SANDRA FOCUSED ON HIS CHEST. He would telegraph any moves there first; the rest she could get in her peripheral vision. She had learned that much, wrestling with Walter before her older brother shipped out to Vietnam.
ON A SUNNY DAY IN MID-SEPTEMBER, Sandra was humming an aria from Cavalleria Rusticana when Special Agent Redwood came through the door. As important as the FBI Liaison Office was, tucked on the third floor of the American Embassy Annex in Rome, it was a small staff, just the two of them.
SANDRA CLIMBED THE STAIRS to Room 335 of the American Embassy Annex in Rome. She paused at the closed door to the FBI Liaison Office. That’s odd, she thought. Annabelle is usually in early. Then the reason for the closed door hit her like a flash flood in a gully.
Annabelle was not coming back. Continue reading
SANDRA BILLINGSLEY took a sip of Frascati, puckered her mouth, and shook her head. It’s true, she thought, it doesn’t travel. She stood and poured the white wine down the sink. She reached for the bottle of red Grottaferrata next to the bread box and poured a glass of something she knew. Continue reading