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He sent an email to Sally, asking her to send a copy of the DVD digitally to the admiral, and gave his email address. He told her he’d tell her all about it when he returned.
“Give Venom a hug and a steak from me,” he ended his message with.
Harper heard the others getting up, taking showers, and making coffee. He wasn’t going to say anything just yet, not until he figured out some of the holes in the story and questions he had. But something really wasn’t adding up. Could there be somebody in the State Department or the police force who was in on the raid? Somebody who was trying to steer or protect someone else or even possibly protect Lydia and it backfired. He needed to check out every single lead before he could go further. And he was glad they apparently had the time to do so.
Shortly before noon, Lipori and four of his group piled into a Jeep and headed toward Imprunetta. A minute later, the three remaining men followed in a battered pickup truck painted with the logo for the olive farm. Harper had his guys split up, leaving two people behind making surveillance videos of anybody who arrived or stayed behind or staff that arrived during the day. Harper and two others would go into town, following the Jeep and the pickup.
He threw down some cereal and yogurt, took a cup of coffee and a banana, and slid behind the wheel of the rented Land Rover. On their way, he informed the guys in the apartment downtown of their plans. They arranged to meet in town at an espresso bar they had passed earlier. It would give them cover to just sip their cappuccinos and people watch.
He kept a safe distance to avoid being detected. Then he parked in a library parking lot two blocks away from the office building parking lot that both their vehicles drove into.
On the outside of the building, in Italian, were huge letters. “District of Florence Police Department.”
“Probably not a good idea to break in there for a peek,” Sean whispered.
Harper had an idea. “Look, you guys go downtown and get me a cappuccino. Bring everyone back here. I’ll stay behind and take shots, and I’ll let you know if I see anything. You’ll be only about five minutes away. Okay?”
“If you go by those little shops, Harper, pick up some good Italian chocolate, okay? It will greatly enhance my sex life when I get back home.”
“You have yourself a deal, Sam. And make mine a double.”
Chapter 14
Harper waited ina phone booth, pretending to be on a call. It was warmer inside the little blue box, mostly because it protected him from the breeze.
He’d forgotten how many church chimes there were in Italy and all over Europe. But while Florence was known for the beautiful cathedrals, these little villages had tiny ornate chapels everywhere, all with bells announcing services. There were several shops in a line, all decorated with colorful canvas awnings, running down the street to the stop sign. He noticed a grocer next to a bakery, so he headed that way.
The next street over ended in a roundabout. In the center of the curbed island was a street vendor, selling fresh vegetables and flowers. There were so many colorful bouquets, they nearly looked like they were growing right out of the bed and windows of the old delivery truck holding them. He spotted some fresh ripe tomatoes, which were always good in Italy. In fact, all food was best in Italy, Harper thought. The vendor had baked goods as well.
He changed course and headed for the vendor, carefully dodging the speeding little cars buzzing around the circle like gnats.
He turned to check the front doors of the police station, noted the two vehicles still parked where Lipori’s group left them, and found nothing remarkable.
As he swung back to face the vendor’s cart, he was confronted with a huge bouquet of gloriosa daisies in a red plastic bucket, carried by a woman with dark hair. They nearly collided.
As she pushed her wares to the side, set the bucket down near his feet, and stood, brushing the hair from her forehead, Harper found himself face-to-face with Lydia.
At first, he couldn’t speak. She started to frown, and it deepened when he said, “Lydia?”
Keeping her eyes on him, she shook her head. “I’m Georgie.”
Her voice bore a slight Italian accent, but her English was perfectly spoken.
“Georgie?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, sir. You are a tourist, an American?”
“I’m—I’m your husband.”
She threw her head back and laughed. The syrup of her sweetness engulfed him, as his heart noted how much he’d missed that lilting laughter, the soft white skin of her neck and the underside of her chin, and the way her hair flew back, her eyes filled with mirth as she stared up at the blue sky.
“Trust me, if I were your wife, I’d know it.” Then she got serious. “Youarejoking, right?”
“Swear to God. No. We’ve been married five years. We lived in California where we met. You’re a nurse. I lost you in Benin in West Africa while doing a mission with Doctors Africa. That was two years ago. We had a funeral—I have pictures of it I can show you.”
She glanced behind Harper. “Look, my friend is coming, and I cannot talk about this. I think you’re wrong, but I’d like to speak privately. But not now.”
“Fine. When—”
