“Like what? Who stole laundry drying on a clothesline?”
“Yeah, and who took three guineas out of the collection plate and who got Millie Hightower pregnant. There was even a murder that confounded the constabulary. She solved it.” He straightened, moved his shoulders around. “That’s much better. Thank you.” He sounded surprised. “Mind if I use your loo?”
“Of course not.”
He picked up his ruined clothes, his bottomless leather bag, and left her. When he returned, he was wearing a black T-shirt over his black trousers, back to business as usual.
He said, “If Anatoly didn’t hire the Fox to steal the Koh-i-Noor, and I don’t think he did, that leaves about half a dozen very wealthy gem collectors in Europe. Which means—”
Mike’s cell phone buzzed. She frowned, looked down, then sighed deeply. “Sorry, Nicholas. I have to take this. Hello, Timmy. It’s very late, what’s wrong?”
He watched her face, the flickers of annoyance and bemusement. Timmy?
She nodded to him and left him in the kitchen. She was back in under three minutes to see him standing there, arms crossed over his chest, cuts and bruises on his face, a drop of blood dried on his mouth, but he was looking easier, more relaxed. “Who’s Timmy?”
She gave him a long look. “Ah, the pizza’s done.”
“Want to tell me about Timmy?”
She gave him another long look. “Timmy’s sort of like my Afghanistan. Come on, Nicholas, time to chow down. We’re only going to get maybe three hours of sleep, max, and I want every minute.”
43
Naples, Italy
Twenty-two years ago
The day was fine, blue skies and bright yellow sun, the weather tourists to the Amalfi Coast prayed for. She’d hopped the cruise ship in Valencia, Spain, posing as a Taiwanese banker’s daughter, taken up quarters in a small, empty cabin, and sailed across the Mediterranean without a care in the world. Cruise ships were full of wealthy women and their jewels, and she was getting good practice befriending them, then lifting their valuables. Coming into dock in Naples, the crew knew there was a thief on board, but no one looked twice at the beautiful teenager.
And then she made a mistake and nearly landed herself in a Naples jail cell, known locally as the ninth circle of hell.
But she was young then, and foolhardy. She thought herself infallible, as did all kids her age.
If not for Mulvaney, she might have gone straight to the ninth circle and died there.
She’d roamed the piazzas with the others, dodging in and out of unventilated tourist traps, keeping an eye out for possibilities. The stores in this part of Naples were full of kitschy treasures, designed to suck in tourists and overcharge them for souvenirs made in China.
She spied one decent piece, a square sapphire ring surrounded by brilliants, and she made up her mind on the spot it would be hers. Once everyone had left for lunch and the proprietor had gone to his daily siesta, she went back, easily picked the lock, and waltzed inside.
Unfortunately, the store owner came back to fetch a hat, for the day was warm, and caught her in the act. Despite the fact his stock was mostly fakes and junk, he wasn’t going to be ripped off, especially by a teenager who didn’t even have the common sense to break in after dark. After screaming at her in unintelligible Neapolitan Italian, the local security showed up, an ape of a man, possibly the man’s brother or cousin, but instead of taking her to jail, he dragged her around the back of the jewelry store, the owner following closely, cursing at her.