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She studied me for a moment. “Is it important for you to know it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It keeps coming up, coming between us. Will it always be this way?”

She pushed her plate to the side and lowered her voice. “Let me turn that around. Do you feel differently about his past now that you’re engaged?”

I had to really think about the question so I could answer honestly. “Maybe,” I finally admitted. “I feel more...protective of him—of us—as a couple. Is that strange? I mean, obviously Slash doesn’t need my protection. He’s perfectly capable of protecting himself. But somehow, his battles have become mine. We’re a unit, or at least, we’re supposed to be. I should be in Rome helping him. But I don’t think he sees it that way.” In fact, Iknewhe didn’t, and somehow that hurt.

“He likely thinks he’s protecting you.”

He absolutely did, but that wasn’t the point. “That’s not fair if we’re supposed to be a team in real life.”

“I didn’t say it was fair. Look, that being said, Slash does not strike me as the kind of guy who does anything without having looked at it in multiple ways. If he’s keeping something from you, I would think he has what he considers a good reason. Have faith.”

Faith.

I kept circling that word—a concept so foreign to me—to my grounding in science—and yet, it seemed to be taking a prominent role in my life. Faith in my abilities, faith in my relationships and faith in my judgment to help the person I loved, even if he didn’t want my help.

I replayed our conversation in my head—the implications, the possible outcomes and my motivations before I came to my decision. “The request still stands,” I said, hoping I was doing the right thing. “Will you help me, Gray?”

“Of course I’ll help. That’s what friends are for.”

Wow.Was it really that simple?

Relief swept through me. I’m not sure she had any idea how much it meant that she was willing to step into my mess.

I gave her a shaky smile. Even though I really liked Gray, it had been hard to ask for her help. But it was the smart thing to do, and I’d done it, so that was something—a step forward in the progression of my development as a social being.

“Thanks, Gray. I guess that’s something I’m still learning.”

Chapter Eighteen

Slash

Slash spotted his tail the moment he walked into the lobby of the expensive HotelAlimandi Vaticano. He had expected it, which is why he’d chosen this well-known hotel, close to the Vatican and high-profile enough that he could easily be found. He strolled into the lobby and confirmed his reservation under a name that would be recognized by most people at the Vatican.

He declined the assistance of a bellhop and carried his duffel bag and laptop case to the elevator. On the way up, he ran into a lady with a seeing-eye dog. He murmured a greeting to her as he passed, mentioning she had a beautiful shepherd. She stopped to chat and they spoke for a few moments in Italian about the weather and Rome before she told him he could pet the dog if he desired. He did, so he knelt and the dog gave him a friendly nuzzle.

After he and the woman had parted, he opened his suite after tapping his key card to the opening to his suite. Once inside, he looked around. The suite was furnished with stylish, contemporary furniture, parquet floors, coffered ceilings and kitchenette with an espresso machine, table and refrigerator. He strolled into the bedroom. A walk-in wardrobe, a separate sitting room and a Turkish bath with LED lighting in the bathroom rounded out his accommodations. More importantly, the wifi speed and internet connection were both satisfactory.

He didn’t unpack, as he had no intention on staying long. Instead, he settled into a lounge chair with his laptop, figuring he’d have an hour or two to work. He’d only been working for about a half hour when his phone vibrated. A text had arrived from an unknown number and held three names.

Lorenzo Cavallo.

Thomas Pecora.

Julian Koenhein.

His eyes stopped and rested on the third name. The same name Lexi had just given him. The clerk in Cardinal Lazo’s office. Not a coincidence.

He tapped back a quick text of thanks and continued his work. Sixty-two minutes later, there was a knock on his hotel door. He quietly approached, then checked the peephole. He recognized the person who stood there, so he opened the door, leaning with one arm braced casually against the doorjamb.

“Julian Koenhein. I’ve been expecting you.” Slash spoke in German, Julian’s native tongue.

That comment elicited a squeak of surprise and a visible flinch from the priest. While he figured out what to say, Slash took stock of him. Nervous tics. Mid-fifties. Receding hairline and a bad comb-over. He looked exactly as he had in the Vatican photo Slash had just pulled up. A vein in his neck throbbed as he studied Slash, clearly not sure what to do or say next. As his gaze fell on the gold cross that Slash had purposefully removed from under his shirt and clearly identified him as a member of the Vatican’ssodalitium pianum,the priest finally spoke.

“Y-you know who I am?” The priest answered Slash in Italian, not German, but his voice shook just the same.

Slash continued in German on purpose, remaining in control of the conversation. “Of course, I do. You sent me thenkondi.”