Page 52 of Fastest Kill

"Forgive me," he said in Italian. It was flawless, but something else lived in the vowels, older and more northern that her ear couldn't quite place. "I couldn't help observing you have very good instincts for case seven. Most of the room was waiting for case nine." He tilted his head slightly. "You and your husband were the only other bidders who understood what it was."

"My husband understood it," she said in Amelia's voice, which was measured and soft. "I told him to stop at round five."

A small smile. "Wise. I would have gone considerably higher."

He looked at her with an interest that was not quite social but more like someone identifying a specimen. "You were trained in Florence, yes? Private conservation?"

The smile on her face didn't change. "Is it that obvious?"

"You held your catalog differently when you stood in front of case seven. Most people hold it up, like a shield. You held it down. You were looking at the object, not simply performing an appreciation of it." He paused and gave her a small smile. "Do I know you? I swear, you remind me of someone."

The words were conversational. The eyes behind them were not. They were pale gray and moved over her face, as if he were looking for something specific.

Frederica held his gaze, and the prickling at the back of her neck again was one she normally associated with sniper positions and tripwires.

She didn't frighten easily. She had killed her first man at seventeen and hadn't lost sleep over it. She had been shot once, knifed twice, and had walked out of all three incidents.

This man stood in an elegant room in Vienna in a perfectly appropriate suit and spoke to her in perfect Italian, and she knew, with complete certainty and no rational basis whatsoever, that she was standing next to something that was equivalent to an unstable bomb.

"I'm sorry. I don't think we've met," she said, warm and politely regretful. "I'm sure I would remember. I'm very good with faces."

"Perhaps you are right," he agreed, still looking at her. "But you resemble someone I knew a very long time ago." The pale eyes moved from her face to something just above her left temple before he brushed a lock of her hair back. "She had a scar right here, too. A young woman with your particular quality of stillness. The same eyes. She was gifted."

"Past tense?" Frederica asked, her skin crawling as she pulled away from his cool fingers. Amelia wouldn't have smacked his hand away, so she didn't. She fought the urge to scratch the spot.

"We lost touch," he said pleasantly. "Time gets away on us all."

The earpiece in her right ear had been silent for most of the evening, Iz running passive observation from the safe house.

Iz's voice came through, very calm. "Frederica. Don't move. Don't change your expression. Serapis is looking at the feed."

She picked up a freshly filled wine glass. The gesture did nothing useful except give her hands something to do other than reach for the knife strapped to her thigh, safely hidden under her skirts. Her temple itched, and she had a large mouthful of wine.

Serapis's voice rumbled in her ear, stripped of its usual measured reserve."That is him. That is Agrippa. Dario, get her out of there. Don't let him see that you know, or he will kill you both before any weapon in that room clears its holster."

22

Frederica smiled at the man in front of her, trying to keep Amelia's interested warmth in it. Agrippa was still studying her.

"Vienna is a small city. I hope wherever your friend is now that she's well," she replied.

"I hope so, too," Agrippa said, and his smile was enigmatic and a little too smug. He knew exactly what had happened to her, and Frederica would bet that he knew where she was buried.

Frederica sensed Dario a second before the familiar weight of his arm settled around her waist like he had been doing it for years. He looked at Agrippa with Gabriele Ferraro's polite expression.

"Forgive me. I don't think we have met," Dario said, and extended his hand. "Gabriele Ferraro."

Agrippa shook it. "Alvise Morosini. Your wife has a remarkable eye for relics. You should have bid higher on case seven."

"She told me to stop," Dario said with a lazy shrug. "I've learned not to argue with her and just give her what she wants. Her happiness makes me happy."

"Wise man, and a lucky one," Agrippa said in the same friendly tone. He had looked at her like an acquisition. He looked at Dario as if he were a threat. "Your collection, Signor Ferraro. Mostly early modern, I understand. Northern European in emphasis?"

"My wife's influence," Dario replied with a charming laugh. "I came to collecting late, but she has always had a wonderful eye for treasures."

"The best things are often found late." Agrippa held his gaze for a moment longer than the conversation required, and lifted his glass of wine to them. "I hope you find something in the remaining pieces that you can appreciate. Good evening."

Frederica didn't watch him go. She finished her wine and commented on some other pieces in the collection she liked. Dario's hand stayed at her waist.