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I marinated the salmon and let it sit a bit while I started the rice. We were low on rice, so I took the grocery list off the refrigerator to jot it down, when I realized Slash had ordered the grocery list all wrong. I was fixing it when he walked in the door.

He dropped his briefcase and set a package on the table by the door before walking into the kitchen and kissing the back of my head. “How was your day,cara?”

I turned around, pencil still in my hand. “Not bad. We completed two penetration testings, which convinced clients they needed to hire us, and I finished up an article on fileless attacks forCybersecurity This Week. The article should be out in two months.”

“Sounds fascinating, and I want to hear all about it at dinner.” He peered over my shoulder at the grocery list. “What are you doing?”

“I’m fixing the grocery list.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not in the same order of where the items are shelved in the grocery store. Trust me, our shopping time will be shortened by at least seventeen percent if we list the items by their placement in the store.”

He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. Instead he pressed me against the counter, giving me a long, lingering kiss.

When he lifted his mouth from mine, I blinked at him a bit dazed. “Wow. What was that for? Grocery lists don’t usually inspire this much affection. Although, if it’s a turn-on for you, I can incorporate it into our everyday routine.” I grabbed the lapels of his black sports coat and pulled him in for another kiss.

After a moment, he rested a hand on the side of my right cheek, the hard planes of his face softening. “I love you,cara. You know that, right?”

I knew that, but something in the way he said that set off an inner alarm. I’m not the most intuitive of people in regards to emotions, but I’d come to know Slash fairly well. Something was off, although my brain was still trying to figure out what.

I studied him carefully. “Slash, is something wrong?”

He released me, took a step back. “There’s something I want to show you.” Retrieving the package he’d set on the table, he brought it to the counter. The box was already open. Reaching in, he pulled out a small wooden statue and held it up. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

It was a figure of a man with crossed arms standing on a small wooden base. He wore a headdress and a tunic, and had several nails or spikes stuck into his body at different angles. The statue both fascinated and scared me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s ankondiidol. Folklore holds that thenkondiare the most powerful of thenkisispirits—spirits which the people of the Congo believed could seek out evil people and destroy them.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It came in the mail today. Addressed to you.”

“Me?” That made absolutely no sense. Surely it was a mistake. “Who sent me a statue like that?”

“There was no return address.”

I took a closer look at it, but I was one-hundred percent sure I’d never seen anything like it. I finally lifted my gaze to meet his. “Why would someone send me a statue from the Congo? And, following that train of thought, how did you get it if it was addressed to me?”

“As part of our new security, our mail is being diverted through a security center and vetted before being sent on to us. It’s still being delivered to our house, but with a safety stop first. Security passed this package on to me this afternoon at the NSA after it had been flagged for not having a return address.”

“Oh.” I had to digest that for a minute. It was weird to think there were agents pawing through my mail. Even if I hardly received anything by snail mail these days, it was still disconcerting that if I ordered something online, secret service agents would review it before I got my hands on it. That kind of creeped me out. “So, we don’t know who sent it?”

“No. There was no return address on the box. But the postmark was Rome.”

“I don’t get it.” I racked my brain, but nothing came up. “Do you?”

He avoided eye contact with me, putting the statue back in his briefcase. “Si. I know.”

“So, what is it?” Why was he avoiding me like this? I put my hand on his arm. “Slash, what does it mean?”

“It means I’m going to Rome.”

“What?” I took a step back. He hadn’t included me in the decision process, which couldn’t be a good sign. I needed him to talk to me, and he was closing himself off. “Why?”

“Something’s going down,cara,andI need to be there.”