It was a faded color photograph, easily 1975 or thereabouts. In the background, the ocean met the beach. Three people stood in the foreground: a handsome late-twenties, maybe early-thirties male facing the camera, and two women, a bit younger than the male. The women were arm in arm, facing mostly away from the camera and at him. I could see some of their profile because one was standing slightly behind the other, but not much. The women weren't wearing tops-their backs were bare, as was the side of one woman's breast. I wondered if it was Nice or somewhere else on the French Riviera. I looked at the photograph as long as I could before turning it over.

Then I called Nico.

"I thought I made it clear. No more calls today."

"Quite b.i.t.c.hy, oh surly one. You picked up." I filled him in on the latest development with Tony B, leaving out references to Tina as well as who I believed the three people were in the photograph. I wanted to keep my team focused. They had too much to consider and puzzle out at the moment, and I didn't want to feed them more information unless I felt it was pertinent. Seeing Rollie was something I also skipped as well as his reference to me reminding him of someone. The photo in my hand told me I needed to contemplate his remark a bit further first.

"Anything else?" His tone indicated boredom.

"For a few minutes, at the gallery, I lost visual contact with my clutch purse." I quickly cut off his objections. "I know, I know. Stay with me a second. It's all about continuity. I came into the bathroom a moment ago to restore my appearance, and I found a piece of paper I didn't put in my purse. On the paper were these words: codes are often based on memories." My words met with silence. I could hear his brain ticking away. "I thought that was worth the call."

"All right, I see this was a necessary call. Are you sure you are telling me everything? I mean it, Laurel. It might be important."

"I'll think everything through again, and if something occurs, I'll get back to you."

"Good. Think hard and fast. I may be on to something, but I am not ready to go there yet without more information. As soon as I am, I will get back to you."

At this point, I wasn't even tempted. Not even to help the case. "Hey, before I let you go, is the Vespa ready for tomorrow?"

"Of course. I sent you the details."

"Thanks, pal. I could really use a break."

"Yeah, right, like scouting around for information is not your real plan. Pull the other one, Laurel."

I laughed. "Get some sleep, oh grumpy one."

"I thought I was surly."

"Surly, grumpy, one and the same."

"May I remind you some of us do not have time for sleep."

"My violin cries for you." I hung up, smiling a bit, but the humor faded fast. What the heck I had walked into?

Maybe it would be a good idea to spend my Sunday in Florence scouting. I hadn't lied. I definitely needed some fun time, and if I could combine it with finding some helpful information, all to the good.

Water and a gla.s.s of red wine graced my place setting when I slid into the chair on the opposite side of the table from Jack. The waiter came to refresh the wine, and I saw Produttori del Barbaresco on the label. Jack hadn't skimped. Wines made famous by an Italian vintner in the Piedmont area. No cheap Chianti for our Mr. Jack Hawkes, but a 2007 Nebbiolo.

"You aren't going to make any friends with the locals if you buy wine from outside Tuscany. Especially if we drink it while we're eating the famous local beef.

"If they didn't want to sell it, it wouldn't be available."

"Yes, but Chianti is pretty much a ritual with Chianina beef. You know what the locals say, Jack, 'si sposa bella.'"

"Yeah, yeah, 'they marry well together.' I like cheap as much as the next man. However, I saw this and couldn't resist. I'm in love with this wine. I don't need to see my meal marry to have a Tuscan experience with my food." He took a long swallow, and as I watched his throat work, I felt an unfamiliar twinge, which I summarily dismissed. We needed to have more fun. Maybe I would invite Jack to join me in my Vespa adventure.

A plate of antipasti and long bread sat in the middle of our table, along with a container of the house olive oil dressed with herbs.

We stared at each other over the table. Jack said, "I've waited, but it hasn't been easy. I'm starving."

We fought over who got to the bread first. I won. Unfortunately, he proved right. I too fell in love with the wine.

True to form, Jack had ordered not just the wine but our dinner. Fortunately for my waist, he hadn't ordered a traditional Florence dinner with one course after another...after another... The three-inch grilled steak came back glorious. In true Tuscan fashion, the beef was cooked over a hot flame, and as we sliced the tender steak, the inside was sanguinoso, or flavorfully rare.

"Magnifico." Jack barely breathed the word. I think I groaned with my first bite. I didn't want to think about the diet I was going to have to endure after leaving Florence, even without all the courses.

As we ate strozzapreti gnocchi with spinach, and finished off the magnificent steak, I briefed him on what had happened with Tony B and Tina. We more thoroughly covered the incident with Rollie, and I left out all the other parts personal to me.

"You never spoke with Flavia?" Jack placed his napkin on the table and relaxed back into his chair, sipping his coffee.

"No. If I did get close to her, I'd get stopped by someone and lose the opportunity because she'd already be gone when I looked again. I'll give her a call tomorrow. The whole night felt off. Weird. But I was right, you know."

"In what way?"

"No one of significance approached me until I was away from you. All the action occurred when I was alone."

Jack gave me the look. "I admit I can't be sure what's going on with any of the people who set off our internal alarms tonight, but as you pointed out the last time we talked, there's quite a bit going on none of us can explain."

"Anyone on your end find anything yet?" I ate the last bite of tiramisu, one of my favorite desserts in Florence. Nothing like the version I'd been served in the States, although I liked it there too.

Jack frowned. "Moran continues to remain invisible and off the known grid. Nothing on Simon. Still not sure where or how Tony B fits in at this point. As you said earlier, Tina links both Simon and Tony B, and based on the art fair, Tony B's linked to Rollie, we think, but in which way and to what camp? We still don't know who killed the Greek or came after you." He took another sip of coffee.

"What we can genuinely conclude is we have nothing much at all except the bill of lading from Florence for the forged snuffbox now in our collective possession and a number from the Orlando safe-deposit box we can't decode but which is labeled 'Miami.' Also, some supposition on Nico's part and not much else except the appearance of artwork that disappeared over fifteen years ago from the place where we enjoyed our weird experience tonight."

Artwork. The Portrait of Three. Juliana. She was just as beautiful as I'd remembered her. The way she glowed as though she had an inner fire, tempered by the sweetness of her smile and the clearness of her eyes. The artist had loved her. Anyone with half an eye could see the evidence. She'd had the same emotional effect on me yesterday as she had when I was a child. I'd wanted so much to be like her and everything I envisioned she was. Simply from her portrait. I'd wanted so much to be loved as she was loved. The thick feeling in my throat when tears threatened began building. I was not going to cry again in front of Jack. Focus! Focus on the case.

Rollie's weird "you remind me of" statement. Tina's total makeover and disappearance. I stopped for a moment and contemplated her return to the living.

"Tony B has to be behind Tina's faked death. He's the only one in this mix to have the connections to make either the police department cover it up or subst.i.tute another body. And he had the snuffbox. Was my knowing about the snuffbox the reason for her disappearance and the murder cover-up, or just a coincidence?"

Jack nodded but remained silent. The look on his face said he was quietly brainstorming, but he still paid attention to my words.

"Funny how Tony B didn't mention the fact the snuffbox was missing from his safe when he waylaid me at the party." I played with my napkin as I mused, "Could he not know that I took it?"

"Good point," Jack said. "We'll have to keep that possibility in mind. Either way though, the micro-drive with the plans wasn't inside. Tony B bragged to you too much about everything else he had control over. If he had the plans, I have to believe he would have slipped in some kind of hint. He's the type who can't help themselves."

I shook my head and tossed the napkin on the table. "He didn't say anything along those lines." Another thought hit me, and I stared off for a moment into the distance.

"What are you thinking, Laurel?"

I held up a finger for another moment of silence. "What if this was all a misdirection scenario on Simon's part? What if he planted the Miami reference in the safe-deposit box to lead us there, and if I hadn't run into Tina, he gave her instructions to find me. She's the one who first said anything about the snuffbox. I just brought up Simon's name."

"Awfully subtle plan to count on your friend Tina to carry out." Jack frowned. "I think if I were Simon, I would want a more direct route of getting a message to you, if my plan was to send you scurrying in the wrong direction."

I rubbed my temples. "You're right. My mind is working overtime, and that's probably the worst thing I can do until we learn more."

The compact almost shouted at me from my clutch, but I kept its ident.i.ty a secret. Was it a possible misdirection, or something to keep me too occupied to see other clues? I'd told Nico what he needed to know, but the rest? The photo needed to stay with me for a while. Jack would come to the same quick conclusion I did if he saw the people in the shot, but not yet. Tonight, it was mine. Maybe I'd tell him later. Or maybe Nico would tell him about the message.

No, I would show it to him tomorrow. When I'd had time to process my feelings about the compact and the photo. I needed to talk to Margarite, and the only way I knew to contact her was through Jack. But he would expect to know why, and I needed to be ready to tell him.

What did Tony B mean about Jack not being who I thought? And what was this big favor the thug was doing for me? An overwhelming part of me wanted to dismiss the whole thing as some kind of made-up drama, some mind game Tony B was chortling over, and I could have easily tossed the worry aside if...if I just knew something-anything-concrete about Jack. I told myself that's what Tony B was counting on, expecting me to use my own fear against myself.

"Jack, where are you from?"

He laughed. "England, of course. I presumed Hamish made that abundantly clear tonight."

Yes, Hamish did. Question was, who exactly were Hamish and Milli? They left me with more questions than comfort. "But where? What part of England?"

"What is the big deal?" He smiled at me, pretending humor, but then I saw his jaw tighten. No answers would be forthcoming tonight.

The waiter appeared to refill our coffee cups, and Jack settled the bill. By the time we were back out on the street, an after-dinner walk sounded like the best idea in the world. We would grab separate cabs later.

The streets were still active with pedestrians, and the traffic hadn't eased up too much. October was a beautiful time of the year in Florence, and while I quite enjoyed the air, the ambience, and its historic loveliness, my mind remained busily at work.

I'm doing you a big favor. What the heck did he mean?

Something about the rooftop activity I'd seen earlier from the bell tower continued gnawing at me, and I told Jack about the palazzo and how I wanted to get a closer look at it from street level.

"What were they doing? Why the curiosity?" Jack asked quietly.

"Just a feeling I have, really. I couldn't see anything. But a lot of the roof was covered with awnings. Why have a rooftop area if you're going to block out all the sun? What if they were trying to block out voyeurs instead?"

"Good point. But if so, why pick a location so close to the bell tower and dome?" Even as he fired questions, we began heading that way. "If someone is hiding something, a place on the edge of town or in the Tuscan hillside would offer privacy without the need of awnings."

"Maybe the location is key for some reason, like it's temporary, or maybe just convenient." I shrugged for what felt like the millionth time that day. "Or maybe I'm grasping at straws, and the place belongs to someone who loves fresh air but who sunburns easily."

Jack offered me a genuine smile. "Or maybe they're having renovations done, and the workmen don't want to be in the hot sun? I'm happy to play along. We're not in any hurry, and the place you're describing isn't far. I see no reason not to check it out. Your intuition is one of the things I like best about you."

There were others? Sometimes the guy really surprised me.

But that was nothing compared to the surprise we both had when we turned the last corner before the palazzo, and not only saw the house-we saw Rollie heading our way. The well-lit street made it easy to identify him as he spoke angrily and gesticulated with abandon to a swarthy man with an ugly scar down the left side of his face. Scarface frowned as he listened and kept pace, but never answered back, and in that instant I realized Rollie was probably chewing him out for something. Luckily, instead of facing forward, Rollie stared at the other man and missed seeing us. Beyond the surprise at chancing upon him in that location, I was frozen by the sheer disbelief at how he acted. The charming young man was gone, and this was a Rollie unlike anything I could have ever imagined.

Jack reacted quicker than I. His arms wrapped hard around me as he pivoted to slam us into the hard stone of the closest building. His forearms took the worst brunt of the collision, but as my head tried to catch up with the movements of my body, Jack's lips covered mine and coherent thought became impossible.

Everything that happened earlier in the evening faded away as Jack's lips moved over mine, hard yet soft with a proficiency denoting a lifetime of experience with the opposite s.e.x. Somehow my fingers buried themselves in his hair, the texture as silky as I'd imagined and the length just long enough to hold tight as the world disappeared and only the two of us remained. I could hear nothing except Jack's heartbeat thundering against mine, smell nothing but his woodsy, unique scent, and feel nothing but the hardness of his body in the fine material of his tux when he pressed against every part of me. Secure in the strength of his arms as they tightened around my own smaller body, offering refuge.

I'm not sure how long we stood fused together before he finally raised his head. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes, not ready to focus. We stood that way for several long moments until I realized two things: he was as affected as I was by what had just happened, and two men walking by conversing in rapid French reminded me where we were and why. Jack moved his arms up to frame my face and shield my profile. From Rollie.

Jack had made the only move he could, hiding me to prevent detection. Making us appear as lovers. While I appreciated his quick reflexes, I had to be smart. I couldn't let anything happen between us.

I'm doing you a big favor.

I deliberately lowered my gaze, removed my hands from his hair, and pushed on his chest since I couldn't step away. "I appreciate your good reflexes, Jack." I hoped a compliment with a little bravado would put us back on partnering terms. The crazy feelings were just an extension of all the weirdness and adrenalin from the gala, the lovely dinner, and the sudden heightened risk of exposure mercifully averted. That was it. "I was shocked when I saw Rollie. Your ploy was perfect. Thank you."

He obligingly moved back, stood a bit straighter for a second, and blinked a couple of times. Then that slow smile spread across his face, and the Southern Charmer accent was back. The one he employed the first time we'd met. "Why, my pleasure, miss," he said in his familiar Clark Gable Gone with the Wind impersonation. "Anything to help a damsel in distress."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "My hero. Would you also like to help this damsel break into the little ole palazzo right down the street, kind sir?"

"If you have the means, I have the muscle."

I pulled a hand out of my clutch, holding my favorite set of picks and the mini-flashlight.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

I waved the clutch at him. "Those of us representing the Beacham Foundation are always ready for whatever challenges come our way."

We walked a bit farther and ended up across the street from the palazzo, protected from direct view by a huge urn and a potted tree, and stared at the outside of the building. No one appeared to be inside, but we weren't taking any chances. It was too much of a coincidence to think Rollie and his companion weren't coming from there just before we saw them.

While we watched and waited, Jack filled me in on something else he'd observed.

"The guy who was with Rollie is connected to Tony B."

"Are you sure?"

He turned my way and c.o.c.ked a dark eyebrow. "Remember what I told you earlier today?"

"Right." I sighed. "You know everyone. You've memorized everyone."

He chuckled. "You sound a little envious, Laurel."

"I sound a little tired of everything continually changing at a moment's notice. What do you think his being with Rollie means? I'd a.s.sumed Scarface was in trouble about something."

"Possibly." Jack trained his gaze back onto the palazzo. "Scarface, as you call him, is a Sicilian who actually got his facial disfigurement when a political kidnapping went awry."

"So what is his expertise?"

"Whatever anyone will pay him to do." Jack looked my way again. "But he's never been connected with Moran."

This left more questions and no answers. "What's your best guess? That Moran hired Tony B and now he's sent Rollie to get things working the way he wants? Or that Rollie is branching out on his own, hired these thugs without adequate due diligence, and is angry that things aren't done his way?"

"Both are possibilities, as is a third option. The possibility we talked about weeks ago in France. That they're a part of the new underground group we've heard warning chatter about, but we can't get intel on yet. The one we believe is actually spearheading the huge art heist."

I hugged my clutch, thinking. "No." I shook my head. "It doesn't make sense. Moran wants Rollie to take over operations. It's Rollie who says he doesn't want the job."

Jack whirled and clasped my shoulders. "When did he tell you this?"

"A couple of weeks ago, when we first met. Before he and I left for the festival in Le Puy-en-Velay." I frowned, thinking back to exactly what Rollie had said that day. "It was when he was still trying to make me believe the family business was only an architectural firm. He said his grandfather was disappointed in him for not taking on the duties of the family firm."

He let go of me and turned back to stare at the palazzo as he spoke. "Yeah, I see what you mean. But it still could have been a ruse. He was lying, after all, about the type of business. The whole thing could have been a way to impress you. If he actually wants to be in charge and Moran won't give him the reins, he could have thrown in with Tony B on the promise of a seat of command, and only later realized he should have better picked his partners in crime."