "The event starts at eight. But I need to leave here about an hour early."

"Are you going anywhere in the meantime?"

"Just across the room to the lovely twin bed that's waiting to send me into dreamland."

Ca.s.sie laughed. "Sounds like the best plan. You've got to be operating on no reserves at all. Leave it with me, Cinderella. Your dreams are about to come true."

I laughed. "Sounds magical. You have my address, right? In case you can get things delivered here for me? Also, I have some information Jack gave me, and I'll text that your way in case it helps whatever you and Nico are puzzling over today."

"Terrific. I'll let him know more intel is coming."

I awoke a few hours later to the sound of buzzing. I didn't remember where I was but automatically reached next to me for my phone. It was Ca.s.sie.

"Are you asleep?" she scolded playfully.

I shook my head before realizing I had to say it aloud. "No, I'm awake."

She guffawed. "Yeah, right. Well, listen. This will definitely wake you up as nothing else will."

"Two espressos...in a skinny latte with a touch of vanilla and caramel can come through the phone?"

"Listen, and listen good, Laurel. The dead forger?" Then silence.

A dramatic pause was not the best thing in the world right now. I tried to be empathetic but could only manage, "Yeah?"

"He's not the only one."

What did she mean? "Ca.s.sie, I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

Ca.s.sie's impatient sigh came through loud and clear. "You know the copy Nico traced that was a forgery of the dead forger's work?"

"Yes, I remember."

"There are more."

"More forgeries signed in the dead forger's method?"

Again, a sigh. "No, Laurel, wake up! There are more forgers' marks being reused. At least that's how it appears. Nico's found several others in more recent use on a few paintings and additional metalwork. Each time the marks are just a shade different than what the original forger always created as a signature. And all the forgers who auth.o.r.ed the marks are dead. We don't know what to make of it yet, but Nico is still searching. Some old research published in an obscure journal caught his attention and detailed facts and figures about the commonality of forgeries, and typically what forgers looked for before they copy pieces. This information sent him to look at some specific lesser-known artwork, and he discovered the provenance and authenticity of these pieces also tie back to Florence. But while the bills of lading are dated prior to each of the late forgers' demise, the items all arrived in their current locations within the past few months. We thought you'd want to know what he'd found as soon as possible."

Sure, but that said, what is the information telling us conclusively? But I didn't say this aloud. It would have sounded negative, and my dynamic duo didn't need anything slowing them down. However, there was one part of this information that leapt front and center into my mind. I rolled over and stared at the plastered ceiling. "You're right. Somehow it's hard to grasp, but if you and Nico have found this-"

"What's stopped others?"

"Yeah, what's stopped others?"

"As much as Nico hates to speculate..." Ca.s.sie paused a moment, as if working this carefully. I figured he might be close-by. "When persuaded, he did admit this probably is the work of an organization of some kind. Too well executed and too well hidden to be done solo or by an amateur. Of course, he immediately qualified and said we couldn't do or say anything until he'd conducted more research to verify his very preliminary theory."

I thought back to Jack's and my recent discussion.

"Laurel? You still there?"

"I'm sorry, Ca.s.sie-my mind went off on a tangent. Jack said some duplicates were found to be great fakes. I'll get that information to you and Nico. It might help the research. I forgot to send it to you earlier when I sent the other data."

"Sounds great. No worries."

"Thanks for getting in touch. You and Nico know what to do."

"Yes, we'll keep looking."

Seeing my reflection in the mirror, wearing a camisole, reminded me that I had a ball to go to tonight. "By the way, fairy G.o.dmother, did you and Nico have any luck securing me some clothes for tonight?"

"Oh, we did indeed. Check with your landlady. If you don't have boxes downstairs yet, you should very soon. Enjoy! And that's an order coming from your financial watchdog."

"Why do I get the feeling Max is going to replace you in that role?"

Ca.s.sie giggled. "Nico promised no slip-ups this time. I think he's taking great pleasure in this new challenge to his computer skills."

"You two are scaring me."

"Just a warning never to cross us, boss." Ca.s.sie laughed then added, "Be sure to send me that info Jack had on the duplicates. Don't get excited about an extra Christmas downstairs and forget all about us slogging away here in the trenches."

"Never." Thank goodness she said that. I'd already forgotten again. We signed off, and I let my thumbs fly over the text screen. I was really missing the laptop I lost when the Honda guys stole our luggage with the rental Mercedes. I needed to at least see about getting a tablet to use if this phase of the job lasted much longer.

When I hit Send, I considered my next option. Clothes, no contest. Although I could have slept a little longer, within minutes I was dressed in a pair of designer jeans and pink silk overtop, and downstairs hoping for coffee while I searched out my new wardrobe. For the price of the room, I never expected any food served, but coffee would have been a G.o.dsend.

No fragrant hint of the wished-for aroma, but I found several boxes of various sizes stacked on the large round table in the entry. A white embossed card with my name printed on it stood propped on top. Inside, a note Ca.s.sie asked the store to add read: Enjoy yourself tonight, Cinderella. Hope the shoes fit. If not, don't leave them behind. They're my size, too. ~ Ca.s.sie Now for the hard choice. Coffee, food, or boxes with the names Armani and La Perla? The packages won hands down, and within minutes I was back in my room, boxes and tissue strewn all over.

A stunning black sleeveless knee-length sheath that offered new meaning to the concept of the little black dress, and a luxurious silk shawl in ivory with silver Lurex accent thread embroidered throughout added the finishing shimmery elegance. Silk stockings, a pair of barely there heels, and a perfect clutch covered the essentials. Exquisite and understated matching silver earrings, necklace, and bracelet rounded out the ensemble. Plus undergarments to die for. The goodies covered my unmade bed.

Leaving everything where it was, I grabbed my bag and scooted down the street to the nearest coffeehouse and ordered Americano and a couple of bomboloni, quickly scarfing down the Italian donut holes while standing like every other patron around me. I had a few tasks of my own to complete before I met with Jack.

The smell of a bakery reminded me of France, and France reminded me of Rollie, since that's where we'd first met. Back when I thought he was just a nice guy. Weird how I couldn't wrap my brain around his connection with Moran or Tony B. Briefly, I wondered if he would be at the show and quickly admonished myself. No matter which way I looked at it, he had to be on the wrong side. For a second, I wanted to call Flavia, but I knew she'd be too busy with last-minute details to talk. I deliberately pushed Rollie out of my mind. The man who I thought I might want to know didn't exist.

First, I'd see if I could find a place to print out the tickets for tonight. I'd discovered no hookup at the pension. I also wanted to rent a Vespa and drive around the city, but I didn't have time. Maybe tomorrow. I knew Vespas weren't allowed on a lot of the inner-city streets of Florence, which were mostly reserved for pedestrians, but I could refresh myself with the perimeter or drop in on some markets. If only we'd come the last weekend of the month, I could have hit the huge Mercato delle "Pulci." Nothing beat that time each month when the stalls overran the famous flea market to the point where they spilled out from the Piazza dei Ciompi and into the surrounding streets. I'd found many historic Italian treasures after plowing through the bric-a-brac and furniture bargains for sale during that time. One never knew what one might discover while junking.

A brisk walk and a few minutes later, I walked through the famous lobby of a hotel I had stayed at many times with my grandfather and father. I recognized the receptionist, who had grayed but changed very little otherwise, and hoped he would recognize me.

"Buon pomeriggo, Lorenzo. Do you remember me?"

Lorenzo gave a small bow. "Of course, Signorina Laurel. I was sorry to hear about the pa.s.sing of Signor Beacham. He was a fine man."

I knew he was talking about my grandfather, rather than my father, even though more than a decade had pa.s.sed since Grandpapa's death. "Thank you, Lorenzo. I'm not staying, just in and out of the city this trip, but I was wondering if I could very quickly make use of your computer facilities?"

"Of course, of course. It is a pleasure to serve the granddaughter of such a fine man." He gestured to someone behind me, telling the clerk, apparently Benni, to help with my computer needs.

"Grazie, Lorenzo." I pressed some euros in his hand.

He bowed again as I followed Benni to the computer facilities. Within moments, I had the tickets printed, Benni tipped, and was back out on the street.

I called Nico. He answered on the fourth ring. "Nico, I thought you were going to let me go to voice mail."

"Believe me, I thought about it." He sounded distracted and not himself.

"What's up?"

"I am not sure. This counterfeiting thing may be bigger than I thought. Jack's information provided another avenue, but the weird thing is, I have carefully dug and dug some more for any scuttleb.u.t.t on the 'net about this but got nada."

"Carefully? So no one can spot what you're doing?"

"Who do you think you are talking to, Laurel?"

I sighed. "Of course, you're right. How big?"

"Big. And I'm not sure who, what, or where. There is literally no chatter to be found."

"Then how do you know it's big?"

Nico sighed impatiently.

I could hear his busy brain telling him to stop explaining and get back to detecting. I fully expected the conversation to be shut down as only Nico could-a quiet, polite hang-up.

Instead, he began saying, "Number one, the why is money. Number two, the how is someone somewhere is apparently convincing and organizing great forgers to create these masterpieces. Forgers are not known for working well together. It's a solitary occupation because they prefer it that way. Which is how I know this is big. Lots and lots of money to be had in counterfeiting masters well, and there is a lot of money rolling around. Unfortunately, the organizational details remain completely blank. I also have not figured out what marks a masterpiece as worthy of imitation in the eyes of these people. This is where you say, 'Good job, Nico,' and trust me to know what I am doing."

"Of course I trust you." For Nico to talk so much on the telephone meant something absolutely out of the norm was going on. "Who and what could convince good solitary forgers to band together?"

"Exactly my question, Laurel. All of them I have found so far are good. Better than good actually. This is big business we're talking about."

"Moran big?"

"Definitely, but I have found nothing connecting his name nor any of the others to this enterprise. Not his grandson, Tony B, or anyone else. And before you ask, I checked for that dilettante idiot, Simon, too, and everything came back nada. A mystery I know I'll eventually solve, but it is going to take some time."

Good. Not about the time, but I didn't even wince when he mentioned Simon's name. "You'll get there-you always do. How's Max?" Might as well get the bad news out of the way. I didn't really want to know. That's why I hadn't asked Ca.s.sie.

"Strangely silent."

Wow. Max silent? Gotta be a first. "What do you make of that?"

"Not worrying about it at this point. Too many other things to do."

"Jack had some things he wanted to take care of today. Do you know anything about what he's doing?"

"No, not this time. He keeps me no more apprised of his plans than you usually do."

I smiled at the verbal poke. "But you have talked with Ca.s.sie," I said, curious as to what he would say.

"Do not remind me. The woman is in almost in the same wheedling cla.s.s as you."

I could forgive him his woman rant. "Why, Nico, are you saying I have compet.i.tion for your attentions?"

"Let us just say if I do not speak with either of you again today, it will be a good one."