Until You

"Simmer down, my boy, simmer down. You've never been a patsy, you're the Committee's main man, doing a vital job."

"That's a wonderful line, Harry. Did you lift it from a motivational seminar or did it just spring into your head?"

"Conor." Thurston's voice was filled with distress. If Conor hadn't known him better, he might have believed it was real. "What have I done to deserve such a display of animosity?"

"It's not animosity. And you haven't done a thing—except ask me to play at being a bodyguard to a woman who doesn't want one."

"You're not playing at any such thing. You're conducting an investigation."

"I'm stumbling around on foreign soil with about as much clout as an ant at an aardvark's picnic."

Thurston chuckled. "What a charming picture."

"Well, it's a charming situation, which is why I'm dealing myself out."

"Difficult cases were always your specialty."

"You're wasting your time. Flattery won't get you anywhere."

"I just don't understand the problem. You say you're on foreign soil without any clear authority but let's be honest; that never stopped you in the past."

"Harry, you're not listening."

"And it isn't as if you've never offered protection to a client before."

"No, it isn't. But our client is Eva Winthrop, not her daughter. And I didn't come over here to offer protection to anybody .remember? I came to get facts."

"This doesn't sound like you, Conor."

"You know what they say, Harry. The times, they are a-changin'."

"Is that a quotation from some modern French philosopher? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with it."

"Listen, just so you know I'm not being unreasonable about this, I'll give you a couple of days to line up somebody else to take over."

"Suppose you update me. What's the latest situation there?"

The latest situation? Hell, I slept with Miranda Beckman and got exactly what I deserved.

Conor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

"I'll e-mail you as soon as I get my phone working."

"Humor me. Bring me up to date the old-fashioned way. The Beckman girl's apartment was rifled but I take it there's been more."

"There's been more, all right. Somebody slipped a little gift under her door. His name is Moratelli. Vincent Moratelli."

"An Italian?"

"An American, I think. Run his name, see what you can find."

"What was the gift this Moratelli sent Miss Beckman?"

Conor hesitated. All he had to do was shut his eyes and he knew he'd be able to see the ugly piece of garbage that had been inside that envelope.

"A picture. And a note. I'll run them over to the embassy and put them in the diplomatic pouch."

"Fine."