We both seemed to have run out of ideas. There were city noises and strains of conversation periodically riding the wind but nothing that set off alarm bells for either of us. Everyone pa.s.sing by seemed to be heading in a particular direction. No one took notice of the palazzo. The building was going a little to seed after five hundredplus years, but the bones were good, and someone had cared for it through the centuries.

After a good twenty minutes, we'd exhausted our patience and moved to investigate the option of getting inside the palazzo via a side door along a darkened section of the block. The lock was a bit tricky, but perseverance and determination triumphed. Jack left my side, motioning me to stay put, and took a quick walk through. While I resented his highhandedness, this was not the time for argument. I removed my heels and stockings as a matter of caution and hoped my feet had healed enough from the previous day's urban hang gliding. I knew wearing shoes was smarter for protection, but while neither of us really thought anyone was inside, high heels are never suggested for discreet breaking and entering. Jack made another quick sweep of the area and came back to my side. "We were right. No one is here. Go ahead and wear your shoes."

"No. Thanks for the concern, but this is much safer in the long run." I hung my heels on my necklace to keep my hands free and followed Jack into the darkness. Something about the blackness around us made me whisper, "Flashlight, or turn on the lights?"

"Let's take a quick jog upstairs first using the flashlight. I've got a funny feeling about this. Something feels fishy."

So he was sensing it too. Another setup? I hadn't wanted to voice my thoughts, because I was beginning to feel like Polly Paranoid-envisioning scary scenarios with no facts to support the suppositions.

I flashed the light over the walls of the ground floor, and the frescos made me stop and catch my breath. These were no forgeries, but fifteenth- and sixteenth-century works created for the family who built and used this once grand abode as their home. They had likely delighted every family who lived here since. My hand itched to take pictures, to doc.u.ment how the wealthy lived and what they saw every day five centuries ago. The hallways were narrow, and the walls that weren't frescoed were most often covered in marble.

The past opulence had to have been breathtaking, and the ambience was still enough to make me stop in my tracks until Jack hurried me along. As we neared the main entrance and the staircase, I tipped my light upward to the high two-story ceilings. The ornate chandelier once held candles but had been electrified sometime after the turn of the last century.

We mounted the stairs. Within minutes, we traversed the first and second floors and took a closed staircase up to the covered roof. No one jumped out and said "Boo!" though I probably would have wet myself if it happened.

Jack returned to my side, and I said, "I vote for the lights. There's too much to see and look at with a flash. But let's hurry."

"Agreed." He reached out to the switch we found, and the rooftop illumination blinded us for a moment.

Instead of the usual paraphernalia, like chairs, tables, loungers, and potted plants, the s.p.a.ce was packed with unopened crates and boxes, all wrapped in heavy plastic. "We don't have time to check these out. There are too many," I said.

"Agreed. But we can open a couple."

"Do we want anyone to know we've been here?"

"At this point, I don't think it matters. We've got to get something going. Besides, they won't know it was us, will they?"

I couldn't argue with his logic, but I wanted to badly. Something about this whole thing stank.

"Do you have the wicked sharp thing you used to cut me down in Orlando?"

The clutch was open in a second, and I slapped my favorite weapon in his hand like a surgical nurse. He approached the nearest crate and cut through the plastic like it was cotton candy. He quickly pried the lid, took a look, and slammed it shut.

"Wait a minute. We're in this together," I protested.

"Trust me. You don't want to see."

I ignored him and lifted the lid. What little bits remained somehow identified the contents as human. I stared into the crate, fixated. "Why isn't there a smell?"

"They're using some kind of chemical to break down the body and prevent odor. This didn't happen very long ago."

I pulled my gaze away from the grisly remains and looked around the roof. "Do you think all of these contain dead bodies?"

Jack replaced the lid, closing the deceased back in the coffin crate. I stepped away and took a deep breath. Seeing a human being dumped in a crate and left to rot on a rooftop filled me with a sense of unspeakable horror. He checked more crates while I spent the time picking my jaw off the ground and looking around fearfully for any sign of new trouble. As he moved closer again, he said, "If this is as big as Nico speculates, people become expendable pretty fast." He opened several more and shook his head. "Let's get out of here and recon through the rest of the place."

"More bodies?"

His face was grim as we walked to the door. "No, just the one. Most of the others hold artwork. Ready for shipping. Multiple copies of the same works. And that crate over there"-he pointed-"guns. I don't know if they are for sale or for security, but we can't waste time looking through the rest right now. What I've seen is enough to keep me awake all night."

I turned off the lights, and he followed me as we walked down the stairs to the third floor. "I'm not sure I understand. A body and guns? What's going on?"

"Probably someone who crossed whomever is in charge. Nico's right. This is big. Really big. C'mon, let's get busy."

It became clear the second floor served as a studio. Different rooms became galleries for different mediums, and the entire s.p.a.ce was wired with full-spectrum lights. Canvases of all sizes and shapes, wood, clay, metal pieces and all the tools a.s.sociated with such things. Even jewelry and unfinished silver and goldsmith work littered the various rooms. All in differing stages of development. Several top-floor rooms contained labs where it looked and smelled like chemical processes were taking place. Varnishing? Aging? Murdering? Creating mediums to mimic old art?

"But why do all of this in a historic palazzo in the middle of the most historically artistic place on the planet?" he asked. "Counterfeiting great works in the very heart of the city defined by the Renaissance? Who would do that?"

"Someone with the bravado to pull it off. The ego to enjoy the juxtaposition," I responded, feeling the anger boil up inside me. "Someone who wants to flaunt his thievery right under the noses of the people committed to the celebration of true art and beauty."

"The irony, of course, would give his ego a boost every time he walked through the door," Jack said in agreement. "Another reason this is probably tied to the marked counterfeit masterpieces we've uncovered."

"But who? Moran? Or Tony B?"

"Tony B doesn't have the financial wherewithal for an operation of this scope," Jack said, authority in his voice. He shook his head. "Though he'd like people to believe otherwise. The man could be a general contractortype for an organization, but as the leader...no. However, I can see him ordering the death of someone and stupidly think he could hide it in a crate on a roof filled with similar crates filled with more evidence of his criminal activity."

So if Moran was running things through Rollie's presence in Florence, why hire a thug like Tony B, who didn't seem to try to curb his goons, and who possessed a vicious streak of his own that was almost tattooed to his face? Granted his record up until this weekend had always appeared fairly clean, but no one changed so quickly without a trigger for the switch deep in the DNA of his black little soul. Jack's words left a lot to think about, but the minutes were skittering madly by. We didn't have time to do much more than view and speculate as we rushed through the huge and intricate s.p.a.ces, through the many rooms, and progressed down to the first upper floor.

There, paintings covered the walls, and all manner of works were displayed. The floor held a sense of the temporary, a sort of waiting in the air as though each and every object was impermanent and could be moved elsewhere at a moment's notice.

"This is where everything must cure," Jack said.

Of course. The creative process had several steps before a piece fully became whole. The canvas, the wood, the clay, the metal-each had to dry at individual rates.

"Look, Jack, this is a Poussin. I'd swear to it." I ran across the room. "Over here is what looks like a Turner and a Cezanne. I need more time-"

"Our time's run out, Laurel. We have to get out of here."

While I'd been focused on the art, Jack paid attention to our surroundings. He stood at the doorway waiting for me, and I made my way toward him. He dowsed the light. I pa.s.sed him and turned on my flashlight to lead the way, but he whispered urgently, "No."

I clicked it off. He pulled me back toward him and put his mouth near my ear.

"Listen carefully. No matter what happens in the next few minutes, I want you to quickly and quietly find a place to hide and figure out a way to get out of here that doesn't depend on returning to the ground floor."

I slowly nodded, knowing he would feel the movement. "But what about you?"

"Forget about me. You are not to try to find me or help me. You may be putting both our lives in jeopardy if you do. We each need to take care of ourselves from this point forward until I get back in touch with you." He gave me a little shake as if for emphasis. "Play tourist. Have fun. Understand? Don't let anyone prove the real reason you're in Florence."

I again nodded and reached with my free hand to touch where he held my shoulder. "Be careful, Jack."

A soft kiss warmed my ear before he whispered, "I'm counting on your creativity and deviousness to get you out of here safely. Don't let me down."

I squeezed his hand and took off. On the second floor, I'd noticed an architectural structure in the far eastern room that seemed familiar to me, but I hadn't quite worked out how. I wondered if its counterpart was on this floor and raced in silence to further investigate.

Yes! The same. I skimmed my hand over the wood, searching, searching, searching for the irregularity I knew I would find. With a touch, a short door matching the wall paneling popped open. One step inside, and I used the small metal k.n.o.b to pull the door closed behind me. I switched on my flashlight and knocked away cobwebs. I hated spiders, but evidence of their habitation meant no one used this recently. It wasn't just a s.p.a.ce. There was an actual, very narrow, stairway. It went upward or down to the ground floor. I picked the downward option. Yes, Jack said not to return to the street level, but I couldn't bear to go up to the roof with what waited up there. Plus, the Fendi with all my emergency tools to safely climb down the palazzo's faade was still in my closet at the pension. Ending up a greasy spot on the pavement, or if not a greasy spot at least broken in some way, was not part of my game plan.

Halfway down the stairs it sounded like all h.e.l.l broke loose below me. No shooting. A lot of yelling and furniture movement. That kind of drama. And even scarier when it was sound alone and I couldn't follow the action.

I proceeded quietly until the stairway ended, and I stepped down to the very narrow enclosure. My fingers quickly identified the way out. I did not want to be trapped.

Because a narrow band of light lit up my s.p.a.ce, I reasoned the paneling on the ground level in the room must have a decorative feature keeping the two pieces from sealing. After switching off my flashlight and sticking it in the clutch, I discovered I could see into the room if I stretched a little taller on my toes. I carefully pulled on my shoes and found I was now at a perfect height to see.

We hadn't fully toured the bottom floor, but I could tell this was the equivalent of a formal living area. It seemed packed with men-the noise level was atrocious-and the furniture could only be described as askew.

Jack stood in handcuffs, expressionless, and surrounded by men speaking Italian. Some wore uniforms, some dressed in suits, but all were either talking with each other or into cell phones. So many people talking at once, in a language not my own, made it difficult to catch what was being said.

But not impossible. Something about how great a day it was with the apprehension of a famous thief they had been pursuing for months.

Say what?

As I nearly disregarded Jack's warning and stepped into the room in his defense, Tony B sauntered in from the entry. All conversation stopped, and the men came to attention. Even the ones on their cells stopped talking.

The next thing I heard was Tony B speaking Italian and calling Jack a hardened criminal. Hoping he'd be kept locked up until Jack was an old man.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

The man who I a.s.sumed to be head of the team was part of the carabinieri contingent, or military police, with half the backup his men, and the others uniformed local polizia. How did Tony B get both military and civilian forces to work with him?

The top man nodded. He thanked Tony B for helping in the capture of a man who had eluded authorities for some time. Tony B nodded and stood, waiting with a bored expression. What did the guy want? Flowers?

The head carabinieri quickly gathered everyone together to leave, and two uniforms manhandled Jack in a way I hated to watch. They hustled him out of view and, I a.s.sumed, out of the palazzo.

Tony B was left alone in the room. He strode toward a bar in the corner and poured himself a drink. The hood took a long swallow. He contemplated the empty gla.s.s for a moment, then slammed the gla.s.s against the wall. It shattered, and the shards showered to the floor.

Seconds later, he left the room, clicking off the light as he pa.s.sed the switch. What sounded like the outer door echoed closed, and I heard a lock set.

The darkness gave me a kind of safety zone to contemplate what I'd just seen. I now understood Jack's warning but not how he knew what was coming. Or why. My brain was too full, and I knew if I didn't move soon, the panic would start. Something I could not risk.

I focused on my breathing. Told myself to consider Jack. He'd said I could put him in jeopardy. Well, I could put both of us in jeopardy if I was discovered, but right now his predicament seemed far worse than mine. Remembering his warning helped me stay in that tight place until a full thirty minutes pa.s.sed. I opened the door of the crawl s.p.a.ce, then crouched a little to get out.

Jack said to have fun and play tourist-I presumed to show I couldn't have been a player in this drama. Just pretend and act carefree. But how? I didn't know what any of this meant, but I knew I wouldn't be able to casually dismiss Jack being dragged away, cuffed by police in a foreign country, and taken to a jail cell in who knew what kind of condition.

I didn't know anyone to call to help Jack.

I took a deep breath. I had to get out of here without being seen, return to the pension, and call Nico. Possibly Max as well. Someone had to figure out what to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

I hung up from my third call, frustrated. My little bedroom-so lovely earlier in the day-felt like it was closing in on me with every unsuccessful, long-distance, middle-of-the-freaking-night phone call. Since my return, I'd talked to Nico, Ca.s.sie, and yes, even Max. All three said the same thing, "Come home."

No way. I used the anonymous Italian phone to call Jack's cell, but after the umpteenth time hearing his voice mail kick on, I squeezed the phone between my hands and allowed the tears to flow. I'd never felt so powerless in my life. It was a totally foreign and completely miserable feeling.

Then Nico called back. "Tell me what you want for me to do. I will do it."

I hadn't had any options a moment before, so this one threw me off guard a second. But only for a second. "Find Tina Schroeder for me. Find where she's hiding."

"The dead girl?" His voice was incredulous. "I imagine she is in the Miami morgue."

Past time to fill him in on the rest of the previous evening's surprises. After a fast wrap-up, I said, "There's no doubt in my mind Tony B is behind her bogus death and rejuvenation. See if you can get any intel on where the thug would hide her in Florence. I'd say to check her pa.s.sport too, but I doubt she's traveling under her own name."

"Who do you think really got her throat cut? I am a.s.suming there truly was a body since the news organizations reported on the mugging."

Given the lack of a hue and a cry over Tina's disappearance, I had little doubt. "It had to be her mother, Phyllis, who died in that alley. Tina was the family's meal ticket, and I've been checking my phone for either a memorial service or even an offered reward for information on the murder. Nothing. Not a d.a.m.ned thing a.s.sociated with Tina's name except the flash reports from the newspaper websites. The dead body had to be Phyllis."

"And you believe Tina can help you find Jack?"

I took a long deep breath before answering. "I believe if I find where she is that she'd better tell me something, or she and her mother may be able to share a grave."

Nico chuckled. "Got it. I will get information to you as soon as possible."

"Thank you."

Even better, I knew since he didn't hedge at all that I could count on something soon. Just one of the things I liked best about Nico. If he couldn't do something, he would say so, but if he expected he could, then you should believe it as well. Still, he didn't end the conversation without a warning.

"From what you said happened at the palazzo, Jack apparently knew something was up. Tomorrow, do exactly what he said. Play tourist, act carefree, and do what you are told for once. We do not need to lose you as well."

Okay, I bristled a little, but then I remembered Jack's hand over my mouth and agreed with Nico. "Yes, I'll ride my Vespa, and I'll be a good girl."

He snorted, then asked, "How do you think he knew what was going down?"

I'd racked my brain over this very question and decided there was only one possibility. "We both felt leery of the place as soon as we got on the roof, but I think if Jack had actually known something was going to happen by then, he would have warned me. I believe he must have set motion detectors when he did the recon of the outside of the building when we first arrived. Maybe with audio capability, so he heard some of the chatter before they stormed the place."

"Notice a receiver in his ear?"

"I didn't think to look. Sloppy, I know. I should have planted my own sensors, anyway. I think I was lulled by the wine and great dinner." And maybe the kiss-but I wasn't going to mention that to Nico.

"Good enough. I will get on this and let you know something as soon as I can."

"Thank you."

When our call disconnected, I scooped up the Fendi and dug around for my cache of business cards. The one for the Miami detective was right behind the one for the CIA guy with the New York accent. I held a card in each hand and contemplated my next move. Miami PD likely had a more vested interest in news about Tina, but the CIA possessed the international reach this problem needed. However, equally important was the fact the CIA guy was already pursuing the human trafficking case, so he would not likely be as tuned in to what was happening in Florence, anyway. Pros and cons weighed, my decision was much easier.

"Roblo." The detective answered on the second ring. Thanks to the magic of time zones, it was barely dark in Florida.

"Detective, this is Laurel Beacham. You interviewed me at the Bricknell condo where a woman identified as Tina Schroeder was killed on Friday morning. Are you still working that case?"

I could hear the suspicion in his voice when he dragged out his, "Yes. Who is this again?"

Briefly, I identified myself and gave him a synopsis on what had happened since he and I met in the lobby of Tina's building. After I finished, there was silence, then I heard a squeak and a.s.sumed he leaned back in his chair. A sigh followed.

"So much for my plans to watch the Dolphins play the Broncos tonight," he said finally.