Chapter 1 #2
“No?” She sighed and turned, keeping the blob in the small napkin. She looked up at him. “What do you suggest I do with it now? I mean I can’t throw it on the floor. And I can’t put it back on the tray.”
Nick held out his hand and she placed the napkin in it.
He sauntered over to the huge potted palm tree in the corner and leaned over as if observing something interesting in the broad avenue that ran along the bay.
Nobody saw him deposit the napkin with the noxious blob in the soil.
He also saw several other blobs. He wasn’t the only one.
He sauntered back to the beautiful woman.
She smiled at him and ohmygod. No one should have a smile like that. It should be illegal. It was like the sun came out, on a sunny day in Italy.
Man, he’d spent too much time away from women.
Her smile widened. “That was well done. I didn’t see a thing.”
He bowed his head, leaned close to her and tried not to sniff like a dog. She smelled of something light and enticing. “I wasn’t the only one with that thought,” he said in a low voice.
Her eyes widened. “Others?”
“Hmm. You didn’t taste it, but I did. I’m surprised this nice terrace isn’t covered with that cr—stuff.”
She sighed. “Poor Tobias.”
“Tobias? The perpetrator has a name and it’s Tobias? Here? In Naples?”
She made a little humming sound, lips curved. “The Consul General’s grandnephew. Her sister persuaded her to let him intern here.”
“That must have been some persuading. Naples must be full of excellent chefs. Where did Tobias study? The Culinary Institute of Dead Horse?”
“Close. The Herman Franklin Institute of Pastry in Cleveland.”
Nick barely kept the wince off his face. “So I guess you know the Consul General fairly well if you know her staff choices.” He held out his hand. “I’m Nick, by the way. Nikolai Garin.”
She looked at his hand dubiously. He understood.
He had big, visibly strong hands. He was a big guy, and he looked rough.
There was no way for her to know he wouldn’t crush her hand.
Because he could, easily. Her hand was soft and delicate and looked extremely crushable, though he had no intention of crushing it. He would like to hold it, though.
He took her hand, held it for a moment, then let go, though he didn’t want to. The way she looked at her still-intact hand was telling.
Nick stood, waiting for the second half of the introduction. He also wanted to hear her speak. She had a beautiful voice, clear and slightly husky. It also sounded weirdly familiar, though he knew for a fact he’d never met her before. He’d have remembered.
“Parker. Parker Donovan. Parker is a family name. I personally would have preferred Susan or Jane, but it is what it is. Do you live here, too?”
I wish, Nick thought. “No, my base is London. I’m here for a job.”
Parker cocked her head. “Doing?”
He always had to be careful when talking about his job. Whatever he was doing, it was always secret, for security reasons. So he had to choose his words very carefully. Plus, her voice was distracting him, taking up a huge amount of his mental hard disk. “Consulting. I’m a consultant.”
She smiled again and it nearly knocked him off his feet. “Consultant. I’ll bet you’re that big bad security guy Aunt Caroline hired to do a security overhaul of the Consulate. And I totally understand that you can’t talk about it.” She mimed zipping that beautiful mouth. “Nikolai Garin.”
“Nick.”
“Nick.”
Busted. It wasn’t that serious, though. He wasn’t here under cover.
“So Caroline Munro, the Consul General, is your aunt?”
“Sort of. Honorary aunt. She’s the stepmother of my best friend in boarding school. I’ve known her since I was ten, though Aunt Caroline was almost always away, rising through the State Department ranks. I’ve seen more of her, living here, than I ever did when I lived in Boston.”
“You live here? Lucky woman.”
She smiled again and Nick had to look away for a moment not to stare.
“Yes, it’s quite enjoyable. Better weather than London.”
“And better food.”
“That, too. Except for what they serve at the Consulate.”
He inclined his head. “Well, you know what I do. What do you do that requires you to live in this desolate, frozen outpost?”
She gave a small chuckle. “I’m a classicist.”
He cocked his head and frowned a little.
She sighed. “My doctorate is in the classics. Greek and Latin. I love the ancient world. I wrote a book and made a documentary on the Etruscans.”
A light went on in his head and he could feel his mouth fall open.
Ohmygod.
No wonder her voice was familiar.
“The Smiling People,” he said, almost expecting her to deny it.
She smiled. “Yes, indeed. I’m flattered you’ve heard of it.”
“Heard of it? I’ve watched it several times. Parker Donovan didn’t click immediately. I think I assumed it was a man.”
The Smiling People was one of the best documentaries Nick had ever seen.
He saw it one evening in Afghanistan after a terrorist attack.
He’d downloaded a bunch of stuff at the last minute before leaving and had downloaded some historical docs, while he was at it.
The Smiling People was one of them and he had no idea what it was, just that any title with ‘smile’ in it was welcome.
He watched it on a day with no smiles. There’d been a mass suicide attack at an immunization station, and they managed to catch a couple of terrorists before they could off themselves.
The men had been almost rabid, dying to die for no reason Nick could discern other than a visceral hatred of the ‘West.’ Interrogating them had been depressing and even degrading.
That night he’d picked The Smiling People to watch because he thought he’d never smile again.
It had been charming and uplifting. A people who loved food and music, who lived in peace, never waging war in a thousand years. They lived on the border with Rome but never emulated Roman bellicosity.
The documentary compared the two civilizations and there was no contest. Except the Romans in the end conquered the Etruscans, and a peaceful, art-loving people were no more.
Parker had narrated it. That was why he recognized the voice.
“You weren’t in the documentary. But it was yours.”
She sighed. “I narrated it, yes, but it was pointless filming me, when there was so much Etruscan art to look at. Plus…a friend of mine did a documentary on dolphins and appeared on camera a lot and her life has not been worth living. People recognize her and either want to hug her or attack her. She’s even gotten death threats. No thanks.”
Nick frowned. “Death threats? Have you gotten any?”
She laughed. “Well, my policy of not appearing on camera paid off. I get spidery handwritten letters of enthusiastic thanks from ancient professors of Greek and Latin. The production company gets the emails. I don’t even see them.”
“Were there any threats in those emails?” Nick couldn’t let the idea go. That this beautiful woman who’d created such a charming and uplifting documentary could be threatened. That went against everything he’d worked for all his life.
Those beautiful eyes looked to the side. “Maybe. But like I said, I don’t see them.”
Nick was eventually going to ask to see them. Because he was so intrigued by her, he was going to be seeing a lot of her. Unless she was engaged…
Fuck. He hoped not. But someone who looked like her? Who was smart and successful?
How to find out? Ask Caroline Munro in an unguarded moment? Maybe check her Facebook feed? Or maybe…
“Do you have a man in your life?”
Parker blinked slowly while Nick wanted to kick himself in the ass for asking the question so bluntly. He wanted to kick himself in the ass, but he also wanted the answer. Now.
She cocked her head and studied him for a minute. “That’s not polite chitchat at a diplomatic reception.”
Nick bit his back teeth. “No, it’s not. It’s intrusive and terrible manners and clumsy.” Though I want to know the answer. “Professional deformation. I wasn’t thinking of politeness, I was thinking as a security expert. I was thinking of what kind of system you have shielding you.”
He hadn’t been thinking that at all, but now that he’d said it, he did want to know. The security lobe in his head had been switched on.
Nowadays even librarians were getting death threats, and the threats were mostly noise, but not always.
“A system shielding me.” Parker wrinkled her nose. “Well…technically, my agent? Though Everett isn’t what you could really call a shield. However, he is good with contracts.”
Nick had been leaning on the terrace parapet and slowly straightened.
“I am going to sound intrusive and obnoxious. But I would really really like to take a look at some of those threatening emails. I have a program that can check email addresses for fictitious ones and can tell how long they have been in existence. If your producers kick up a fuss, say you’ve hired me.
I’ll give you a contract to sign. Objecting to The Smiling People is sick. ”
Parker looked at him, eyes like blue headlights. “You’d be surprised.”
“No,” he said firmly. He’d seen it all, twice. “I wouldn’t.”
“They object to me ‘trashing the manly virtues of Rome.’ That was a direct quote. I have a ‘radical feminist agenda’ because I said women in Etruria were equal to men. People are crazy.”
Yes, they were. And the crazy ones could do a vast amount of harm.
“You’ll let me look at the threatening emails?”
“And letters.”
“Through the postal system?”
“Yeah. Some had talcum powder inside the envelope.”
The hairs on the back of Nick’s neck stirred. To the uninitiated, talcum powder was indistinguishable from anthrax.
“I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d let me look into this. You don’t know me but I’m sort of specialized in—” shithead shenanigans. “In dangerous situations.”
“I know you are. Aunt Caroline said you were the best in the business and was really pleased you accepted the contract in person.”