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He thought back. “It was shortly before I started work at the NSA. I filled out some forms and they came back rather quickly—in about three weeks, if I recall correctly. I was told it had been expedited.”

“Didn’t you have to take a test and have a ceremony where you recited your pledge of loyalty to the country or something like that?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s interesting because I asked Gray to help me with some stuff I was looking at to help you figure out what’s going on. At my direction, she did some digging around and called in some favors to friends at the CIA. She discovered you weren’t naturalized as a US citizen.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Grayson’s research was always meticulously sourced, but this time she was incorrect. “That’s impossible. It must be classified. I have a passport and a security clearance at the highest level. I’m the Director of IAD at the NSA. It’s incomprehensible that I wouldn’t be naturalized.”

“I know, right?” She spread her hands, then pressed her palms against the tablecloth. “But that’s not all. Here’s the kicker. Gray found out you weren’t naturalized because youalreadyhad American citizenship.”

“What?” Astonishment, disbelief swept through him. “That’s not possible. I was born in Italy.”

“Are you sure? Then how have you had American citizenship since birth?”

“I haven’t.”

“But Gray says you do.”

“Did she see my so-called American birth certificate?”

“She didn’t. But her source told her it’s there, and it’s legit.”

He considered the implication and how soon he could get hacking to confirm this. “Maybe the birth certificate is manufactured. Doctored.”

“Why? What would be the point?”

He lifted his shoulders, unsure. He really had no idea what would be the point. He’d had plenty of manufactured passports and identity documents made for him, but none had been under his real name.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

They both fell silent and she put her hand on top of his, linking their fingers. “Slash, I didn’t bring this up to upset you. Obviously neither one of us has the answers. But the more data we have, the closer we can get to the truth. If we ever want to get to the bottom of this, we need to start at the beginning. Theverybeginning.”

He studied her thoughtfully. “Are you thinking the church at San Mauro? Where I was brought as an infant?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. In case you didn’t already know, there are no digital records of the church online. I checked. But maybe we could find something useful in the documents there, if there’s a library and the priests would be willing to let us take a look.”

“It’s a good idea,cara. The church will likely have handwritten books of visitors, major events, and possibly birth and death records. It’s a decent starting point.” He considered location, time and comfort, then made a decision. “It’s too far to drive from Genoa to San Mauro Cilento. It would take us about eight hours. We can fly to Salerno in the morning, rent a car at the airport and drive to San Mauro. It will be much faster.”

She hated flying, but she didn’t balk at accompanying him. Instead she thought ahead. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something in the church records. Or someone will remember you being brought there.”

“Someonedoesremember me being brought there,” he said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. “But he’s not helping.”

She looked down at her plate and Slash cursed himself for his sharp comment. That wound was still too close to the surface, and it wasn’t fair of him to put her in the middle. He wondered what he could say to smooth it over, but she spoke first.

“I can’t pretend to understand the dynamic between you and Father Armando. But if he took a vow or heard a confession, he can’t tell you that information, Slash. No matter how important you are to him or he is to you. Youknowthat.”

He did know that, but he remained silent. There was more than a just a vow at stake here, there were feelings of betrayal and broken trust from which he wasn’t sure they could recover.

He picked up his wine. She thought she didn’t read people well, but she was becoming scarily accurate at reading him. Most men would consider it a sign of the strength of their relationship—but he wasn’t used to having to work so hard to keep things from anyone. He didn’t like hiding things from her, either. She was too smart and had too much integrity to take that kind of crap from him. He added this issue to the long-term problem compartment of his brain to work on later.

Perhaps realizing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with that line of discussion, she didn’t pursue it further. Instead she asked, “What time do you want to head out in the morning?”

Tension uncoiled in his gut, replaced by relief for the temporary reprieve. “As soon as possible,” he said. “I’ll make the reservations as soon as we get back to the room. We need answers.”

“We do,” she said. “And I firmly believe it’s in our best interest to get them as soon as possible.”

Chapter Thirty-One