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not without a grin. “I’m sorry.”
    “Suits me,” I say, tossing him a wink.
    “Spare me, Chase,” Anya says. “You wouldn’t know where to begin with me even if you had the chance.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Slipping off my bomber, I decide to leave my shoulder holster strapped to my chest. You never know what might come through the door when you least expect it. The prize at the end of this journey isn’t cash. It isn’t jewels. It isn’t some ancient pottery dug up in and around the Giza pyramids. The prize is nothing other than Jesus of Nazareth whom some call God. God is within my grasp.
    Startling thing is, I may be closer to the Jesus remains than even Andre, that is my intuition…my gut …is serving me well. All that stands between the bones and my hands, is the Shroud of Turin. Getting at the professor and getting him safely back will come too. But not before I’m certain of where the bones are hidden.
    I pour myself another glass of wine, put my feet up on the bed. I lie back against the propped up pillow while Anya heads into the bathroom, starts the shower, gets undressed. I try not to think too hard about her getting naked. Best to keep it professional. At least for the time being.
    Coming from outside the open window are the sounds and smells of this busy Tuscan city. People walking in both directions, the hard soles on their boots making a distinctive slap against cobbles that were laid hundreds of years before they were born and that will still be here hundreds of years after their death. After their children’s children’s deaths.
    I sip the wine, feel the alcohol’s calming effect. Then, pulling my smartphone from my pocket, I dial Detective Cipriani. He answers after two rings. I offer him a short update, minus the part about my plan to get my hands on the Jesus remains, if they do indeed exist, as soon as the job of finding Manion is finished.
    “And you are safe for now?” he asks, in his raspy, but low-toned voice.
    “I can only assume.”
    “Soon you will find Dr. Manion and you will be able to go home.”
    “I just want to see my daughter and not get arrested at the gate when I land in New York.”
    “Keep on doing the right thing, Chase, and you will see her very soon.”
    “You think so, huh, Cip? Appreciate you not pulling the plug on my resident status.”
    He laughs.
    “I’ve never known you to be so polite, Chase. But thank you for trying. I’m certain you are not very pleased with me at present. But one hand washes the other, as they say, and right now, both our hands are dirty. Call me as soon as something new develops.”
    He hangs up at the same time the sound of running water coming from the shower stops. Sitting back on the bed, I know that Cip’s use of the adjective “dirty” isn’t indiscriminate. If he knows anything about the Jesus bones then I can only assume it’s possible he wants something out of them too. In fact, perhaps it’s even possible that he’s not overly concerned about Manion, so much as he’s interested in what prize Manion is after. Being a cop in Italy, where the prime minister openly carries on affairs with child prostitutes, is not the straightforward business it can be in the states. Chip might be a good cop, but he can also recognize an opportunity to make some good side cash when he sees it. I should know. I’ve gone after several would-be criminals on his behalf who weren’t wanted for any crime in particular, other than they owed him money. The bones of Jesus … should they happen to fall into his hands … would most definitely constitute the chance to make some excellent side cash. Millions upon millions of dollars or Euros of side cash.
    A couple of minutes later, Anya emerges from the bathroom. She’s wearing only a white towel that barely covers her breasts and the top couple of inches of her smooth, milky thighs. Her brown hair is wet but neatly slicked back, her brown eyes wet, her lips thick and inviting. She pours