A Dangerous Liaison Part One by Brooks Melanie

Author:Brooks, Melanie [Brooks, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-05-20T04:00:00+00:00

***

I decided to walk back to the station. The FBI had set up in Rome’s Central Police Department near the Pantheon. It was only ten minutes away and would give me time to think. This was the first lead we had on the case since I’d got to Rome four weeks ago. Since then I’d watched the body count rise. Muggings, suspicious accidents, people thrown out of windows. Week by week Americans were dying and we had nothing. Occasionally we had a sketchy eyewitness account of one of the perps making their escape, but so far it had led nowhere.

I turned a corner and walked down a street lined by cafes with sophisticated looking Romans drinking their morning coffee and pulling on cigarettes.

I didn’t believe the Italian cop’s story for a second. The girl hadn’t been hysterical. Terrified, yes. But she knew what she’d seen. And the description she’d given was too detailed to be made up.

So a young American girl had been saved from a brutal attack by a mystery man. From the description and from how he’d dealt with the attackers it sounded as if he had a military background ­ possibly Special Forces. Was it possible he just happened to be passing the alley when the girl was attacked? A man with the perfect skill set to disable three strong, young thugs set on murder? I supposed it was possible – but not likely. My instincts told me he wasn’t there by chance. He knew in advance where and when the attack would happen. He wasn’t one of the perpetrators. That was obvious. But he was connected somehow.

That meant he was already streets ahead of us, in terms of knowing what the hell was going on. And it made speaking to him our top priority.

I sighed and pulled out the small St. Christopher’s medal that I’d picked up in the alley – turning it over in my hand. It looked about fifteen years old. The surface was heavily worn, so much so that you could hardly see the figure of St. Christopher on it. It looked like it had been carried or kept in a pocket rather than around the neck. As I touched it that sense of familiarity hit me again. I felt like it was trying to tell me something, which was ridiculous, I knew.

Did it belong to this man? And if so, why did it seem to mean so much to me?

I shook my head, shoved the medallion back in my pocket, and headed back to the station.

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