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“No. The crash was a head-on with a truck that crossed into her lane. The driver was an undocumented Pakistani immigrant.”
“Thin.”
“It gets better. Irene strong-armed the Italians into giving us the rec-ords from the law firm’s Internet service provider. We found heavily encrypted files going out the day before the Rickman stuff hit the streets.”
“Is he alive?”
“Who?”
“The Pakistani driver.”
“Yeah.”
“Can we get to him?”
“Well, he’s in an unguarded hospital room if that’s what you mean.”
“I take it that’s not as good as it sounds.”
“He apparently wasn’t wearing a seat belt and the part of his brain you’d want to communicate with is still on the inside of the windshield. So we’re on our way to talk to the managing partner of Accorso’s firm.”
Rapp finished dressing and did the best he could to smooth his unruly hair. The reflection in the side window suggested that despite the month’s salary he’d spent on the suit, it didn’t have the power to make him look respectable. His grooming was aimed more at being able to walk around Kabul unnoticed than blending into American boardrooms.
He sat back and watched the ancient buildings pass by. Italy had always felt like a second home to him. He’d spent many happy—if infuriating—months living there with a fashion designer who had a way with ice picks. Probably not the right woman for him, but also not entirely the wrong one. She understood and accepted the life he’d chosen, neither judging him nor worrying every time he didn’t make it home for dinner. On the other hand, he’d never been able to sleep well lying next to her. There was no question that there was a price at which she’d turn that ice pick on him. A high price, to be sure, but he’d still found himself habitually searching the bed for hidden weapons while they were having sex.
He’d resigned himself to the fact that another Anna Reilly would never come along. Trying to find a replica of her would only make him and the poor woman he ended up with miserable.
Anna had been everything to him, but as time went on he could start to see the flaws in their relationship. She’d come to terms with what he did but had never become comfortable with it. He could see now that the dissonance had been slowly driving her insane. Anna believed strongly that people were fundamentally good and that violence inevitably led to disaster. He’d developed a somewhat different philosophy.
It was time to change his life before it was too late. Shaking off the habits he’d picked up from Hurley was a good start, but there was going to be a lot more to it than that. Selling the burned husk of his and Anna’s home would have to finally happen. And getting out of the dank apartment he’d landed in wouldn’t hurt, either. Most of all, though, he needed to figure out how he could be in a relationship that didn’t end with an ice pick in the ear or his partner having a nervous breakdown.
For now, though, he had to shove all that into a dark corner of his mind. If he didn’t stop Rickman, his elaborate plans for self-improvement wouldn’t be necessary. More than likely, he’d end up the subject of a very public witch hunt led by the politicians who had spent the last two decades demanding his protection.
Rapp didn’t realize he’d dozed off until the BMW glided to a stop in front of a building with a series of flags hanging over the entrance. He stepped out, looking up at the six-story glass structure.
“Irene says I’m supposed to take the lead. We’re not dangling anyone out of windows today,” Nash said.
“They don’t open.”
Nash wasn’t sure whether that was meant as a joke and flashed a nervous smile before starting toward the lobby. Rapp dragged his feet behind. He hated lawyers and was dreading the meeting. If Kennedy really didn’t want him to do anything, why was h
e here? Clearly she expected results and wasn’t certain that Nash’s honey tongue was enough to get them.
There was no security beyond a friendly woman who used her broken English to give them directions. Nash looked a little apprehensive as they rode the elevator to the top floor—an emotion the former -marine never displayed when getting shot at or blown up. He was still transitioning into his new job and wasn’t yet comfortable with his role as management. Also, the knowledge that Rapp and Kennedy were watching his every move wasn’t doing much to calm his nerves.
Two men were already waiting for them in a conference room -nestled in a quiet corner of the executive floor. Nash strode in with an easy smile.
“Mike Blake,” he said, shaking hands with the older of the two men. “It’s good to finally meet you, Mr. Cipriani.”
“Please, call me Marcelo,” the man said with a light accent. “May I present my attorney, Dante Necchi?”
Nash’s smile broadened while Rapp’s own expression darkened. The lawyer they’d come to see had a lawyer. Outstanding.
“Good to meet you, Dante.” He motioned behind him. “This is my colleague Mitch Kruse.”
Rapp sat in an empty chair and stared straight ahead, unwilling to shake hands with either man. He just wanted to get what they were here to get and head back to the plane. Maybe after a quick stop for a plate of carbonara. He hadn’t eaten anything for almost twelve hours.
“What is Mr. Kruse’s role in this meeting?” Necchi said, looking a bit bemused. “To intimidate us?”
