A wave of nausea mingled with fear washed over Talia at the recognition of the woman. She shifted in her seat. Thomas had trusted Anna with his life. If she knew about the paintings she had to have been involved.
But how?
“Are you sure that’s her?” Joe asked.
“Yes.” She nodded, wishing all of this made sense. “I didn’t catch it at first because like I said her appearance is altered some. Even the clothes she was wearing weren’t what Anna would wear, but yes... I’m sure it’s her. That scar above her eyebrow, she got it on the job. Someone they were trying to arrest cracked her over the head with a beer bottle. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her.”
Why would Anna threaten to kill her? The ramifications of her husband’s former partner’s involvement were significant, bringing with them a slew of disturbing questions. What was her connection to the stolen drug money? Had she been working with Thomas?
Every scenario that surfaced made her sick.
Because she’d trusted Anna. The woman had stood beside her at Thomas’s funeral. She’d called Talia to check on her. She’d been a friend. Not close, but a friend. And to think that Anna had betrayed her...
“How well did you know her?” Joe asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“She and Thomas were partners for a couple years. I considered her a friend. I always thought she was a good cop. Tough, but seemed to care about her job. Thomas trusted her with his life, and as far as I know they didn’t have any issues between them.”
It seemed that everything she’d known—both about Thomas and now about Anna—had been a lie.
And now Anna was somehow involved. She—like Thomas—wasn’t the person Talia thought she was.
“At the time of your husband’s death, were there ever any hints that she might be involved in the thefts from the raids?”
“If there was I never heard about it. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t questioned or that the thought didn’t cross the minds of the investigators, but as far as I knew, she wasn’t involved.”
Talia stared at the photo a few more seconds then handed the phone back to Joe. Matteo Arena, the guy who’d broken in to her house, had told her that the person he was working for had been involved in Thomas’s murder. Did that mean that Anna had killed Thomas? Had they gotten into a fight over the stolen goods and she’d ended up killing him?
She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. There were too many questions and not enough answers.
“There something else,” Talia said, turning back to Joe. “If she was the one who winged you, I believe she did it on purpose.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if she’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead right now.”
Joe’s expression darkened. “So she’s a good shot.”
“Very. She was always trying to beat Thomas during training exercises, and he was one of the department’s best. It was like a long-standing rivalry between the two of them. I always thought it was crazy, not everyone in the department was like that, but they were both so competitive. Her even more so than Thomas.”
“So if it was her, she wasn’t trying to kill me. Instead she was trying to get me out of the picture. It’s a possibility I’d thought of even before we had an idea of who the gunman could be, but now it seems more likely.”
The train sped through another tunnel, darkening the car. Why would Anna shoot at an FBI agent in broad daylight? The odds of her getting caught in a situation like that were very high. Unless she really was desperate.
“She doesn’t want the FBI involved,” Joe said.
“So she shoots you? I’m still struggling to put this all together in my mind. I know what I just said, but it still seems far too risky, even for someone who is good with guns.”
“She just has to hold things off until you get her those paintings, or until she finds them herself.”
“Then if she has a buyer, she takes the millions and disappears.”
“And in the meantime, she expects me to do this on my own,” Talia said.
“She needs you to do this on your own. She said she didn’t want anyone else involved. The more people tangled up in this, the greater the chances of things not going her way. She knows an FBI agent wouldn’t hand over the paintings if we find them first.”
The train flew out of the tunnel, then seconds later was speeding through a small rural community sprinkled with a few dozen houses with red tiled roofs.
“I remember talking to her at the funeral,” Talia said. “She told me how sorry she was for my loss. Told me that despite everything that had happened, that Thomas had been a good partner. That even though he made bad choices that he still loved me. That he talked about me to her all the time.” Talia stared out the window and caught her reflection, wishing she could shake the numbness. “But this... If this is her, then she’s involved. Which means she lied to me. And if she lied to me about her involvement, then what else was she dishonest about?”
Her mind had played through the scenario hundreds of times since the night her husband had died. Ever since, she’d tried to figure out how she could have missed the signs that he was involved in something illegal. But no matter what she wanted to believe, she couldn’t refute the evidence. Not the ten thousand dollars in cash, the other stolen evidence they’d found in Thomas’s possession, or the account linked to his name.
But now she wanted to know what Anna’s connection was. She had to have known something. Including who’d shot Thomas.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“That if you would have told me four, maybe five years ago, what Thomas was going to do, I never would have believed you. And yet the evidence was there. It left no doubts in my mind that my husband wasn’t the man I thought he was. But this—this changes everything. Anna’s involvement. I need to know the truth. Once and for all about what happened that night.”
She needed to call the assistant chief.
She pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’m going to call Captain Blythe.”
“Do you think that’s wise? I’m not sure who we can confide in at this point.”
“Who else am I supposed to trust? Not only did he call me to give me a heads-up, but he would know where she is.”
Ignoring Joe’s concerns, she pulled out her phone, dialed the assistant chief’s number.
“Captain Blythe,” she said as soon as he’d answered. “This is Talia Morello again.”
“Talia...are you okay?”
“For now, but you said to call if I needed anything.”
“Of course I meant it. What’s going on?”
“I was just trying to get a hold of Detective Hayes and wondered if you could give me a way to contact her.”
“Your husband’s old partner?”
“Yeah...does she still work for the department?”
“Yes, but she’s on leave, actually. Can I ask why you need to speak to her?”
“It’s just for something personal.” Talia hesitated, unsure of how much she should say until she could figure out exactly what was going on. “Actually, I thought I saw her here.”
“In Italy?”
She pressed her lips together before continuing. “I know. It doesn’t make sense, but I’m sure it was her.”
“I wish I could help you, but like I said, she’s not around right now. From what I understand there was a death in the family that she needed to deal with. But whoever you saw, it’s probably just someone who looks like her. Anna’s family lives in El Paso, not Italy. But I can pass on your cell number to her if you’d like.”
“I would. Thank you. If you’d have her call me, then I’m sure we can clear things up.”
Or at least she hoped this was all somehow one big mistake.
“Call me if you need anything else,” he said. “Please.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She finished the call, then turned back to Joe.
“What did he say?” he said.
“That conveniently Anna’s on leave. A death in the family. She could have lied. No one would know unless they started poking into the situation.”
“Like we have?”
“It was her, Joe. It was her on the train. And I’m now convinced that she was the one who shot you. Which means she was involved in all of this somehow.”
“I need to call Esposito and give him an update, see if he has anything for us.” Joe glanced at his watch. “It’s getting pretty late, though.”
“And you look tired.” She glanced at his arm. At least the wound hadn’t bled through the bandage. “How’s the pain?”
“On a scale from one to ten...about a five. But I’ll be fine.”
Maybe, but she didn’t miss the fatigue in his eyes “Forget about the case for the moment. What you need is a good night’s sleep before we start searching in the morning.”
* * *
Just past five the next morning, Joe stared at the ceiling of his hotel room. The sun had yet to rise, but he felt as if he’d been awake for hours. And he knew that despite the pain pills he’d taken during the night he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anymore because of the ache in his shoulder. He got up and went to the small sink in the bathroom and washed down two more of the pills with a bottle of water, hoping it would take the edge off the pain. Maybe Talia had been right. Maybe he was pushing it too much, but the clock was ticking, and they needed to find the paintings.
He left a message on her voice mail, asking her to meet him in the lobby when she was ready, then headed downstairs to get a strong cup of coffee.
Three cups of coffee and an hour later Talia stepped out of the elevator, looking far more awake than she had the night before when they’d arrived at the hotel. He shifted his gaze to the painting behind her, trying not to notice how nice she looked in a pink flowered dress with the hem landing just above her knees.
“Morning,” he said, setting down his empty coffee cup and standing up when she reached him.
“Morning. How’s your arm?”
“Still there.”
“Funny. Seriously, how are you feeling? You’re not exactly following the doctor’s orders and resting.”
“It hurts, but I took some more pain medicine and it’s finally kicking in.” He glanced down at his limb. “I tried to redo the dressing myself, but really, I’m fine.”
“I can tell you did it yourself, and you did a terrible job. Come on.” She shot him a smile, then led him toward a more private corner of the lobby. “Did you take your antibiotics?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, pulling out a new set of dressings from his backpack.
She sat down beside him, then pulled up the sleeve of his gray button-down.
“Seriously,” he said. “It’s nothing.”
“You keep saying that, and yet you were shot. That will always be a big deal to me.”
She pulled off the old bandage.
“Ouch.”
“I thought this wasn’t a big deal? It’s red around the edges, and if you put the cream on it, I can’t see it.”
“Sorry, doc.”
“I suppose you get a few brownie points from your colleagues from what you’ve gone through. I’m assuming most FBI art agents don’t run into a lot of bullets.”
“You’re just full of jokes this morning,” he said, catching the smile in her eyes.
“Just wait until I get my morning coffee.”
He laughed, wishing she didn’t have to be so funny, and genuine and beautiful. They were ignoring the inevitable, but he didn’t mind. Another few minutes before having to deal with the real reason they were here was fine with him.
“There,” she said, stepping back. “You’re good for another few hours, though if I were you, I’d have this checked out again by a real doctor in a day or two. You don’t want to get an infection.”
He rolled his sleeve back down. “You hungry? I think they might finally be open for breakfast.”
She rested her hands against her hips. “I’m getting the impression that you’re always hungry, aren’t you?”
“It has to be the Italian food,” he said, zipping up his backpack then standing up. “And on top of that, I’m a bachelor used to living on frozen dinners and fast food.”
“That should be a crime if you ask me. They are supposed to serve a complimentary hot breakfast, but all I want right now is coffee.”
“Well, I’m starving, which has to be a good sign.”
He followed her out onto a small terrace lined with flowers and lanterns, but what caught his eye was the sweeping waters of the Grand Canal dotted by dozens of boats. Its banks were lined with dozens of century-old buildings that seemed to float on the horizon of the gray blue water.
“Wow... I’ve traveled a lot, but this is incredible.”
“I could stare at this view all day and never quite soak it all up.”
“Why don’t you get us a table if you’re not going to eat, and I’ll be right back.”
He filled up his plate with eggs and bacon and a couple of pastries before joining Talia at a table with a view of the canal.
“So are you telling me you’ve never visited Venice?” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.
“I’ve been to both Rome and Florence, but never this far north.”
“How can you come to Italy and not see Venice?” He saw the surprise in her eyes. “I love Rome, and Florence and even Pisa, but Venice...despite some of the memories this city brings, it will always hold a piece of my heart.”
He dug into his breakfast, wondering what kind of memories the city held for her. Her husband’s family was from here, which meant the time she’d spent here was far more than any tourist.
“Once again,” he said, “I could really use a tour guide.”
She added a package of sugar to her coffee. “I think I could arrange that when this is over. The history of this city is fascinating. Set on over a hundred small islands with dozens of canals and linked by bridges—just over four hundred, in fact. In the past it held a strategic position, commercially, but it also had enough naval power to protect the sea routes from piracy. In fact there was a time when the city was very powerful.”
“I’ve heard the city’s sinking?”
“About one to two millimeters a year. If we have time, when this is all over I’ll have to give you a proper tour, including a ride out on the water on the vaporetto.”
“The what?”
“It’s a water bus.” She pointed to one of the long, flat-top boats floating past. “Venice’s public transportation. It might not be as romantic as the gondolas, but the views are just as good for a fraction of the price.”
Joe took another bite of his breakfast. “You could start the tour now. Tell me about Venice’s hold on you.”
“The first time I came here was to meet Thomas’s parents. They showed me around the city and some of the nearby islands. I was as captivated as I am today.”
“I can see why,” he said.
“I think you’d like Thomas’s father. He’s always telling us Italian proverbs and funny stories from his childhood, though I’ve wondered more than once if he doesn’t make up half of them. The stories anyway.”
“And the proverbs?”
“Let see...one of his favorites is ‘count your nights by stars, not shadows, count your life with smiles, not tears.’”
“And your favorite?”
“My favorite?” A slight blush crept across her face. “‘In the middle of life, love enters and makes it a fairy tale.’”
“I can see why Thomas fell in love with you. Especially with Italy in the background.
“I’m sorry,” he said, when she didn’t respond. “That was too personal.”
“No...” She looked up at him. “It’s fine. I let Thomas go a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy to relive it all.”
He knew she still felt the sting of betrayal. He wished he could take that part of her memories away. Because he hadn’t expected to care so much. But there was something about Talia, with her passion for life, that had him dreading the moment when they found the paintings and she didn’t need him anymore. When his life went back to normal. If he could call anything about his life normal.
“You ready to go?”
“Just about.” He glanced at his watch. “Have you heard back yet from your brother-in-law?”
Talia shook her head. “Not yet, but I’ll try again.”
“No answer?” he asked after she set the phone down.
She shook her head. “I’m just being paranoid again. He probably got called into work an extra shift.”
But she didn’t have to say anything for him to know that she was worried. Whoever was behind this had made a handful of threats. And if they were threatening her sister, why not Marco, as well?
“It’s still pretty early,” he said. “Maybe he’s still asleep.”
“Maybe.” But she didn’t look convinced.
“What does he do for a living?” he asked.
“He delivers cargo to restaurants and shops. All of it’s done by boat, of course.”
He dropped his napkin onto his plate. They needed to find her brother-in-law, get into the apartment and find those paintings.
Ten minutes later, they were making their way across one of the bridges down the narrow street. He’d seen photos of the city, but like with his first impression of the canal, in person the colors seemed even brighter. Apartment buildings with flower boxes and shutters had been painted in oranges, yellows and browns. Below them the water sparkled in the morning sunlight, while boats made their way down the narrower veins of the canals.
One day he really would like to find the time to visit this country while he wasn’t chasing down the bad guys. And from what he knew about her, no doubt Talia would be the perfect tour guide. He’d love to see the city, not as a tourist per se, but through the eyes of a local.
“How far’s the apartment?” he asked.
“Just a couple more minutes. It’s in a more private, less touristy neighborhood.”
He watched one of the gondoliers propel his black, flat-bottomed boat across the water with a yellow rowing oar. “Have you ever taken one of those?”
“Never have. Can you believe that?”
“Too touristy?”
“Thomas’s family has their own boat. Didn’t make sense to pay for a thirty-minute ride through the canals when he could take me for free.”
There was something peaceful about this city. Completely different from where he came from, where cars filled the street, and pedestrians had to fight for the right away.
“I think my father-in-law would have moved away years ago if it was up to him, but Thomas’s mother... I don’t think she’ll ever leave the house, or Italy, for that matter. She insists that modern cities destroy the sense of community.”
He didn’t blame her. Stone paving lined the narrow streets. Supplies were being transported along the water, as goods were delivered to the local bakeries, pastry shops, and grocers. Bright yellow one a row of apartments had faded, its plaster chipping off the walls that were lined with green shutters and flower boxes sitting on tiny window sills. Laundry fluttered in the wind above them as they walked across another bridge. There was a sense of community in the small shops and houses away from the busy tourist sections.
“Personally I think it would be hard to leave a timeless place like this,” he said.
Talia pulled out her phone and called him again.
“I’m still not getting him,” she said, after letting it ring a dozen times. “Let me see if their neighbor has a key.”
A minute later, Joe could sense the unease in Talia’s body language as she returned with a neighbor, a woman in her late fifties. The neighbor nodded at him, then slid the key into the door of the apartment.
The tour of Venice was over.
“Hello?” She flipped on the overhead light in the darkened room.
He stepped into the quiet apartment behind her and looked around the living room. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s here.”
She heard her suck in a lungful of air.
“Talia?”
He rushed over to where she was standing. A body lay on the floor next to the dining room table. Blood pooled beneath his head. His open eyes were lifeless.
The neighbor screamed.
“No. No...this can’t be possible.” Talia pressed her hand against her mouth and shook her head. “It’s Marco.”