It didn't take Detective Constable Gray long to break into Jean's room, given the lockpicking abilities he acquired in his youth and the antiquated state of the door lock. He'd already tried ringing her mobile multiple times with no luck; she apparently had it switched off or was out of range. He could tell as soon as he stepped into the room that she hadn't been there much, just enough to leave her bags on one of the beds.

He blew out his cheeks. Well, she'd last been seen in the presence of that Giorgio, so he set himself to the task of finding out what he could about the fellow.

The man at the front desk turned out to be a font of information. And he spoke English! Giorgio was not staying at their hotel, he explained, but usually he stayed at one a few miles away in Marina di Grosseto, on the beach. The deskman believed Giorgio was some kind of ship's officer, possibly a captain. He was arrogant enough. He lived somewhere to the south, his accent sounded Neapolitan, and he had a wife down there. But he was in town often on some sort of legal matter, and when he was, he stalked the hotel bar for women to keep him company for the night.

The man hadn't been on duty last night, but he was able to direct Gray to a security office where they were happy to review security camera video of the front door. And sure enough, just at the bar's closing time of 1:00 a.m., Gray could identify Jean on the arm of the man he'd barely met the night before.

"Ugh, where'd they go?" He muttered when they disappeared from the screen.

"Giorgio?" It seemed the security man knew him, too. And it seemed he also knew enough English to get Gray the name of the man's hotel in Marina di Grosseto and to help him hail a taxi and get it headed in the right direction.

And although there was no answer to his knock on the hotel room door, he soon found them walking with their arms around each other along the incredibly beautiful beach that stretched for miles along the Tyrrhenian Sea. Jean's first sight of Gray, unexpected and out of context, brought creases of puzzlement to her brow. Then she gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. She turned hastily to her suave companion.

"I have to go right now, I should have been in Grosseto hours ago! You've managed to keep me up all night, you handsome devil!" She swatted him playfully on the bottom, and turned to go.

But he grabbed her arm, pulling her to himself, and kissed her hard on the mouth, grinding his hips into her.

"You can't leave now, Jean! What about . . . ? You promised!"

She pushed him off, startled by his sudden aggressiveness, and Gray stepped up, his stance assertive and threatening. Gray didn't know what it was Jean might have promised the man. Didn't want to think about it, though of course suspicions crept into his head. He merely glared protectively in Giorgio's direction, and hustled his D.C.I. back toward the front of the hotel, where they quickly caught a taxi back to the city.

Less than two hours after he'd left, D.C. Gray stuck his head into Lewis's hospital room. He at last had found his colleagues, and his face broke into a sunny grin when he saw Lewis awake and smiling. He opened the door wide to allow Jean to enter.

"Looks like they're all here, Ma'am."

She swept into the room, a bit breathless. "Lewis! Well done. And Salvo—" she held her hands out apologetically. "I am very sorry to have kept you waiting. Now, can we talk like reasonable people about extraditing Jack Cornish?"

Salvo's eyes slid to Robbie's, and Lewis saw there was a touch of devilment in them. He took his cue.

"Erm, Ma'am . . ." Lewis began, his voice faltering a little. "Salvo has made it unquestionably clear that he will not be handing Cornish over to you." As her face fell, he continued. "In fact, he's taken steps to make that impossible. I'm sorry, Ma'am, I couldn't stop him."

Jean's face turned black and she flew at the commissario. "I've come all this way! Your case is nothing, you know that!"

Salvo had to grab her wrists to keep her from slapping him. And hang on like a bulldog, because she put up much more of a struggle than he expected. It took a blink of disbelief before Hathaway and Fazio kicked into action, each one pulling his superior officer away from the other, and eying Lewis significantly to trigger his explanation.

"Ma'am, wait! Let me explain!" The urgency in Lewis's voice sounded a bit odd, combined as it was with a suppressed chuckle.

They had consumed fine Tuscan cuisine for lunch and were sitting back, sipping espressos and savoring the remains of their dessert course. Lewis, of course, was absent, still in hospital but undergoing final observation and tests before his release. Salvo was standing off a bit, talking on the mobile he borrowed from Fazio, and Fazio was working out the logistics for their return to Sicily. Hathaway found himself infinitely more comfortable with Tuscan food than he had been with Sicilian food, and he rather smugly noted Gray seemed to be completely at sea with the unfamiliar dishes. Laura had stayed back with Lewis, and her absence meant Jean was the only woman in the group. This did not bother Jean at all; moreover, she was finding the cuisine as delicious as Hathaway had.

She sighed happily to James. "Well, that was marvelous, wasn't it?"

Hathaway pulled on his nose a couple times, wanting to say something but clearly feeling awkward about it. "Erm, Ma'am . . . this morning . . . erm . . . I think you owe us an explanation."

The smile faded from her face.

"It was my fault, Sir." Gray spoke up before Jean had a chance to say anything. "I mistakenly told her last night we were meeting at the police station this morning. I don't know how I got it so mixed up. I was headed that way when I ran into Fazio, and I just tagged along after him to the meeting. When I realized what I'd done, I went to retrieve the Chief Super since I knew where I'd sent her, but I got so turned around trying to find the station from here, it took forever."

Hathaway cocked his eyebrow, skeptical. But Gray's honest and open expression, combined with Jean's huffy nod, convinced him.

"Where did you think I had gotten to, Sergeant?"

They were heading up the front walk of the hospital when they saw Laura coming toward them. And immediately they could see her grim demeanor and reddened eyes.

Salvo reached for her, but James was there first, hurrying to her side, putting his arm around her, and asking her quietly what was wrong.

"Fahrid . . . It's Fahrid . . . a blood clot, they said it was immediate—" was all she could get out. Hathaway closed his eyes in a silent prayer and held Laura in his arms.

"He's gone?" James hated euphemisms for death, but couldn't bring himself to say the word.

She buried her face in his chest in response, and he tightened his hug.

"Laura, I'm so sorry."

Salvo touched Fazio's arm to be sure he had understood correctly, and when the latter looked away sadly, Salvo shut his eyes and slumped his shoulders. James realized then that Salvo was sobbing silently, and he gently nudged Laura toward the Sicilian.

Laura and Salvo connected, hugging with their entire bodies. It was a simple act of mutual human compassion; they each needed the contact, the reassurance, the familiarity of someone who had known Fahrid. Both of them were sobbing quietly, their tears wetting each other's shoulder.

In time, they released their hold, and Salvo kissed Laura's cheek. "Grazie." Laura whispered a thank-you in return.

As the group sadly re-entered the hospital, Laura hung back with Fazio and James. In a low voice, she asked, "Fazio? Who is Salvo's François?"

Fazio spoke directly to her, with James providing the information in English. "François was a little Tunisian boy who was orphaned when his mother was murdered. It was our case, and the commissario took François into his own home to protect him because he was a witness. Salvo and his fiancée fell in love with him and they made plans to get married and adopt him. But then things became too dangerous and Salvo had to hide him by sending him to the home of a friend out in the country. There were paperwork delays and Salvo found it hard to find time to visit, and by the time he did, François had become too attached to the family he was staying with. He grew up there, and Salvo didn't see much of him. I think in his heart he was maybe trying to avoid the responsibilities of family. Then, a few months ago . . ." He broke off when he realized Salvo was watching him. He shrugged apologetically. "Mi dispiace, dottore. Dovrei fermare?"

Salvo set his jaw hard and turned away, saying nothing but waving his hand to indicate Fazio could continue. And he moved quickly to the front of the group so he wouldn't have to overhear.

Hathaway stared at his back, wondering what came next in the story.

Fazio swallowed and said very quietly, "Just a few months ago, François was killed by terrorists he had been trying to stop. Salvo was working the case in secret, against orders. I suppose he blames himself."

Laura had to wipe her eyes when she heard the translation.

And a thought occurred to James: "So, François had grown up in the meantime—how many years ago was it when Salvo first found him?"

Fazio thought back. "Fifteen, something like that."

Hathaway stared at him. "Fifteen years? And he and his girlfriend still aren't married?"

Fazio shrugged. "You know, I think they like it that way."

They found Lewis, successfully checked out but not ready to leave the hospital. "I want to have a look at Jack. The doctor said he's regained consciousness, though he fades in and out." Hathaway shifted as though he intended to go along, but Lewis put his arm out to stop him. "Just me, okay?"

He opened the door to Jack's room and looked in enough to see if Jack was awake. The grunt of disgust he heard gave him his answer, and he came in.

"Well, Robbie, here we are. Have seat, why don't you?"

"I prefer to stand, Jack. You know, when I rang Louise to tell her you were in hospital, she said she wouldn't come. And she said the boys wouldn't care, wouldn't want to see you."

Jack snorted and said nothing.

"What I don't understand is why you did any of this. Simple greed? Did you actually think you were gaining something, when the whole time all you were doing was losing your loved ones?"

"You're assuming things about me when you have no idea what I wanted from life."

Robbie inhaled through his nose. "Well, I suppose that's it, then. What I wonder is whether you knew what you wanted from life. Because I suspect what you've ended up with is not what you were aiming for."

Cornish huffed. "Does anybody get what he was aiming for? Look at you, two score years of mediocre policing, you happy with that?"

Lewis stared at him. "Yeah, y'know, I'm very happy with what I've got." He thought about how depressed he'd been before he let himself relax and be with Laura, and his lips twitched upwards, happy with his life.

Cornish turned his head away. "Get out."

Lewis headed for the door, his face set with a grimace. "I'll see you in court, Jack."

The group gathered in the hotel bar, sipping beer or wine and relaxing. Presently, the three junior officers were outside so Hathaway could have a cigarette and Gray could suck on his e-cigarette. Laura had her arm threaded through Lewis's as they chatted with Jean, and the commissario, without Hathaway, was pretty unable to participate in any conversation. He sat off in a corner, his back to the wall, a glass of better-than-average Barolo in his hand. He wasn't exactly alone. He was using Fazio's mobile to talk with Livia, his fiancée.

Jean focused on Robbie. "The doctor said it looks like we'll be able to transport Jack tomorrow morning. I think that myself, Hathaway, and D.C. Gray can manage on our own. Since this whole ridiculous affair took up at least, what, four days of your holiday? if I allow you to stay another week, can we call it even?"

Robbie and Laura looked at each other, very pleased. He grinned gratefully at Innocent. "Yes, Ma'am, I think that is a very fair arrangement!"

"Robbie, we have to find out if we can keep the villetta for another week." Laura pulled out her mobile and apologized to Jean. "Excuse me . . ."

Jean got up from the table so they could make their arrangements privately. She swirled her wine as she perused the paintings hanging on the wall of the bar. Some of them were lovely; most were landscapes reminiscent of the Tuscan countryside.

She gasped in surprise when someone put an arm around her waist, and a rich, baritone, Italian voice whispered into her ear, "Good evening, Beautiful."

Recognizing the voice, she turned, smiling. "Giorgio, what a pleasure." Though she wasn't certain it was.

He flashed a dazzling smile, pressing himself closer to her. "It was a pity you had to leave in such a hurry this morning. You still owe me a little something." He kissed her so passionately, she was breathless afterward.

"Erm, y'know, I was rethinking that. I don't think it's a good idea after all."

He maintained his smile, but it no longer lit his eyes. "I'm afraid that's not a choice." He tugged her tighter to himself. "If you don't take me up to your room right now, I will make a little telephone call to your husband . . . let's see, that's Arsenius Innocent, and the number of his mobile would be—" He recited the number flawlessly. "I can make up a very convincing story when I need to. Something like: You were terrific last night; I was exhausted!"

Jean's heart was pounding. How could she have been so foolish to get mixed up with this man? She folded her arms protectively across her front, and flicked her eyes away from him. Her gaze settled on Salvo, sitting in the corner and watching her closely, concern knitting his brow.

Salvo saw Jean's eyes widen and her lips part as though she was trying to say something to him. He hadn't liked the look of the fellow chatting her up, and his internal alarms had gone off when he saw the man's physical approach was not being returned. He touched his own chest, then waved his fingers toward her and raised his eyebrows questioningly. She gave the slightest smile and nod, and that was enough. He strode briskly across the room, unbuttoning his jacket at the last minute.

"Jean! Where—?" He broke off as though he had just noticed the man standing so very close to her. The truth was, he couldn't have completed the question in English.

Giorgio turned to size up his rival. His eyes flicked down and then up again, freezing at Salvo's waist, where the grip of his Beretta was plainly protruding from his waistband. Salvo noticed that the hand that had been on the small of Jean's back was swiftly fleeing into a trouser pocket.

Jean beamed. She had no idea if Salvo carried his gun at all times, but she inwardly applauded his sense of theatrics. "Giorgio, I'd like to introduce my husband, Arsenius. Sweetheart, this is Giorgio, the man I told you about this morning."

Giorgio tentatively stuck out his right hand but Salvo put his hands on his hips, taking a very assertive stance.

"Giorgio, eh?" Salvo flexed his fingers a few times, then formed a fist, fitting it into his other palm.

Giorgio turned to Jean, taking backward steps as he did so. "Jean, I'm sorry, I just remembered I need to be somewhere . . ." He practically ran from the room.

After he had fled, Salvo and Jean looked at each other and burst into laughter. She shook his hand enthusiastically, and used about two-thirds of her Italian vocabulary. "Bravo, Salvo! Bravo. Grazie."

He tried to contain his smile but his lips wouldn't cooperate. "Jean, ti ringrazio. Sono divertito." He hugged her with delight.

"Well, you two have certainly become friends!" There was much amusement in Robbie's voice. He had watched the encounter, and had been about to intervene on Jean's behalf when Salvo had taken action. Laura came over, putting her phone away and smiling broadly. She gave Robbie a thumbs-up.

The junior officers returned then, none the wiser about Jean and her sailor. Fazio headed for the bar. Hathaway looked around at the gathered faces, wondering what they were finding so amusing. "So what's the plan?"

Jean took control of the conversation. "Tomorrow, we collect Jack, and Gray, Hathaway, and myself will take him back to England. Robbie and Laura, you'll be able to continue your holiday?"

"Yes, Ma'am, thanks to you. Laura's got us booked for another week. It'll be nice to get back to relaxing!" Robbie squeezed Laura's hand.

Fazio glanced at Salvo. "Commissario?"

"You go Sicilia," Salvo managed. "Livia here molto soon. We go tomorrow, stay Marina di Grosseto."

"Oh, the beach is so lovely there!" Jean sighed.

Hathaway gave her a sharp stare.

"I mean, I've heard that. The concierge was saying." She could feel her face redden.

Laura moved close to Salvo. "I know that I, for one, am grateful I got to know you." She kissed him on the lips, which lasted a bit longer than Robbie liked, and he stepped forward.

"Well, we still have to get through tomorrow, right?"

Laura broke from the Sicilian. "Right." She smiled a little sheepishly at Robbie.

"Un brindisi!" Fazio came over, holding up an open bottle of prosecco and a fistful of champagne flutes. As he began pouring, there came a shout of "Salvo!" from the bar's entry.

They all looked up and saw a lovely blond woman approaching, smiling broadly. Salvo threw open his arms and she ran to him, greeting him with a big hug and a long, passionate kiss.

Robbie nudged Laura in the ribs. "Thirty seconds earlier, and she wouldn't have been greeting him like that, methinks."

Jean smirked. "He has excellent timing."

Fazio cleared his throat. "Dottore?" Salvo ignored him.

The kiss continued several seconds more, and at last they came up for air. Livia poked at the Beretta tucked in Salvo's belt and whispered something in his ear, grinning a bit naughtily. His ears turned pink and he shifted it, tucking it into his belt at his back.

Salvo beamed happily at the group. "Vi presento Livia." And then he named them all for her.

Gray graciously handed her his glass of bubbly, shaking his head slightly. "Not my kind of thing." He waved his glass of beer.

They all looked to Robbie to make the toast. He thought a moment. "Here's to new friends and a successful extradition. In that order."

It was late when Robbie and Laura got back to their room. He lay next to her in bed, thinking.

She turned her head. "You alright?"

He smiled reassuringly. "I'm sorry work stepped in, but I must say, it has been an interesting few days. Sea urchins—who would think you could eat them?"

She laughed softly and hugged him. "Y'know, for some reason it seemed a lot more fun having work interfere here than it ever does at home. We'd never have seen so many different places and met Salvo and Fazio." She thought a moment. "D'you suppose that's his first name, or his last name?"

Robbie snorted. "I . . . Oh, Salvo told us that first day. It's his last name. But I couldn't tell you what his first name is." He held her tenderly. "I just hope tomorrow goes smoothly. I keep turning it over in my brain. For some reason, I'm not as sleepy as I thought I would be after all that wine."

"Did you want me to take your mind off your troubles?" Her voice was teasing.

He answered her with a long kiss.

But, of course, things did not go smoothly. Robbie had James with him at the hospital in the early hours, never trusting anything to do with Jack Cornish to go as planned. And indeed he was right to worry. When he arrived, he found Grosseto police and Carabinieri all over the corridor where Jack's room was.

"What th' . . . ?"

Not understanding who the Englishmen were, the officers pushed them back out of the way. While Lewis was trying to pull out his warrant card and explain things, Salvo showed up with Fazio at his side, and he gestured toward the activity.

"Cos'è successo?"

Lewis shrugged animatedly. "I have no idea."

The Sicilian set his mouth in a hard line, and collared a man he assessed was high on the chain of command. They spoke briefly, then Lewis saw Salvo's shoulders sag, and he returned to Lewis's side, defeated.

"Cornish . . . ehhh, morto. Capisce?"

"Morto?" Lewis echoed. He understood that. Morto, from the same root as mortally, mortuary, post mortem. Dead. "How?" His face and body registered the question.

Salvo was already asking questions. He ignored Lewis for a few minutes while he pursued explanations in Italian.

At last he pulled Robbie to one side. He inhaled and exhaled before diving into his explanation. And then with his hand he brought Robbie's ear close to his mouth.

"Mafia. Okay? Always mafia. A man go to Cornish at night. Yes?" He checked to see if Lewis was with him so far.

Lewis nodded briskly. "Got it. And?"

"He iniettava . . ." Salvo mimed injecting someone with a syringe. ". . . ehh, morto."

Lewis stared. "Where was the guard? Erm, security? Where?"

The Sicilian's eyes fell. "None. Italy—Cornish non our, right? No tell English . . . ?" He gestured to indicate that Cornish was no longer the concern of the Italians, and the English hadn't realized Cornish would be without protection overnight.

And now he was dead.

Lewis blew out his cheeks. "Got what he deserved after all." His mouth was set in a grim smile.

"Cornish in Hell," Fazio supplied.

"Vabbuò." Agreed.