No, she wrote back.
You don’t even know what I’m offering, he wrote.We can help each other.
Not interested, she replied, and blocked the number.
—
It was 16:45, the end of the workday, and personnel moved across the concrete courtyard towards their cars. She maneuvered past them and was through the glass doors of the shop when she heard a shout—someone calling her name.
In the café adjacent to the shop, the defense attaché sat with Ambassador Paul Lissom. He stood as Nikki approached, his voice discordantly cheerful.
“Investigator Serafino! Just the person we need! Can I buy you a coffee?”
He glanced at his empty cappuccino cup and, beside it, the ambassador’s untouched espresso.
“No, thank you,” Nikki said. “I thought you’d both be back in Rome.”
“We’ll stay as long as we’re needed,” the attaché said, though he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. As the official link between the State and Defense departments, he was responsible for the ambassador’s visit. But an army colonel likely had more pressing duties than babysitting a diplomat.
Nikki turned to Ambassador Lissom. His cardigan and red bow tie were neat, his posture erect. But he was hollow-eyed, face puffy and red.
“How are you holding up, Ambassador?” she asked.
He nodded distractedly. “Advocate Ferragni is doing what he can….”
Then he leaned forward, voice rasping too loudly: “They need to understand. My daughter didn’t do this.”
Nikki became acutely aware of their surroundings—two uniformed lieutenants, three women in jeans and sweatshirts, café staff cleaning up for the evening. Music from the local radio station crooned from the speakers.
“Maybe we should talk somewhere private,” she suggested.
But the ambassador continued. “Monica is innocent. The murderer is still out there.”
“I have confidence in the investigators,” Nikki said quietly. “And your lawyer will protect Monica. We have to wait and see what comes out.”
“You don’t understand,” Lissom said. “You need to tell them that she wouldn’t do this. I know my daughter.”
Days ago, he had spoken about stepping back, handing operations to the deputy chief of mission. But the attaché presence at his elbow told Nikki he hadn’t done it. She wasn’t an expert on US diplomatic politics, but she knew an ambassador couldn’t function properly while his daughter faced criminal charges in an Italian court.
“What does the admiral say?” she asked.
“He supports me, of course.”
“I work for Phoenix Seven,” Nikki said. “So, I support you, too. But I’m not assigned to Monica’s case. Angelo’s the lead—”
Lissom interrupted. “Keith told me what you did. You hunted down that killer. You stopped him. He told me…. I need you to do the same for my daughter.”
His desperation was palpable. And suddenly, Nikki was overwhelmed with the burden of his expectation. She wasn’t authorized to investigate. Neither Angelo nor Sonia wanted her near this one. Andafter London—after Teddy—she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to get involved.
“I want to help,” she said carefully. “But I’m not a detective. I did what I could when Admiral Redford was kidnapped, but I made mistakes and it nearly got us both killed. I don’t want to make mistakes with Monica.”
“She trusts you,” he pressed. “Talk to her. Talk to her friends. Her boyfriend. They’ll tell you.”
“The police don’t want me interfering.”
“The police aren’t talking to her friends,” he shot back, suddenly irritable. “At least try. Get to know her. You’ll see—this isn’t something she could do.”
There was a severity in his usually mild face that reminded her of her own father.
