“Wouldyouleaveme? If I was the one in Rome, facing what you’re facing, would you leave me to deal with it on my own?”
“That’s diff—”
“If you’re about to say it’s different, you’d better have a good reason. One that doesn’t ultimately rest on you being a man and me being a woman.”
“Justine,” I tried one last time.
“You said we’d review the situation. Well, consider it reviewed. I’m not going to let you face this alone,” she reiterated. “Nor are Seymour and Maureen. We’ve made arrangements for our workloads to be covered here. We’ll be on the first available flight.”
I knew there was no point resisting any longer. I had zero chance of defeating the concentrated determination of three stubborn minds.
“Before he died, the priest told me Elia Antonelli is behind all of this,” I revealed. “He said the men who shot him worked for Antonelli.”
“Do you believe him?” Justine asked.
It hadn’t occurred to me that the priest might have been lying.
“I think so,” I replied. “I think Father Carlos—”
My response was cut short by the sound of a knock at the door.
I froze.
“Someone’s here,” I whispered to Justine.
“Get out, Jack,” she replied.
“If it was bad guys, I don’t think they’d have bothered knocking,” I said, rising from my seat on the couch.
“Hello?” I called, approaching the door.
“Mr. Morgan, may I please come in?”
I recognized Faduma’s voice immediately and opened the doorto find her standing at the top of the metal staircase. She was in black slacks and a green halterneck top and looked as though she was made up for a date.
“I have to go,” I told Justine. “Let me know when you’ll be arriving.”
“Will do,” she said, before I hung up.
“Have you been following me?” I asked my visitor.
“What? No,” Faduma replied, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind her. “Not tonight, anyway. I was out for dinner.”
“What do you mean, not tonight?” I asked. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I followed you here after we met at the cemetery. I wanted to see what you did with the information I gave you.”
I scoffed, but she waved away my disbelief.
“I came because there’s something you need to see.”
She reached into her purse for her phone, which she turned toward me. The screen was filled with a news website’s piece covering Father Carlos’s murder.
“There’s been another priest murdered,” she said.
“I know. I was there.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
