AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Considering he's avoided the police for several decades, I would say yes."
She glanced at her watch."It's six now.We have some time.I'll help you finish up here, and then we should probably go into my grandmother's bedroom.I know there was blood on the floor.I certainly don't want her to come back and see that."
"Agreed.Why don't you finish this room?And I'll work on that."
She knew exactly why he'd offered, and her first instinct was to tell him she could handle seeing that blood and cleaning it up, but she couldn't get the words out.
He handed her the broom."Don't worry, Isabella.I won't tell anyone that the sight of blood makes you sick."
"You don't know that I feel that way."
"Yes, I do."
"You're a know-it-all, Nick."
"I don't know everything, but I'm starting to know you, Isabella.And I think you're starting to know me."
A shiver ran down her spine as they gazed into each other's eyes.But this time, he was the one to turn away, and she felt far more disappointed than she should.
The church of Saint Angelo was small and hundreds of years old.It was located at the top of a hill, with probably five-hundred steps from the sidewalk to the church.The Italians had been very good at turning a trip to Mass into a trek.She was barely at the midpoint when she started to feel breathless.She needed to get back on the elliptical.She'd gotten out of shape only chasing stories through the Internet.
Finally, they reached the top.
"Need a minute?"Nick asked with a smug smile.
"I really hate the fact that you're not at all winded."
"I run a lot."
"Even when you're on a job?"she asked as she took a minute to catch her breath.
"If I can.It's how I keep the stress at a manageable level."He looked at his watch."Five minutes to eight.We should go into the church."
"I'm ready."She hated that she'd slowed them down even a little.They walked across a flat area to another shorter flight of steps.The front door of the church was open.A small sign said the building would close at nine.
As they stepped through heavy wooden doors, she felt almost immediately transported back in time with the stone floors, the narrow wooden pews, and an altar that would seem very small by American standards.
There was a woman lighting a candle near the altar, with another woman kneeling in prayer in the second row.She was working a rosary through her fingers, her lips parted in silent prayer.The air felt musty, and the lighting was dim.In her mind, she could see generations of Italians praying together in this very small church at the top of a very steep hill.
She felt more connected to her religion here than she had in a very long time.The more modern churches she'd grown up in had felt nothing like this.They'd been larger and, in some ways, more majestic, but this felt humbling and very real.
Nick took her hand, startling her with a new feeling of heat and connectedness, but it soon became clear he'd only done that so he wouldn't have to speak.He led her across the church to the confessional on the right side.There were three doors to the confessional.The priest would enter through the middle door, with parishioners entering on each side.She'd been to confession during busy times where there would be a line for each door, but today there was no one there, and no way to tell if anyone was inside.
Nick opened the door to the left of the center compartment as instructed, and she squeezed into the small space with him.It was about the size of a phone booth or a small closet, a tight fit for two people, but she wasn't letting him do this alone.
He knelt down in front of a small window while she stood behind him, her body pressed against his back, creating all sorts of very non-spiritual thoughts, which she tried to erase from her mind.
Nick tapped on the window.A moment later, it opened.Sometimes there was a light on in the middle compartment, but there was no light today, although she could see the shadow of a figure.
"We've come as instructed," Nick said, when the man on the other side of the window remained silent."I'm Nick Caruso.Behind me is Isabella Rossi."
"I thought I would be speaking only to you," the man said, a very faint British accent to his voice.
"Isabella's great-grandmother was Lucinda Rossi, and my great-grandfather was Tomas Caruso.We're both trying to find out why their paintings were stolen last week.There's speculation thatLa Mano Nerahas come back to life, a group you might be familiar with."
"You sound very much like another FBI agent I know.Direct.To the Point.No small talk."The man paused."How is he?"
Nick hesitated, then said, "He's good."
