The Odyssey

by songbird1970

Next in the Cabin series, this follows One Brick at a Time, and follows Sharon and Andy on a European adventure. A word about the places on their tour. I've visited these remarkable cities and I do hope you, dear reader, will one day be able to as well. I only hope I described them in such a way that you are able to picture them well!

The Odyssey A Cabin Tale Follows One Brick at a Time

Rome

The ancient city was proving to be a perfect example of living up to the hype. Every photograph in every coffee table book sprang to life in the dizzying mix of cobblestone streets and towering arches. The senses were assaulted by the sights and sounds, delighted by the lazy tempo and zesty aromas. No roaring motors due to the Restricted Traffic Zones and March's light tourist draw made for a surprisingly hushed experience.

Sharon and Andy Flynn sat together at a corner cafe, sipping cappuccinos or, as the former referred to it, The Flyer's Fix. She had managed to sleep a few hours on the flight over, her husband, a little less. As a result, both were wiped out from their first day of travel. She was terribly grateful for the buffer days she had built in for that very reason.

They had taken an airport shuttle directly from Fiumicino to their hotel. There, they showered and changed clothes before heading out to take in the city, resisting the urge to fall into bed.

Now, they sat in the shadow of the majestic Colosseum, the weight of their eyelids much like that of the armor worn by the gladiators of old. Hopefully, the caffeine coursing through their bodies would soon give them a shot of energy, enough to walk about the city for a couple hours before lunch. Then, maybe they could enjoy a short nap.

They planned a couple of days in the city before taking the train to Positano, where they had another room booked for a few days.

When Sharon suggested flying to Italy instead of Ireland, searching for Andy's former wife first in her thoughts, he insisted they remember it was their honeymoon and that they take their time and enjoy each stop on their journey.

So, they finished up their fortification and set off on their walking tour of the immediate area. The following morning they planned to attend Mass at St. Peter's, something Andy had looked into as a special surprise for his wife, the most observant Catholic he knew.

They climbed up the Palatine Hill and spent the morning among breathtaking ruins and parasol pines. After a lunch of luscious mushroom risotto, they visited St. Peter in Chains, the precious spot hidden behind a bland, unassuming exterior.

After a night spent on a plane, even in business class, followed by a day on their feet, they finally gave into their exhaustion and returned to their room. After sharing another shower, they fell into bed and slept soundly until morning dawned.

Sharon emerged from the bathroom to the scent of coffee and sugar. Smiling, she followed the aroma to the balcony where she found her husband waiting, breakfast on the table.

"What have we here?" she asked, a dreamy smile stretching across her face.

"Just cappuccino and cornetti, which are like croissant, but a little sweeter and filled with custard. I figure, it's the first morning of our honeymoon, even if it's several years overdue. So," he said, raising his cup, "Here's to you, Mrs. Flynn."

Sharon took a step closer and pressed a kiss to his lips and hummed.

"Sweet," she agreed, then took a seat at the small table.

It was a cold morning, but should warm up nicely as the sun rose high into the sky. Wrapped in a soft, wooly cardigan, Sharon drew her legs up into the chair and brought her cup to her lips. Looking out over the city, she smiled. They were finally here. The city was wide awake, shop owners shouting out into the streets as they geared up for the day.

Sweet custard oozed out of their flaky pastries, bringing childlike giggles to the surface. It did feel like a honeymoon. It felt good.

They'd had an exhausting day and a restful night, followed by an early morning spent making love and watching the sunrise. Now, a sumptuous breakfast with awe-inspiring views.

"So, what do you want to see today?" she asked. "I read that there's an old gladiator training school nearby. We could check that out."

"Actually," he said, sipping his cappuccino, "I planned a surprise for you, if you're up for it."

At her titled head and raised eyebrows, he chuckled and continued.

"You brought your rosary, yes?"

Sharon's eyes grew wider as they were led past the queue of visitors waiting outside the doors of St. Peter's. March may not be peak season for tourists, but it was still the Vatican. The Basilica had a very large seating capacity, with room for thousands more to stand outside. They were taken to seats on the floor before the main altar and lowered themselves. For a room filled to the brim with worshippers, it was startlingly quiet. Sharon found she could scarcely breathe. Andy found himself in a similar state. Both lifelong Catholics, though Andy had more recently returned to his faith after years of struggle and doubt, they were in abject awe of their current surroundings.

"I don't know how you managed this, Honey, but this is an unbelievable gift. I don't know how to thank you."

"I told you. Friends. I'll tell you more later. For now, enjoy your wedding present. There's more to come."

She drew her rosary from within her purse and pressed it between her hands. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she exhaled and tried to still the beating of her heart as a group of clergy processed down the aisle toward the altar.

It was everything she'd imagined and more, and she had a very good imagination. When she felt the tug to her hand, she allowed herself to be drawn into the aisle and toward the doors leading back out into the blinding sunlight. She was pulled into St. Peter's Square, where they stood among the many who waited to catch a sight of the Holy Father.

"I can't believe you arranged all of this," she said, sniffing away her emotions. "That was so special, Andy, really. I don't know what else to say."

A great roar arose from the crowd surrounding them, both startling them and pulling their attention upward to where the Holy Father stood on his balcony overlooking the square.

"Don't say anything," he said in her ear. "Just take it all in."

The Divine Coast

The following evening, they were on a train to the Amalfi Coast, home of rugged cliffs and shimmering blue sea. The would arrive in Salerno in a few hours, then take a ferry to Positano, all the while feasting on the sweeping view of the coastline. Having purchased a picnic supper from a corner restaurant in Rome, they enjoyed a rustic meal in their seats, eyes fixed on the scenes beyond the glass.

The mountains of the Sorrentine peninsula rose up from lush green vegetation already dressed for springtime, reaching heavenward like ams lifted in praise. Powder-soft beaches gave way to villages dotted with color like a finger-painting.

Sharon and Andy sat at a small round table nestled among others just like it, enjoying wine and coffee, respectively. Swaying bodies moved to the rhythm of the band tucked under a portico along the side of the building. They played a hypnotic fusion of classic opera melodies set to contemporary accompaniments. It was a delightful marriage of Italy's musical identity as well as its forward-thinking popular music.

Andy's eyes fell on his wife, her chestnut curls dancing gently about shoulders, courtesy of a gentle breeze. She was a vision in her peasant blouse, cardigan and well-fitted jeans. He grinned at the sight of her fingertips keeping time to the rhythm on the lip of her wine glass.

"Vuoi ballare con me?"

She turned and eyed her husband with a curious gaze. Always a surprise, he was.

"I'm fairly certain I heard some from of the word ballet in there. Were you asking me to dance? Or perhaps trying to seduce me with your saucy Italian tongue?"

She leaned in closer and kissed his cheek.

"Pun intended," she added.

"Scommetti," he said, with a flirtatious wink. He stood up and offered her his hand, which she willingly took, and led her to a spot just outside the small group of couples dancing.

Holding one another impossibly close, they swayed to the music with less than innocent touches, promising music of another nature to come. They kissed and flirted and marveled at how Father Stan had helped to pull off Andy's surprise in Rome. Tomorrow they would attempt to find and speak with Sandra. What that would bring, neither could know. Tonight was for them alone. Tonight, they would dance. Then, they would dance some more.

Bread and jam, cappuccino, and a view unmatched anywhere in the states, were the perfect way to welcome a new day. Like mornings on their mountain, with a romantic Italian twist.

"It reminds me a little of Big Sur, but with more color," she sighed. "Even this early, the bougainvillea and oleander add little bursts of color everywhere, and the air is so sweet."

Andy smiled into his coffee cup.

"And I thought that was you."

He took a careful sip, and sighed in appreciation. She was right. It was beautiful here. The air was cool and sweet, perfumed by the blossoms all around them, blown gently about by the breezes off of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

"You sleep well?" she asked him, allowing her fingers to drift toward him.

"Oh, yeah. I rolled over and died. I was exhausted."

"Traveling will do that," she nodded. "Jet lag is a beast."

"Oh, I'm over the jet lag. I was talking about you, lady," he chuckled, leaning toward her and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Well, you did call it our honeymoon," she winked.

Andy set his cup down and reached for his wife, drawing her near. Nuzzling her neck, and lingered there, nose tucked deep into her hair.

"That I did," he agreed. "And I know what's likely to come today. So, I'm making every moment count."

She exhaled loudly against him. He was agitated at the prospect of a confrontation with his former wife, with whom he was finally on better terms. He didn't want to take a step backward with her, or with their children. The quarrels, the stomach-turning angst, the constant second-guessing. That's not what their lives were about now. He wanted nothing more than to keep moving forward. His children, however, couldn't do that without knowing that their mother was safe and well. They needed answers. Most of all, he wanted to get those answers so that he could enjoy this time with his wife.

"I know, Honey. Me too."

Had he spoken his thoughts aloud or did she really just read him that well? Yes, yes she did.

Hand in hand, they explored coastal Positano, with its pebbled beaches and boldly painted villas. Cliffs towered over head and crystalline blue water lapped at the rocks by the water's edge. Winding cobble streets snaked their way through town, leading to inviting cafes and trendy boutiques, secreted behind the architecture of the ancient Romans. Or perhaps it was all at the hands of Poseidon, this mesmerizing masterpiece by the sea.

The cafes were doing a steady business, though at a mellow pace. It was still early for the tourists. Boutiques saw smaller numbers of patrons, but did plenty of work behind the scenes, keeping up with the latest fashion trends. The prices were every bit as dizzying as the views, they had noted.

When he suggested his wife might like a new something special to take home, she laughed and reminded him that her days of dressing for L.A. are long behind them. Still, he kept his own eyes peeled for the right piece to commemorate their honeymoon.

Eyes up, they scanned the street signs, bold, blocked print in blue and white, hoping to spot the Via Fornillo. Armed with the only things he had going for him, a handful of postcards sent to his kids and his newly-acquired PI license, he set out determined not to let those kids down.

The private investigator's license wasn't difficult to get, not for a retired cop. It took some phone calls, some updating of paperwork, and he was good.

In her last postcard to her daughter, the only form of communication she'd offered in over a year, Sandra described watching the ferry go out and return from the window of her room. There were a number of hotels and hostels in Fornillo, famous for its beach, the second largest in Positano. Not all of them, however, offered the same view.

Sharon and Andy spotted the sign they sought and turned onto the street, looking for the hotels on Andy's list. Three, in particular, boasted vista sull'oceano on their websites. Ocean view may not be much to go on, considering their location on the Amalfi Coast, but it was a start. There was always the chance they could just spot Sandra there on the street, in a corner cafe or browsing a shop for the latest couture, but that would be asking too much.

Their first stop was the Hotel Pupetto, a pricey three-star spot that often hosted weddings of the rich and famous. They enjoyed coffee on the terrace just outside the front door, where they had a view of the comings and goings of guests of the hotel, before visiting with the staff.

Andy's Italian was rusty with age, but the picture he carried of his former wife was far more recent. Sandra's face rang no bells with the hospitality or management staff of Hotel Pupetto. Guests lingering on the veranda outside didn't recognize her either. So, they took to the road again, the Hotel Vittoria their next destination.

Their luck wasn't much better there, except that when they stopped to refresh themselves at the hotel's cafe, Leonardo's, the bartender recognized the picture.

"Yes, I think so," the man said. "I believe she was in here with Edo."

The young man spoke English well, a testament to his education.

"Yes, yes," he affirmed, studying the photograph. "She was at a party hosted by the owner. Wedding reception out on the patio. Her hair was different," he said. "Not longer like this. Cut short, stylish. Very pretty."

"Yes, she is," Sharon agreed. "Her children just want to know that she's well. Anything you can tell us that would help us find her would be most appreciated."

The bartender looked at the two of them, seemingly to discern if he should trust them, and decided to risk it.

"Edo Rossi. That's the man who owns this place. He owns another at the Hotel Dimora Furnillo, down the way a piece. He doesn't live in Positano, though. He has a manager for his properties. He's very private. I'm not sure how to find him directly. He's reachable through his manager and only keeps a post office box. He likes his privacy."

Andy nodded and pocketed the picture.

"That's understandable in this day and age," he said, "and ironically, it's harder than ever."

He offered the younger man his hand and smiled in thanks.

"Appreciate your time."

The took his wife's hand and led her out of the cafe. The sun was high and bright, warming the day and adding a brilliant glow to the water below. Via Furnillo took them back to the main thoroughfare through town where they were staying.

"I think a shower and a nap are in order before dinner," he said. "What say you?"

Leaning her head against his shoulder, she sighed audibly.

"I say you read my mind. Lead on."

A hot shower and a long nap later, they found themselves at a corner table at Lo Guarracino. The fading light cast dancing shadows across the sea, providing a constant change in their view from the wooden deck outside the kitchen. They dined on seafood and pasta while they watched the boats come in. Couples enjoyed the sunset and the nightlife, the roar of both surf and thrumming bass from the bands along the Cristoforo Colombo.

"This place is fantastic," said Andy. "Don't get me wrong, but if it's like this year-round, I couldn't do it. I mean, how does anyone live like this? Give me my cabin by the lake any day. These people party all night long. Maybe I'm just getting old."

"Oh, Honey, we're all getting old, but you're right. I couldn't do this either. I mean, it's absolutely beautiful. Everywhere you look, it's another sight more stunning than the last. It's a perfect place to visit, but the poor locals. Surely they don't all enjoy living in the middle of it. Do you think they live on the outskirts of town and drive in, like American commuters? Just to stay out of the thick of it?"

Andy chuckled. She might be on to something. Maybe this Edo Rossi they'd heard about lived in one of the small towns outside of the city. Perhaps he was tucked away in a small village off the beaten path, enjoying his cherished privacy.

"Yeah, I think so," he said, scooping her hand, kissing her fingertips. "I also think you're brilliant."

The following morning found them strolling the streets of Praisano, a tiny town some fifteen minutes from Positano. A cliffside community along the Gulf of Salerno, this small village was a living, open-air museum to everything from the ceramic art of the Renaissance to religious pieces found outside the numerous chapels along the astonishingly steep staircase from the sea to the mountaintops.

The oleander found in such rich supply in the region sweetened the mid-morning air. Coffee in hand, they followed the winding road, greeting strangers with a friendly smile, producing their photograph each time. Far less populated, they had an easier time navigating the area. They found they rather preferred the more secluded location high atop the cliffs, with trails snaking their way down to the manmade beach.

"I'd love to explore the water, but I don't think my leg is up to it. Yours either, for that matter," said Sharon.

"Man, that's some view," he sighed. "Here," he said, positioning her against a guardrail. "Let me take your picture."

She stood with the ocean at her back, the morning breeze setting her curls to dancing, and smiled. Her husband's grin matched her own as he captured her in the splendid setting.

"Would you like for me to photograph you together?" he heard in heavily accented perfect English.

Andy turned to find a young couple. They looked to be dressed for work, with aprons and day bags over their shoulders and sturdy boots on their feet.

"Thank you, yes!" called Andy. "I can't help but take her picture in such a beautiful place, but we haven't had any together yet."

Sharon blushed as she stepped forward to join them.

"Sharon Flynn," she said, offering her hand. "My husband, Andy."

"Leo and Bart," said the young woman, causing the Flynns to chuckle.

"Lenora and Bartolomeo," the young man clarified. "Thus, Leo and Bart."

Sharon and Andy laughed, understanding.

"Ah, yes," said Andy, handing over his phone, and taking his wife by the hand. Pulling her back toward the railing, they stood together while the young man took one picture after another.

When he handed the phone back, he took a step backward and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

"You are visiting from the States, yes?"

"California," said Sharon.

"And you're staying in Praisano?" asked the girl. "Most tourists don't know we're here."

"We're actually in Positano," said Andy. "But we're checking out the surrounding villages. Frankly, we're liking it here better. It's quiet and peaceful, much like our own home."

"We live on the water," explained Sharon. "Nothing this grand, but we love it."

Andy lifted his cup to his lips, then sighed. Empty. He tossed the cup into the nearest receptacle.

"I'm going to need another, I'm afraid," he admitted.

"I'm about out myself," said his wife. "I think I'll switch to tea."

The young couple smiled.

"I think we can help with both. We're heading into work, just up the road. Join us? Great cappuccino," said Leo.

Sharon and Andy shared a look, then smiled at the offer.

"We'd love to. Thank you."

They followed the pair up the flower-lined street. The village was awake, as was evidenced by the aromas of fresh coffee and cinnamon. The effect was immediate. Upon landing in Rome, they had noticed the rush to their senses- sights, sounds, fragrances. It all had a dizzying effect, indeed making it difficult to settle the mind enough to sleep at night. Fortunately, they had other ways to take care of that.

Leo and Bart led their new friends to a cafe on a corner with a breathtaking, almost literally, view of the coastline below. Bougainvillea climbed along the cliffs as if thirsty for the seaspray. Buildings of pink and orange surrounded them and, in a sharp contrast to Positano, it was quiet. The sounds of shopkeepers readying their stores and restauranteurs prepping for the day accounted for most of the noise around them. Fisherman from the boats below lugged their catch up the mountain to the village, their cheerful banter heard coming and going with little of their expected huffing from the great climb.

Sharon watched it all with fascination, a glimpse into another world.

They were offered a table with a perfect view of it all and then their hosts excused themselves to the kitchen.

They returned in short order, Bart with a tray. When they reached the table, Leo unloaded first a cup and saucer, placing it in front of Andy. Then, she set a small teapot and cup before Sharon.

"Cappuccino and tea with honey and lemon."

"Thank you so much," said Sharon. "Join us?"

She looked up at the pair, a hopeful gaze in her expression. She was such a people person.

Andy watched her and smiled. She wasn't always that way. At least, she hadn't seemed like it. She had always seemed much more introverted and introspective, always so inwardly drawn. Not self-centered or self-focused. She wasn't like that at all. No, it was more that she seemed to carry so much alone.

The young couple joined them at the small patio table, eyeing them with interest as they each sipped their drinks.

"So, was I right?" asked the young man. "The best around, yes?"

Oh, he was a charmer, Sharon thought. But he was right. It was terrific.

"It really is," she admitted. "Of course, this view doesn't hurt at all," she chuckled. "You'll have to share your secrets so we can try it at home."

"Oh, I don't know if we can do that," said Leo. "Secrets of the trade and all. So, tell us about life in California. Are you movie stars?" she playfully teased.

It was Andy's turn to laugh.

"Cops," he said. "Retired police officers. Now we live in a cabin on the lake and enjoy playing with our grandchildren. Much more our speed."

"No more, how do you say, mean streets?" said Leo.

"Exactly," Sharon said with a smile. "Your English is exceptional. University?"

"American TV," she answered with a straight face. "Scuola superiore. High school. And American TV."

"Well, it's very impressive. I studied French in college and Andy's family speaks some Italian, but neither of us with the fluency you two have."

"In high school, we choose a path, classical, scientific, or linguistic. We chose linguistics. We're in culinary school now. We work here in the cafe in the mornings and in a restaurant the rest of the day and evenings as part of our internship."

"And you're married?" Sharon asked, her intuition in overdrive.

The twosome grinned merrily, leaning in toward one another as if magnetically drawn.

"Just recently, yes," said Bart. "We have a little attic space in the village, halfway between here and the restaurant. Convenient, especially after the late nights."

"I'd imagine so," said Andy. "Sounds like you work some long days. We know how those go, don't we?" he asked his wife, who nodded in agreement.

"You said you have grandchildren?" said the young woman.

"Yes," smiled Sharon. "Ten now. Our son and his wife have just taken in a foster child. Her name is Valeria. She's just beautiful. Six years old. Big brown eyes."

Sharon's eyes danced with pride as she spoke of the family she'd left in California.

"Ten. Fantastic. How many children do you have?" asked Bart.

"Five," said Andy. "The last one just got married on Christmas Eve. Two live just up the road from us, the other three not too far away."

"We're very blessed," added his wife. "Do you have family nearby?"

"We do," said Leo. "My father lives here, and Bart's family is over in Atrani. It's not so far."

"It's nice to have family close. You never know how long you'll have them with you. Sharon's mother lives with us too. It's been wonderful to have different generations all together under one roof."

"Yes," said Bart. "It's very important here, as well. The foundation of our lives, my grandfather would say. Like the many ingredients that go into the perfect dish. You leave one out and it may still work, but it just isn't the same."

Andy smiled and nodded, stretching his arm out behind his wife, resting it on the back of her chair.

"Sharon here describes it as the threads of a tapestry. If one comes loose, starts to unravel, the tapestry comes apart. The vision gets lost."

"That's very good," said his wife, eyeing him with admiration.

"I'm just quoting you. I do listen, you know," he chuckled. "Don't look so surprised."

"I know you listen, and quite well. You still surprise me, though," she said, then kissed his cheek. "And I love it."

Bart and Leo watched the older couple across the table with a curious delight. With so many grandchildren, they must have be married for many years. Yet, they behaved like newlyweds. The younger couple were filled with hope for themselves that they, too, might have that kind of lasting love for years to come.

"So, what brings you to Italy?" asked Bart. "Romantic getaway?"

He sat back, draping an arm lazily about his young wife's shoulders, his finger's toying with the ends of her hair in a somewhat familiar gesture.

"Something like that," said Andy, smiling. "We never had a real honeymoon. Sharon wasn't in the best of health at the time of our wedding. Plus, we've an anniversary coming up. So, we thought we'd celebrate with springtime in Europe. Initially, we were headed to Ireland. Both of our families stem from there. My mother's people are from southern Italy, though. So, it's terrific being here. We still plan to end our trip in County Clare."

"May I ask how long you've been married?" asked Leo, a dreamy expression on her face.

"Almost ten years," replied Sharon, with an equally smitten glow.

"Ten?" said the young man, nearly embarrassing himself by spitting up the water he'd just sipped.

Bart was gobsmacked. "I was expecting you to say thirty of some such number. Ten?"

Sharon and Andy chuckled.

"Well, we've certainly known each other that long. We got a late start, you might say. It's a very long story with many twists and turns, but I assure you, it's going to have a wonderful ending," said Sharon.

An hour later, they strolled the streets of Atrani, a picturesque medieval beach town, the smallest in Italy, tucked between two mountains. A tiny hamlet perched on the Mediterranean, it had an altogether different feel from nearby Amalfi. It was small, quiet, safe day and night. At no more than thirty acres and home to less than one thousand people, it was a welcome respite from the noise and the crowds.

It also made it less complicated to show their photograph to those they encountered on their way. They only got one hit, as Andy called it, harkening back to his LA days. One woman recognized Sandra as the woman she'd met when out for the evening a few weeks prior. She remember her stylishly done hair and well-cut couture. A name stuck out as well. Edo. She'd dined with Edo. They spoke well of him, but did not know or would not say where he lived.

Another hour of exploring the town and displaying Sandra's picture, and they boarded the ferry that would take them back to Positano. They would take another later, returning to Praisano, where they had promised their new young friends they would dine. Bart and Leo were cooking and wanted to share their creations with them.

It seems we collect children wherever we go, Sharon had happily sung.

They arrived at half past seven and found the inconspicuous sign indicating that they had indeed found Bartolini's. Had they not, they might have walked inside anyway, given the rich, savory aromas wafting from within its walls. Their stomachs began to churn as the smell of basil and lemon reached their noses.

"Hello!" they heard from just inside, and out popped Leo wearing a beaming smile. "You came!"

"Yes," said Sharon, chuckling. "We said we would."

"You're just in time. We've a table saved for you. Come," she said, leading the way.

She took them to a small table tucked into a corner next to the kitchen counter. There, they could not only enjoy the aroma of the food being prepared, but they could watch it happening.

Cooks and sous chefs worked the line, chopping and prepping, whipping and infusing. The aroma and the activity were dizzying.

They took their seats, their eyes still fixed on those behind the counter. Their hostess smiled at their excitement.

"Wine?" she offered them.

"Uh, no. Not for me," said Andy. "Coffee?"

"I'll be just a moment. Sharon?"

"A red, please."

"Coffee, a red, and a menu."

"Why don't you just surprise us. You're cooking tonight, yes? We'll have whatever you suggest."

Leo stared at her, a broad smile growing across her delicate features.

"Yes."

She disappeared, leaving them alone at the table.

The pair looked around, taking in the quaint surroundings. It was rustic, yet elegant. A guitarist played in the opposite corner. No vocals, no band, just his plaintive strings strummed lazily against the din from the kitchen.

"This is lovely," she said. "It's so different from Positano. Very peaceful. Like a medieval village."

"It is. I like it better here. I appreciate the slower pace at this stage of my life, I guess."

"And Leo and Bart are just precious. They remind me a little of Brian and Lydi. Oh, I picked up a postcard this morning to send to them. Remind me to drop in the mail in the morning, please."

"Here we are," sang Leo, carrying a large earthen mug of coffee and a glass of wine, a deep red. Bart is just behind me with your meals."

"'Lo, Flynns," came a much deeper voice. "Welcome to Bartolini's."

He set their meals before each of them with a slight flourish.

"Signora," he said with a wink, "Signore, we start with an Insalata Caprese, followed by a Ribollita, both vegetarian, Andy. Then, for your mains, we have a mushroom risotto for you, Sir, and Sharon, for you, hand-rolled gnocchi with tomato, mozzarella and basil."

Sharon and Andy sighed, almost full just from looking at it all.

"This all looks simply marvelous," she said. "Simply marvelous. And you did this?"

She looked between the two, who stood, grinning broadly at the pair, nodding with pride.

"Buon appetito."

The two backed away and took up their posts in the kitchen, their eyes continually on their guests.

Sharon and Andy tucked into their meal with gusto. It was divine. They were both fans of Italian cuisine. Andy cooked it often, and quite well too. This, however, was unlike anything either had ever experienced. The pasta was silky, filled with an earthy flavor. Creamy risotto with its mushrooms, herbs, and cheese was an elegant dish that delighted the tongue and satisfied the belly. It was sublime.

By the time they pushed away from the table, both had enjoyed their fill of food that was simply divine, an ambiance unmatched in any of their fine LA eateries, and the warmth of unparalleled hospitality. It was everything they had imagined Italy would be.

"So," Bart said from over Andy's shoulder. "I take it from your clean plates that you approve?"

Andy chuckled as he balled up his napkin and set it on the table.

"Oh yeah. I've never had food like that in my entire life and, just so you know, that's a long time."

They laughed together as Sharon daubed at her lips with her napkin. She set it on the table and reached for her glass. Sipping at her wine, she watched the proud expressions on the faces of the young couple nearby.

"Bart, Leo. This was extraordinary, really. I only wish you could have joined us. You're both very talented in the kitchen. You've such a bright future ahead of you."

"Thank you, Sharon. I'm so glad you liked it. Perhaps you can join us again tomorrow night," said a hopeful Leo.

Sharon and Andy exchanged a look. They'd made plans to look around another town in the area, about an hour away, hoping someone might recognize Sandra's photograph.

"Well," Sharon began. "We planned to spend the day in Ravello. I'm not sure what time we'll head back."

"How about breakfast then?" asked Bart. "Same place as this morning? Make your way to Atrani and we'll get you on the bus to Ravello."

"Oh, could you?" asked Leo. "We could try that new recipe," she told her husband. "Then, like Bart said, we could walk you to the bus depot. It's not far. Ravello either."

Andy looked at his wife, who smiled in return.

"Sounds good. We'll be here in the morning."

He started to reach for his wallet and Bart cleared his throat.

"Please, my new friends. Tonight is on us. You allowed us to show off our skills and you made us very happy. Please?"

They walked along the water's edge, nearing the ferry landing where they would catch their ride back to the hotel. The sun had nearly set, its rosy glow like a halo settling over the coastline. Colorful rooftops dotted the hillside with rich, thick vegetation tucked in around and about them. Music wafted through the air, winding its way from various establishments out to the sea.

Andy heard his wife sigh and pulled her closer.

"You okay?"

Sharon laughed gently against him.

"I'm wonderful. I think I'm actually a little overwhelmed by it all. Everything looks so beautiful, sounds so wonderful, tastes absolutely amazing, smells fantastic. My senses are on overdrive. Even the air is different here."

She stopped and turned to face him, feet from the ferry landing.

"It's a dream come true, Andy."

Rising on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his and hummed into a kiss that lingered. She poured every ounce of her tingling senses into that kiss.

The ferry horn sounded, announcing it was time to board.

Andy kissed the tip of her nose and nuzzled her neck, whispering in her ear, To be continued.

They rose early and continued where they'd left off the evening before, which was what they'd started at the boat landing. One continuance led to another, making for a late night and a delayed start to their morning. It was certainly worth it.

They caught the ferry back to Atrani, enjoying cappuccino-laced kisses against the background of the shimmering Amalfi coast. When the boat docked in Atrani, they followed others who stepped ashore and made their way into the center of town. Their young friends were waiting.

Their was a cool to the morning air, causing Sharon to gather her cardigan more snugly around her. It was a good excuse for her husband to draw her near.

"Chilly today. You gonna be warm enough?"

Curling closer still, she hummed.

"It should warm up. Besides, this isn't so bad," she said in his ear, burrowing deeply into his side. "Is it?"

"Not at all," he husked. "Not at all."

Their path wound through the town. It was a longer route, but easier on Sharon's leg than the stairs that led from the water straight up the hill. The exercise felt good, and they were used to the steady climb.

"Good morning!" they heard as they reached the village.

Two smiling faces greeted them, just as they had the day before. Bart and Leo sat on the patio, sipping from a matching pair of mugs. They stood to welcome them, offering them the remaining seats at the table.

"Here, have a seat. Coffee?" offered Bart.

"Yes, yes," said Sharon. "Thank you. It was a bit of a late night. Definitely coffee."

"We thought we'd have breakfast before taking you to the bus," said Leo.

"We don't want to keep you from your work," said Andy.

"No, no. It's our day off," she explained. "We came in early to use the kitchen. We had some new recipes we wanted to try."

"And they let you use the kitchen to practice? How wonderful."

"I know the owner. He's very good to us."

"Here we are," said Bart, returning with a tray filled with an assortment of breakfast items along with their coffee and a carafe of fresh juice.

"We have for you Crépes all nutella, Graffe al pistacchio, and cornetto. Juice and coffee, as well. Please," he said, gesturing to the tray. "Buon appetito."

And they did.

A ding alerted Sharon to an incoming text on her cell phone. Drawing it from her purse, she swept her fingertip across the bottom of the screen to find a picture of five of her grandchildren beaming at her. Nicole's four and Drew's little Valeria. Sharon grinned as her hand rose to her lips. She was overjoyed to see them getting to know one another, learning to love.

Andy leaned close and peered over her shoulder, smiling.

"Beautiful."

Andy turned the phone toward their new friends and smiled.

"Some of the grandkids. Sam, Seth, Sharon Rose, Sara, and Valeria."

He handed the phone across the table and watched as they smiled at the faces of the children.

"There are tons of pictures of them there. Feel free," said Sharon, seeing that they shared her delight. "Also, we have Flynn, Harold, Willa, James, and Andrew."

Leo and Bart scrolled the pictures, since they offered. Both loved children and hoped to someday have a houseful of their own. They paused, suddenly, eyes changing from enjoyment of the silly grins of little children to closer scrutiny.

"Something wrong?" asked Andy, on alert. He didn't like the look on their faces while looking at photos of his family.

"There's a picture of a woman here," Bart said, turning the phone to face Andy. "I've met this woman."

"But how?" asked Leo.

Andy reached for Sharon's phone and looked at the display, showing it to his wife. Sandra.

"So," said Bart. "You came all the way to Italy, on your honeymoon trip," he directed to Sharon, "to search for your husband's ex-wife."

They sat, the four of them, staring at one another, letting his statement fall over them. It was exactly as he had said, and it did sound somewhat absurd.

Sharon sat forward, fingertips gently dancing along the rim of her cup.

"We made a detour on our vacation to see if we could locate Sandra, the mother of two of our children, to make sure she is alright. Simply walking out of their lives is completely out of character. She is a wonderful mother. Something is most definitely wrong here."

"Look," said Andy. "If it turns out she's okay and really just wants some space to enjoy some adventure here in Italy, that's fine. She's a grown woman. She can do what she wants. We just need to know that's all that it is. That she's not sick or under duress. I owe that to my kids." He looked at his wife. "To our kids."

They had told their story, in a nutshell, the reason for their detour to Italy. Sandra had, almost literally, jumped ship and had not spoken to her husband or either of their children in some time. They were frightened and confused, and not a little angry.

"Your Sandra was at our wedding reception almost five months ago," said Leo. "My father brought her along. An old friend, he said. She was visiting the continent. Their meeting was serendipitous. They hadn't seen each other in something like forty years."

"What is your father's name?" asked Sharon. "Maybe you've heard her mention him?" She suggested to her husband.

"Eduardo," said Leo, smiling. She seemed to hopeful that she might help. "Eduardo Rossi. His friends call him Edo."

"Edo," the Flynns said at once.

"Didn't the fellow at the hotel bar mention a guy named Edo? He said he was the owner, yeah?" asked Andy.

"Leonardo's?" asked Bart. "That's one of his places. That's where we had our reception. That's where we saw her. I haven't seen her since. We went to Ravello for the week. Our honeymoon."

Sharon chewed at her lower lip as she thought for a moment.

"Do you think your father might know where she is? Might he have kept in touch with her if she moved on?"

Leo took a deep breath, and let it out.

"Only one way to know," she said, drawing a phone from her pocket and stepping away from the table.

They watched, while trying to look like they weren't, as Leo talked on the phone. Were they a step closer, or a step behind?

When she returned, stuffing her phone back into her pocket, she retook her seat.

"We've been invited to dine in Sorrento this evening. I explained, as best I could, who you were and why you were looking for this Sandra. My father said he would prefer to discuss it in person. It is not, as he said, a conversation for the phone."

Sharon and Andy shared a look. It didn't go unnoticed by the younger pair, who'd taken a shine to such wordless exchanges.

"What do you say, sweetheart? Dinner in The Land of Colors?"

Sharon smiled and nodded, raising her glass.

The ferry docked in Sorrento by half past four that afternoon and the quartet stepped off the boat in "The Land of Colors," Sorrento. They had used the time since breakfast to enjoy their surroundings, rest, and change for dinner with the mysterious Edo. Now, in exotic Sorrento, they looked ahead with cautious optimism to finding something that might help them in their search.

Dressed in a pair of fitted capris, a flowing floral blouse and a pair of comfortable flats, Sharon looked the very picture of Italy in springtime. Andy, on the other hand, had donned a simple collared shirt with a pair of slacks and walking shoes. The establishment in which they were dining seemed to be more upscale than the corner cafes they'd visited thus far, at least according to the brochures available.

They followed Leo and Bart through the streets of town, only somewhat crowded with others enjoying the sunset and temperate weather. Lovers strolled hand in hand, not unlike Sharon and Andy themselves, families with young children laughing and skipping, carefree, just as they should be, mingled with shopkeepers and townsfolk as the skyline bent low to mingle with the sea.

They didn't say much, preferring to listen. The village, the sea, the laughter and music of the people, they all spoke. They sang. It was musical. There was a vibrance that had little to do with the fruit and flowers bursting forth from all around them or from the brightly painted rooftops dotting the coastline. "Land of Colors" indeed.

A modestly-sized sign of what looked to be driftwood, emblazoned with Nardo's was nestled among a cluster of brilliant bougainvillea just outside a cleverly lit building of wood and glass. It was lovely, elegant, but not ostentatious. Clearly, this Edo new his business.

Inside they were greeted by the hostess, who led them through the dining room and out onto a private patio lined with colorful flowers and greenery. Lanterns stood in each corner, waiting to be lit as sunlight waned.

They took their seats at a round table, large enough for five, but small enough for intimate conversation. Slow-burning candles are nestled together in the center, creating a warm glow which reached out toward them all, inviting them into its light.

"Before you meet my father," said Leo, "I feel I should warn you, he often just sets a meal before you. It's his way of introducing himself. His food, his hospitality is his welcome, so to speak. So, don't be surprised if no one comes to take your order. Don't worry, Andy, I did at least mention that you are a vegetarian," she chuckled.

"Well, thank you for that, although I can always work around it, if need be," he replied with a smile as the sommelier approached with a tray.

"Welcome. May I offer you a sample of our wine this evening? We have our house red. It is produced locally and pairs beautifully with our Bolognese sauce, made in-house, as well as tonight's special, a lamb steak with rosemary."

"It is very good," Bart assured them.

"Please," said Sharon, accepting the glass offered.

"No, thank you," said Andy, settling for the water on the table. While hungry, he found himself somewhat unsettled about the meeting to come. Curious, yes, and spurred on by the possibility that it might steer them toward finding Sandra. Still, he felt unmoored by it for some reason. Too many things he'd counted on had changed of late. His marriage to Sandra may not have been successful, but the two had found common ground, their children, largely through Sharon. One thing he could always count on with Sandra was that she was a good mother to Nicole and Drew. Even when she kept him from their kids, she did it to protect them, even when it was misguided. This was wrong. This wasn't the Sandra he knew. That bothered him.

"Good evening," came another voice. "I bring you something special from the chef's kitchen."

A young server set down his tray. It was quite large, piled high with an assortment of offerings.

"Tonight we have fresh focaccia with tomato and rosemary, ossobuco with polenta, Tonnarellie Cacio e Pepe, and lamb steaks."

Stepping away from the table, he said a soft Buon appetito.

Their eyes widened at the variety of offerings placed before them. Large platters and deep ceramic dishes held food to be shared family-style around the table. When none of them seemed prepared to begin, Bart took the lead, lifting the first platter, filling his own plate, then passing the dish to his right. That was all it took.

The veal was succulent, served with a zesty gremolata and creamy polenta. Andy stuck with the bread and pasta, with which he was very familiar. Lively conversation gave way to sighs of contentment and admiration for their meal as all around the table, the foursome did more than eat. They experienced.

Then, he appeared. Eduardo Rossi. Edo. He was extremely good looking. Tall and lean, with salt and pepper hair, he reminded Sharon of her husband. She suddenly wondered if perhaps Sandra had thought the same.

"Papa," said Leo, spotting him at once. She rose from the table and embraced him. "These are our new friends, Sharon and Andy Flynn from California. Sharon, Andy, my father, Eduardo Rossi."

Andy stood up from his seat and stepped toward the man, offering his hand.

"Mr. Rossi, a pleasure."

The man accepted Andy's hand and held his eyes.

"Call me Edo, please."

Andy gestured toward the table.

"My wife, Sharon."

"Mrs. Flynn, I'm delighted to meet you. My daughter has spoken highly of you both."

Edo walked toward the table, gesturing as he did so that they may return to their own seats. He sat down in the empty chair next to his daughter and smiled as a young man appeared with a cup of tea. He wordlessly nodded his thanks.

Fortunately, their meals were nearly finished, for they were now forgotten. The appearance of Edo had brought a shift in the air. The anticipation of answers, information, had returned and with it, a sense of foreboding.

A tray of cappuccinos was set before them and they were soon passed around. The warmth settled them a little, as did the lanterns that were lit.

"Mr. Flynn, Andy," Edo corrected himself. "I understand you are here looking for the former Sandra Micelli."

"Yes," said Andy. "She's my former wife," he said, resting his arm across his wife's lap, intwining their fingers.

Edo nodded as he sipped his tea. He then set his cup on the table and sniffed.

"She is my ex-wife as well."

No one spoke in that instant. They allowed Edo's statement to settle over them all. Clearly, Andy wasn't aware of another marriage.

He felt his wife's eyes on him. When he turned to find her watching him, he simply shook his head.

"I attended business school in your California," said Edo. "Stanford. I met Sandra when she was an undergrad."

"At Palo Alto," Andy said, knowing.

"She was just a sophomore," said Edo. "Twenty. I was twenty-two. It was, as they say, a whirlwind romance. The marriage lasted ten weeks."

Andy let him tell his story. It was why they'd come, after all. He sat beside his wife, one hand holding hers, the other cradling his own chin as he listened to facets of Sandra's life that he'd known nothing about.

"It was over as quickly as it started. It burned fast and bright, then it burned out. We were never really suited for each other, though it didn't seem that way at the time."

He took the moment to take another sip of his tea.

"I came home to Italy after graduating. From what she told me recently, the two of you had known each other from the East coast and reconnected at the wedding of a mutual friend."

"Yeah." Andy shook himself out his daze. "Um, a girl from the Catholic Church we attended in Jersey was getting married. I didn't know her all that well, but it made my Ma happy that I could represent the family at the wedding. It was also nice to think I might see some folks from home. It had been a while." At their curious stares, he clarified. "I was playing ball at Cal State. It was hard being away from home, but staying would have meant working the docks like my Pop or getting in trouble like my brothers. Neither appealed to me."

"Understandable," said the other man. "I travelled to the States for school, yes, but I needed to separate myself from my family for a bit too, to - how do you say- figure some things out for myself." He shrugged. "I completed my MBA and did a six month internship in New York before coming back home."

"Is Sandra okay, Mr. Rossi?" asked Sharon. "Where is she staying? Could we speak to her? Her husband and children miss her and are desperate to hear from her."

Husband

Edo's eyes widened as he looked at her, the woman who accompanied this man Sandra had gone on to marry, then divorce. She was lovely, and the pair of them seemed truly suited for each other in a way he'd never been suited to Sandra or, as it had turned out, any woman.

"Mrs. Flynn, Sandra and I reconnected, quite serendipitously, in Campagnia, on a buying trip. She was looking for Vesuvius. I was looking for cheese," he chuckled. He shrugged. "They've some of the best in the region."

"It's true," said his daughter. "You've just had some tonight."

The smiles they shared lightened the air around them, which had grown thick with tension.

"I took Sandra to Vesuvius, then to see a number of other spots in the vicinity. It was a joyous reunion. Things were much easier between us than either of us might have imagined. I made her a guest in my home. For two weeks, she enjoyed the village and surrounding areas. I joined her whenever I was available. She spent hours in the restaurant when I was working, meeting new people and trying new foods and wines. She seemed happy. She uh, she didn't mention you two had children."

Andy's head dropped, his mind flipping between anger, fear, sadness, then back to anger again.

"Two," supplied Sharon. "And grandchildren, three granddaughters she's yet to meet."

"We have," Andy began, recovering his voice. "A daughter, Nicole. She's married, has two boys, two girls. Our son, Drew, is recently married, I'm a ceremony his mother missed. They've just taken in a little girl to raise."

"And you have children of your own, Sharon," Edo said. She seemed steady, and would need to be.

"Three, yes. Plus, Andy's nephew and his new wife also live with us. We're a rather traditionally large Irish-Italian Catholic family, although rather more traditional by modern standards, I suppose. His, hers, and ours. We prefer to just accept them all as ours."

"As it should be," Edo smiled a genuine smile.

"Where is Sandra, Mr. Rossi?" Andy finally, pointedly, asked.

"Mr. Flynn, Andy, we've reached the potentially awkward point in our conversation, so bear with me. You come seeking answers and, obviously, neither of us are privy to a lifetime's worth of information."

Andy and Sharon breathed deeply together, then sighed. They were relieved to think their host was perhaps as unsettled by it all as they.

"Please, go on," Andy said, offering a smile he hoped conveyed that he held no contempt for the man.

"After a few weeks together spent seeing the area and playing remember when, Sandra expressed an interest in staying, rekindling our very brief romance of more than forty years ago."

He paused and sighed.

"I take it you weren't of the same mind," Sharon said gently.

Edo looked at the young people nearby and smiled before returning his eyes to their guests.

"Sharon, Andy, I'm gay."

The table cleared, a fire lit in a corner pit, its glow emitting just enough warmth to ward off the chill of the night air, Sharon, Andy, and Edo remained. Leo and Bart had left them to the rest of their delicate talk. They knew the story well. It wasn't a secret, but private and often painful. Leo didn't need to hear it again.

"It was, obviously, something I was carrying with me as I traveled to America. I suppose we all run from something in our youth and, at times, in our later years too. I know now it was part of the reason I accepted so quickly when Sandra pursued me. We were both so far from home, looking for something neither of us could really articulate. Not a recipe for a successful, lasting union."

"So, when she suggested maybe starting over," Andy said.

"I told her it wouldn't happen, and why. I came home over forty years ago, told my family the truth, once I understood it. They were far more accepting than I imagined they would be, I'm ashamed to say. Sandra and I were not meant for one another. Leonardo and I were, however," he said, with a sad smile. "Our little Leonora came to us as a tiny thing, only two. My sister died, leaving her to my care. Then he died nearly ten years later."

"I'm so sorry," Sharon said. He was a lovely man, a generous host with a soft, quiet demeanor. He had raised an equally lovely daughter, largely on his own, something she could appreciate. He'd found a great love and lost him, but had clearly kept him alive through their daughter, as well as his work. Leo, Leonardo's, Nardo's by the Sea.

"Sandra was hurt. She took it personally, which I can understand, I suppose, but it's absurd. Our failed romance didn't make me who I am. It's really rather the other way around. We would never have made a go of it. She was angry, then apologetic. Then, she left. She said she was going to see Naples. I tried to suggest some other delightful cities, safer cities for a woman traveling alone. She wouldn't hear of it. She said she was on an adventure. I believe that's where you'll find her."

The sun was warm and welcome. They had spoken long into the evening before Bart and Leo had driven them home, cutting their trip in half. A plan had been made, as much for them as by them.

Edo wanted to help, his daughter had told them. He'd said as much himself, but Leo expanded on it. He'd liked them very much. That they'd traveled across the globe to find Andy's ex-wife, simply to make certain she was well, that his current wife was in agreement, spoke volumes. The way they looked at one another, spoke of their children with such love and devotion, he was moved to help.

Leo and Bart were driving them to Naples, little more than an hour away, where they would stay at an apartment owned by Edo. He stayed there when in the city. Naples was a beautiful, exciting place, though not the picture postcard of Amalfi or Sorrento. It also had a high crime rate and a ready supply of drugs. Thus, the use of the apartment, along with a car and guide- Bart.

Naples

The streets were busy. They noticed that right away, having grown used to the slower pace of the seaside communities. Here, cars zipped down the street and cramped the limited parking areas.

As they threaded their way through a narrow passage behind a trio of townhome-style apartments, Bart pulled into the third. Leo hopped out of the car and opened an iron gate, allowing them to pass through, then closed it behind them.

They exited the car and, grabbing their bags, followed the younger ones through a back door, entering the home.

The space was impressive, though not fancy or over-styled. High ceilings with light walls and dark detailing made a striking impression. Leo led them through a great room to a bedroom on the far side of the apartment. There, they could leave their belongings. Bart went straight to the kitchen, where he got to work on lunch.

The bedroom was of a modest size, but more than enough for the two of them, possessing a bed and matching nightstands, a blanket chest and writing desk, and a large armoire. There was an attached bathroom on one wall and on the opposite, a pair of double doors opening onto a small patio.

"Well, this is lovely," said Sharon. "It was awfully nice of Edo to do this for us."

Andy set their things on the chest at the end of the bed then stepped toward the patio doors.

"Yeah, it was. He's," he sighed. "He's a nice guy. He's been really helpful. I just can't believe Sandra was staying with him, talking about getting back together, like she doesn't have a husband back at home. I mean, what the hell's going on with her?"

Sharon took a deep breath and let it go, stepping up behind him and sliding her arms around his waist. She rested her cheek against his back and held him close. This was the detective, trying to piece together the clues that would lead to the answers he sought. It was the protector, looking to ease the fears and tears of his children, no matter how old, by looking after their mother, who was no longer his responsibility. This was the man who watched over those for whom he cared, even when the relationships were no longer simple.

"I really believe we'll find her. You'll talk with her, make sure she's okay, at the very least. You can't make her do anything, of course, but you can at least let Nicole and Drew know she's alright, maybe even call them and get her to speak to them. That would go a long way."

"Yeah, it would," he sighed, his own arms covering those wrapped around him. He then turned within her embrace and returned it, tucking her close against him.

"I'm sorry about all of this. Not exactly a romantic getaway, roaming the Italian coastline looking for another woman," he chuckled with no real humor. "This isn't what I wanted."

"But it is what you need, what the kids need. Besides, I'm here in Italy with you, Andy. It's beautiful. We're enjoying wonderful food and lovely views, the kindest of strangers. It may not be the kind of vacation others might take, but we're here. We're together."

Cradling her face in his palms, he drew her closer still and kissed her soundly, drawing a low hum from deep inside of her. They were interrupted by a knock at the door and a soft Lunch! They giggled together, then made for the kitchen, knowing there would be plenty of time later. Yes, it might be a different sort of getaway, but they would be just fine.

Lunch was a soup of gnocchi in broth and a leafy green salad. There was fresh focaccia which was, itself, a work of art. Baked within it were herbs and vegetables laid in intricate designs, like a flowering picture.

"It's almost too lovely to eat," said Sharon. "Almost," she laughed.

They enjoyed their simple meal, as they discussed how they planned to proceed. Edo had put them in touch with a friend in Naples, a contact within the local police department or municipale. They were to meet with the man at two o'clock. Edo seemed to believe the man might have the resources to help them in their search.

Lunch eaten and cleared away, they took an hour to settle in and enjoy a few quiet moments before braving the city. The noise of it all could be heard through the open window, but the breeze could be felt too. It was cool and pleasant, leaving no need for air conditioning.

When at last they stepped out into the city streets, making their way on foot, they were refreshed and determined. The stazione di polizia was only a few blocks south of the apartment, certainly not worth getting the car bogged down in the thick of traffic.

Entering the building, one that looked just as old as any first millennium city, they marveled at the jarring juxtaposition of modernity and antiquity housed within its walls. Inside, marble and stone mixed with glass and steel. Ergonomic furnishings and high-tech equipment were found wall to wall between cubicles separated by plexiglass, not unlike bullpens in the States. There was comfort in the familiar.

They allowed Leo to speak to the young man at the desk. In LA, he would be called a desk sergeant. Here, who knew? They then followed her down the corridor, stopping at a door labeled Ispettore generale della Polizia. They didn't need a translator for that. Apparently Edo was very well connected if his friend in the department was the Inspector General.

The young man at the desk must have called ahead, for the door swung open before they could knock.

"Welcome. Please come in," they heard in a heavily accented greeting. "Come, have a seat. Our mutual friend seems to think I may be of some assistance to you."

"Um, yes," said Andy. "I hope so."

"Well, I'm rather hoping you might be of some assistance to me as well, Signore."

"Places like this are free of private video surveillance," explained the Inspector, named Aldo Ricci. "Facial recognition has become quite frowned upon in Italy, to the extent of a moratorium on its use outside of law enforcement. Even then, we have strict protocols in place to ensure it isn't abused. Technology can be a brilliant tool in the proper hands."

"And a nightmare in the wrong ones," added Sharon.

At his curious glance, Andy clarified.

"Sharon retired as the Commander of the Major Crimes division of the Los Angeles Police Department."

The inspector's eyebrows raised in admiration.

"Edo mentioned you were both attached to the law enforcement community. What about you, sir?"

"Lieutenant, same division."

Ricci tilted his head. "And how was that? Working together?"

"It was good. We make a good team," Andy said, and he meant it.

Nodding, the inspector looked around as he reached for his glass of tea. Having traded the confines of the office for one of the countless corner cafes of Italy, he allowed his eyes to freely roam the environs.

"We may no longer allow our speed detection devices to capture the faces of drivers, but that does not mean we are not capable of keeping an eye on those worth keeping an eye on. Understand?"

That, they did, and very well.

He removed a slip of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table, face down, waiting for them to take it and turn it over.

"Bruno Bianchi. A charmer, a wealthy man, he preys on the weak and the vulnerable, anyone who might need something he can supply. However, he exacts a price. Un bacio."

"A kiss?" Andy asked, confused.

"Sì, yes. A kiss. Un bacio dal serpente."

"A kiss from the serpent?" asked Sharon.

"Very good, yes. Bruno Bianchi deals a drug of his own creation. A synthetic mixture of methamphetamine and fentanyl. It's quite deadly. Creates its own market of hungry addicts willing to do his bidding to continue feeding their habit. Quite genius, quite sadistic."

"I don't understand," said Sharon. "How is it that you think we can help you, Mr. Ricci, and what does this all have to do with finding Sandra?"

Inspector Ricci, slipped two fingers into his pocket, again withdrawing another slip of paper, sliding it across the table, waiting.

Andy reached for it, turned it over, and stared, unspeaking.

"You see, Mr. and Mrs. Flynn, among Bruno Bianchi's newer known associates is your missing Sandra."

There she was, sitting with Bianchi and a group of others, mostly men, all sipping wine. The setting wasn't much different from their current one, a patio on the corner of busy street, shaded by trees and flowers, a wrought iron gate surrounding it all. Whatever camera had captured the scene must have been tucked in there somewhere, unseen by the assembly.

Sandra looked different in the photograph. Her hair was shorter, as had previously been described. So was her skirt, Andy noticed, his pulse racing. Her head was thrown back, her chest thrust up into the face of Mr. Bianchi, her palm precariously close to his groin. He was suddenly relieved his children weren't there to see what he was seeing. He found himself embarrassed on her behalf.

Beside him, his wife was equally speechless. Well, she had plenty of words accessible to her, but she would keep them to herself. On the subject of the ex-wife, she had learned to temper her comments in deference to her step-children. The last thing she would ever allow herself to be was a wedge in that relationship. But what she would give for five minutes with Sandra right now…

"So, what exactly are you telling us? Edo rebuked her advances, so she found this guy? Sandra is not the kind of woman who just shops around for some guy to notice her. She's an honorable lady, a wife and mother."

"Andy," said Sharon, her hand landing softly on his lap. "I don't think that's what he's implying. It seems this Bianchi has a way of taking people in and taking advantage of them. It's entirely possible Sandra is a victim of one of his schemes. Isn't that right, Inspector?" she asked, willing him to agree.

Aldo Ricci read her just fine, and smiled. It was a rare type of woman who not only helped her husband seek out his former wife to assure himself of her wellbeing. It was still another whose own heart twisted and clinched because his may be hurting for someone who used to hold it.

"Yes, Signora. I suspect she is just that. From what Edo has told me and what I've learned from you and your husband, Sandra is acting out of character. She was on a cruise with her husband, you said, and simply left the ship. She is currently in our country without a passport, thus, illegally. We could bring her in for that alone, which would not only give us the chance to question her in regards to Mr. Bianchi, but it would afford you the opportunity to speak with her. Make sure she is indeed still acting on her own accord."

Sharon took her husband's hand and drew his attention. Finding his eyes, those dear eyes, brown like chocolate, safe like home, and smiled.

"Andy, you could see her. Talk to her. Even if you accomplished nothing more than getting her to talk to Nicole and Drew, it would mean the world to them just to hear from her."

"There is a risk, however," warned the inspector, which drew their attention back across the table. "I have a man inside, on the periphery, keeping a watchful eye on things, slowly clawing his way closer. Bianchi keeps close tabs on his people. If we're not careful, and Bianchi gets wind of our meeting with Sandra, it could go very badly for her. Make no mistake, Bruno Bianchi is a very dangerous man."

The pair shared a lingering look which spoke volumes.

"I'll leave you to consider it. I trust you can find your way back."

Hand in hand, they walked the city streets, now bathed in a rosy light. Cafes were busy with chattering diners and bustling waitstaff dashing to and fro. Bands played from inside restaurants and clubs, making for a pulsing that you felt as well as heard.

They would have preferred a more quiet path on which to stroll, but that wasn't wise, not in Naples. Crowds, in this case, were better, safer. Much like LA.

Neither would allow Nicole and Drew's mother to be put at risk. They well knew just how easily things could go wrong and they weren't willing to jeopardize her safety. The fact that she was now involved, in one way or another, with Bruno Bianchi, was already putting her in jeopardy though. So, to do nothing was unthinkable.

So, they decided to use their own expertise and put together a plan utilizing one of the officers offered by the inspector. With Bianchi and his men under surveillance, they felt certain they would spot Sandra again sooner rather than later. When that happened, the young officer, Antonio, would play his part. Now, more waiting.

Sandra Robbins, née Micelli, stepped out of the elevator into the lobby of her hotel. It was an impressive establishment and she was taking advantage of the suite gifted to her by Bruno. It was quite lavish, large bed, sitting room, ensuite, balcony, full bar. It was the lifestyle to which she wished to become accustomed.

In the lobby, she was called. "Signora! A word, please."

She was instantly on her guard. Squaring her shoulders and fixing her best smile, she approached the young man at the desk. Probably another delivery from Bruno, she thought, relaxing.

Antonio Ponti, undercover officer with the drug unit, smiled as she approached him. He tugged at his vest and stood tall.

"Signora, forgive me for bothering you. I trust you are enjoying your stay here in Napoli."

Sandra exhaled and smiled. Yes, all was well.

"Very much. Yes."

"Very good. Very good. I see you've been with us for several weeks now, but we do not have your passport, which is required of all foreign visitors."

"Oh, yes," she replied. "I, I don't have it here with me. When I first arrived I was staying with a friend and I left some things with him when I came to stay here. But I can get it and bring it back to you. I should be seeing him soon."

"I'm sorry to bother you with it, but I'm afraid it's very important. We must follow the law."

"Of course. Perfectly understandable. Just allow me to reach out and make sure he's in town. I'll set up a time to get the rest of my things and I'll bring it right to you. Okay?"

"Very well then. I'll just make a note of it. We'll just keep it between us for now. Yes?"

"Thank you, yes. I appreciate it."

She turned to go, more shaken than she wanted to let on.

"Signora," he called.

Pausing, she looked over her shoulder.

"Be careful who you talk to. The local police take this kind of thing quite seriously. It is a crime to be in country without proper documentation. If you find that you have trouble locating your passport, I might be able to help you. I wouldn't want you to find yourself in trouble so far away from home."

She chewed nervously at her lower lip, considering his offer, as well as how easily he saw through her story.

"Help how?"

Andy's cell phone rang at seven o'clock the next morning. Officer Ponti passed along information regarding the time and place of the meeting he had set up with Sandra. He then hung up and rolled over to find his wife waiting.

"It's set up. This afternoon. She'll meet him in the shopping district. It's a good story. He'll be in a back room. That's where he's promised to take care of her passport issue. I'll be there waiting to talk to her."

Sharon studied her husband. He was anxious. This wasn't something he wanted to do, but knew was necessary. Sandra wouldn't appreciate the deception, nor would she appreciate being backed into a corner. Being in Italy without a passport was indeed a crime. It wasn't necessary when she boarded the cruise ship, but once she disembarked she was in violation of the law. That was something Andy could easily resolve. He had brought Sandra's passport.

Sharon reached toward him and ran her fingertip up the length of his nose, across his forehead, and into his hair.

"We will get through this," she said. "Just relax. Don't let it affect your blood pressure, please. How can I help?"

Rolling onto his side facing her, he placed his palm on her hip and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"I just want stop thinking about it for a while. I mean, I'm here in this beautiful place. I've wanted to be here with you for so long and here we are, spending our time focusing on my ex-wife. I just need to be us. Can we do that?"

Leaning closer, she brushed her lips against his and spoke in a low, husky alto.

"Oh, I think we do us better than just about anything."

For the next couple of hours, they did just that.

Sandra stepped from the cab and crossed the busy street that ran in front of the large shopping complex. Much like the strip malls of home, but built into centuries old structures repurposed for modern businesses, they were packed in, side by side. Ancient stone archways with garish neon lights met the eyes and were somewhat confusing.

She looked around, studying the shop names, the items in the windows, looking for the correct one. Keeping her purse tucked tightly against her side, she ducked into the one agreed upon.

Leaning against a lamppost, reading la Repubblica, there was another watching closely as the American looked this way and that, eyes flitting between the shopping center and whatever it was she held in her hands. She'd been acting oddly since the previous day, short with people, jittery. She'd hailed a cab rather than use the car and driver the boss had made available. That was of some concern. The driver did more than ferry her back and forth. He also reported her comings and goings to Bruno. He had eyes everywhere.

So did Inspector Ricci.

Antonio Ponti waited in the supply room off of the showroom floor. Through a closed circuit camera, he watched as shoppers, mostly women, browsed dresses, hats, and scarves with too much money and too much time. He smiled when Sandra entered through the front door and scanned the store for the door he had described. She had been easy to convince. Here in this small room filled with shoes and other stock awaiting a place on the store shelves, they could talk. He would explain her legal issues, and then give her the option to resolve them with a simple conversation. At that point, Andy would enter the picture.

He sat, back to the alley door, eyes on the monitor watching the floor. From there, he could see Sandra making her way through the store and Andy waiting in the corner.

Antonio saw her approach the door and reach for the knob, letting herself in after a quick look over her shoulder. He stood up to greet her, hoping to set her mind at ease enough to keep her there.

"Signora, come. Sit."

Sandra stood in the doorway, hands nervously twisting together. She chewed at her lower lip and her eyes darted about the room. The confident, flirtatious American tourist was nowhere to be found.

"How do we do this? I do plan to stay in the country, but I can't afford to draw the attention of the police. I do hold a valid passport, but was traveling on a cruise ship and"

"They're not required onboard. However, you got off the ship at a port of call, then failed to reboard. Now you are here, without the necessary documentation and that, Mrs. Robbins, is a crime."

"What? Who are?" she began before the rear door was forced open.

In plowed a pair of large men dressed in bespoke suits. They didn't knock, they simply kicked in the door, removing it from its hinges. The first kicked the chair from beneath Antonio, who started to climb to his feet only to find a gun to his head. The second took her by her upper arms and shoved her toward the alley.

"Andiamo, Sandra. Bruno desidera vederti."

Just as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone.

Antonio scrambled to his feet, kicking the busted chair out of his way. Damn, he thought to himself. Bruno wants to see you. They were busted. Drawing his phone from his pocket and his weapon from its holster, he followed them out the rear door and into the alley. Sticking close to the wall, old brick slick with humidity, he edged toward the corner and peered into the street. Sandra's abductors had shoved her into the back of a black sedan and were pulling away from the curb. Civilians were everywhere. He quickly lowered the gun and raised the phone, snapping a photo with the camera before dialing the Inspector and taking off in foot pursuit of the car. Traffic was thick. With any luck, he would be able to stick with them long enough to see which way they went.

Standing at a clothes wrack near the door to the storeroom, waiting for his cue to enter and confront his former wife, Andy was in easy earshot when the commotion beyond the door began. Pushing past a pair of women admiring dresses and shoes, he crossed the space, his long legs easily closing the distance.

A sharp pain, hot and searing, tore through his head as he fell into a standing wrack of men's blazers. His head snapped backwards as he tumbled, his landing cushioned by fabric thrown recklessly to the floor.

Instinctively, he pushed off the floor with one hand while with the other he reached for the back his head. It throbbed violently and he found as he stood, that he was quite dizzy and terribly off balance.

"What the hell?" he muttered to himself, finding the back of his head warm and wet. Drawing his hand back, he found a palm full of blood as the taste of bile began to burn at the back of his throat. He feared he would be sick.

"Signore, si sieda, per favore. Ho chiamato un'ambulanza."

Andy looked up at a young woman, well dressed, gesturing to a short stool. He managed to understand enough, between his remembered Italian and the stool, what she was trying to say.

She seemed to read his confusion.

"Americano?"

He nodded, then regretted it, as he sat down.

"Grazie," he managed.

She smiled.

"Very good, sir. I've rung for an ambulance. Please sit still. Is there anyone else I should call for you?"

"Uh, yeah. Please," he said, drawing his phone from his pocket. Blinking against a sudden fog clouding his vision, he slid his thumb across the screen and pushed Sweetheart on the favorites screen before another wave of nausea rolled through him.

"Name's Flynn," he choked out, then dropped his head low between his knees.

What the store clerk couldn't know was that Mrs. Flynn was practically on scene herself. She discovered that when the woman flew through the door with an officer on her heel.

"Andy!" she cried and she dashed across the store and knelt at his side. "Andy, where are you hurt?"

The officer on her tail drew the employee aside and spoke to her while Sharon looked after her husband. He needed her statement. Another officer soon followed and made his way past them as he went directly to the back room to investigate the scene.

Soon, there were paramedics on the scene. Those browsing in the store were pressed back against the walls, asked to stay and share their recollections while medics saw to Andy and the police reviewed the scene.

A medic knelt on the other side of Andy and urged him to slowly lift his head so that he might check his vitals. When he did, Andy winced at the light overhead, then quite suddenly pitched sideways and fell to the floor unconscious.

Il Centro Medico di Napoli Nord was, fortunately, only a short distance away. They found themselves in a small, well-appointed triage room in less than half an hour. Andy had regained consciousness shortly after the medics had loaded him in the ambulance. He was lucid, but uncomfortable. His head hurt like hell, as he put it, so he worked to calm himself, keeping his eyes closed against the garishly bright lighting, and allowing his wife's smooth, steady strokes along his arm to soothe him. He could feel her lips pressing gentle kisses to his hand, and couldn't help but give thanks that she was there.

They may be here instead of honeymooning in Ireland because of his need to find Sandra and be sure of her well-being, to know his children's mother was safe, but it was this woman, this angel, who looked after him. She looked after them all. His children were her own. It was Sharon who had insisted they come and find Sandra, Sharon who said it was their opportunity to find the answers their children sought. Sharon, who sat beside him now, who would not leave his side, who would always put her family first.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked sweetly, curious, but relieved to see the curve of his lips.

"Because you're here, holding my hand."

Sharon smiled and lifted his hand to her lips. "Where else would I be, huh?" She pressed another kiss to his fingertips. "You know, you're likely to be here for the rest of the day, perhaps overnight. You're not going to argue with the doctor, are you?"

He simply groaned. Andy Flynn hated hospitals. The fact that he couldn't fathom opening his eyes yet, or even moving his head, was indication enough that she was right.

"Not out loud, no," he grumbled, causing her to chuckled. It was that low, throaty alto he so loved and damned if he couldn't even enjoy it at present.

A short, light knock sounded against the door before it silently opened, the doctor peering inside.

"Mr. and Mrs. Flynn," he greeted them in perfect English. "I'm Dr. Rinaldi. I have your CT results and, as we expected, you've quite the nasty concussion."

Andy opened his eyes, but squinted against the lights and lifted a hand to shade them.

"No skull fracture," the doctor added. "No evidence of bleeding on the brain. The bleeding to the initial injury looks to have stopped."

Sharon visibly relaxed at the news. They were no strangers to brain bleeds. It was what she was fearing the moment she heard the words head wound. She continued to draw her fingers up and down the length of his forearm while her eyes and ears stayed fixed on the doctor.

"We'll keep you here for a few hours, then do another scan. Provided those show no increased swelling or pressure and your dizziness and nausea are no worse, we'll talk about sending you home this evening. We'll also get some pain management on board, non-narcotic- your wife is a good advocate- and see if we can make you more comfortable. Any questions?"

"No. Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your time," said Sharon. Turning to her husband, she asked, "Andy, any questions?"

He lowered his hand from his eyes and offered it to the doctor.

"No, no questions. Thanks, Doc. We'll just hang out for a while."

"Good. We'll check in with you soon," he replied, then wordlessly excused himself.

"Well, unfortunately, we've been here before and know the drill. What can I get you, honey? Is there anything you need?"

Andy sighed, eyes again closed against the light and the constant throbbing, and tugged at her hand.

"Come closer. Rest with me. You know they won't let me actually sleep. Talk to me. I know you talked to your mom last night. How's everything at home?"

Sharon perched her hip on the edge of the bed and slowly, carefully, rolled onto her side, tucking herself snugly into his. She rested one arm across his middle and propped her head in the other. She kissed his forehead and hummed against him.

"Everyone is fine. Drew and Melanie brought Valeria over for a picnic. Louie put up the pup tent in the backyard to keep her out of the sun. Rusty brought the boys over too. Mom and Patrice made sandwiches and lemonade. They had a good day."

"She was supposed to see the doctor this week. Did they say how that went?" he asked. "Drew was optimistic, but he said Valeria was pretty nervous about going back to the hospital."

"It went fine," she said. "The appointment was good. They made a day of it. Lunch, ice cream, the works. They tried to associate the doctor's visit with something enjoyable, you know?"

"I do. I used to do it with the kids. Go to the doctor? Get a treat. I was always so scared. Didn't want them to think that way."

Sharon hummed in his ear. Andy smiled again. He loved that sound. It reminded him that she seemed content.

"So did I. My kids spent a lot of time at the doctor. Ricky, especially," she chuckled. "He was always getting hurt. He couldn't even brag about it, either. It wasn't just sports injuries. He would climb things and fall. Copy Emily's moves when she danced, and fall. Get up on top of the house to get the frisbee that hand landed up there,"

"And fall? How bad did he hurt himself with that one?"

"Busted collarbone," said Sharon. She sighed. "I think what made it worse was that I was so frantic. I was by myself, panicking over an injury and dragging the other one along because there was no one to leave them with. I was worried about the expense but, of course, I couldn't do anything about it at the time. In the beginning, I would always try to locate Jack and let him know. He never showed up. Not once. Eventually, I stopped calling."

He reached for the hand resting on his belly and squeezed it. Anything more was difficult at present. Her past with her former husband was not news. With each reminder of the treatment she and her children had endured at his hands, Andy struggled to keep a handle on his anger.

He risked the increased throbbing and dizziness and turned his head enough to kiss her temple.

"You're one in a million."

They rested together in silence for a few long moments, enjoying the near-hush against the din beyond the door.

"Do you think she's okay?" Sharon asked him. "God, they'd better not harm her."

Andy took a deep breath, then let it out.

"I hope not. My guess is this Bianchi guy is just super possessive. He got wind she was talking to somebody he didn't know and decided to put a tail on her. Had her pulled out of a situation he didn't control. Hopefully she'll keep her head until we figure out where he's got her."

"Knock knock," came a soft, sweet voice.

Leo peeked around the door and smiled.

"May we come in? We brought food."

"Yes, honey. Come in," said Sharon, starting to sit up.

"No, don't get up," said the young woman, entering the room, her husband on her heel. Behind her came another.

She brought with her a bag, which she set down on a chair against the wall, the stepped to the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling, Andy?" asked Bart, standing behind his wife, hands on her shoulders.

"Well, I have the mother of all headaches, but I'll make it."

Inspector Ricci stepped further into the room.

"That tends to happen when you get pistol-whipped to the back of the head. You'll be relieved to know that young officer Ponti managed to follow the car carrying your former wife all the way to Bianchi's villa down by the water. He and a couple of other men are waiting there to see if she is moved again."

"What are the chances of that?" asked Andy, doubtful.

Ricci shifted his stance, placing his hands on his hips and tilting his head.

"I think that depends on a couple of factors. How likely do you think she is to stay calm and keep her head?"

Sharon sat up, but remained next to her husband, watching him.

"She's smart, but she can be easily shaken. I don't know. She's made it this far, on her own, in a foreign country without a passport. That says a lot."

"It is my hope that Bianchi will believe that is all she was up to today, that she was afraid to be caught without identification and was trying to secure that so that she could stay in the country. If he believes that, she'll be fine. He'll keep her close, surely, but that is all. However, if he believes she was talking to the police or trying to flee, neither of which were true, at least to her knowledge, it would be problematic. He'd see her as a loose end and, like any criminal,"

"He doesn't leave loose ends," said Sharon.

Cool evening air wafted through the open patio doors, bringing with it the fragrance of flowers. The bed in their room in the apartment was far more comfortable than the one in the hospital and, while there was noise from the clubs and cafes down the street, it was distant enough that it wasn't bothersome. The tea brought to their room by Leo was soothing, as was the bath shared before climbing in between the sheets. The silky, fragrant water had washed away much of the ugliness and worry of the past several hours, if not the ache in his head.

Sharon helped with that. Wrapped around him in nothing more than a silk chemise, she ran her fingers through his hair, carefully avoiding the wound to the back of his head, just as she had done to soothe many a headache over the years. They hadn't said much over the course of the evening. They had shared a meal with their new friends while Andy was still in the hospital. Upon his discharge, Bart had brought them back to the apartment. They had bathed and climbed in bed. Nothing more needed to be voiced. Both knew the fears they shared, the heartsick feeling they carried for their children. Talking wasn't necessary. Silence and loving were, and so they rested. They touched and they held, and they let the peace of them do its healing work.

Sandra sat on a velveteen settee in the front room of Bruno Bianchi's villa by the sea. The room was, floor to ceiling, expensive. There were gold-trimmed mirrors, high-backed furniture, a large, imposing desk centered on the far wall, and fresh flowers everywhere. Money. It all said money. This is what she wanted. She'd done her time wiping noses and backsides, paying bills and attending PTA meetings. Now was her time. She had to find a way to stay. To make Bruno let her stay.

The wide oak double doors swept open behind her, signaling his arrival. Sandra sat taller, squared her shoulders, and thrust her bosom forward, ready to charm.

"Sandra, Tesora. I'm sorry for the confusion earlier. My men should never have manhandled you."

He closed the distance between them and sat beside her, taking her hands.

"Whatever were you doing downtown alone? You know you have a car and driver at your disposal, Tesora. It is not safe for a woman such as yourself."

Sandra inched closer still, eyelashes fluttering.

"I'm sorry, Darling. I'm in a bit of a pickle and I was embarrassed," she simpered. "When I jumped ship in Cortona, I did so illegally. You see, I didn't need a passport on board, but I do now. I don't have one with me. That silly boy at the hotel says he has to have it so I can stay. He also offered to get one for me. That's what I was doing there, Bruno. I don't want to leave you, Darling, and I didn't want to cause you any trouble or embarrassment after all you've done for me."

She tucked her head, looking for all the world like a shamed, remorseful child.

"No need to worry, Darling. You will stay here, with me. I will fix your passport problem. Bruno will fix everything."

"Oh Bruno, what would I do without you? Do you mean it? I can stay here with you?"

She sidled up to him, her hand creeping into his lap, inching upwards.

"Oh, I insist, Sandra. Who takes care of you, Darling?"

"You do, Bruno," she said, hand creeping higher still.

"And how do you show your appreciation?" he asked, his voice taking on a deeper, more challenging tone.

Sandra's hand landed just where he wanted it. Her other came to rest along his cheek, her thumb finding his lips.

His tongue darted outward, catching the digit, sucking it into his mouth.

She threw a leg over both of his, straddling his lap, and got to work showing her gratitude.

Inspector Ricci met them forty-eight hours later. They sat on the balcony of a hotel room the Inspector had secured for the purpose of surveilling the Bianchi place nearby. They had a bird's eye view of the back of the house, the pool and garage. His fleet of high-price cars was visible. Hopefully, any movement on their part would be seen and trackable.

They weren't watching, not they themselves. The inspector had provided a pair of officers for the deed. One was stationed with them, there on the balcony. Dressed in street clothes, binoculars in hand, he explored the coastline as any tourist might. The other was on the water, with a perfect view of the bayside pool, with a camera fixed to the mast, sending images to a monitor on deck. Given some of the activity recorded, Andy was not being given access to the images.

They had lucked out so far in that Sandra had not been moved from the villa. On the contrary, it seemed her things had been packed and brought to the house. She was apparently now living with Bruno Bianchi. The time staying in one place had given Andy a chance to remain still and cool and recover from the blow to his head. Sharon was grateful for that, as she was not keen to move him just yet.

So, they sat, iced tea taking the edge off of the noonday heat, Inspector Ricci giving them the concise history of Bruno Bianchi and his ilk. It was not a pretty tale. When the young officer tapped on his superior's shoulder and uttered a curt Incoming, the inspector pushed away from the table and stepped toward the wall and took the binoculars for a look of his own. He moved in such a way as to not cause panic or hurry, only perhaps mere curiosity.

What had they spotted? Who had arrived?

"Disgustoso, tragico," he muttered under his breath. He continued to peer through the glass at the activity happening on the other end. Though stomach-turning, it was also very illuminating. Bianchi barely finished with Sandra, right there in broad daylight, before a limo of younger beauties arrived. Behind them came a well dressed man in black carrying a small black duffle which he opened in short order. The contents were upended onto the patio table as they all gathered close to inspect the goods.

Before long, they were sampling them.

Ricci turned to his young officer and spoke.

"Prendimi Carlo. Ho bisogno di un briefing," said the inspector. "Appena possibile. E mandami il film."

The young man left and Inspector Ricci retook his seat.

"I take it there's been development," said Andy, holding tightly to his wife's hand.

"Si Signore. Yes, I'm afraid so, and not a good one. There are drugs on the scene. I'm pulling my undercover officer in for a briefing. We'll confirm that what they're moving is, indeed, un bacio. You are, of course, welcome to join our briefing. A professional courtesy."

Sharon and Andy shared a look. He wasn't really up to it yet, but he couldn't stay away. They needed to know what they were up against. They needed answers.

"Thank you," said Sharon.

Dinner was pleasant, filling, and, surprisingly, not pasta. Bart and Leo prepared for them a lovely risotto with butternut squash and sage and Caprese-stuffed Portobellos.

"I don't know how we're going to go back home to meals in our own kitchen after eating with the two of you," said Andy.

The foursome sat at the small table nestled into the corner of the kitchen rather than the larger one in the dining room. It was cozy, intimate, a meal among friends.

"Andy's being too modest," said Sharon. "He's a marvelous cook. We live in a house of good cooks."

"Her included," said Andy, winking her way.

"My mother is a wonderful cook, and Patrice, our dear friend. She and her husband live with us. She's marvelous as well, and I do enjoy cooking. I didn't always. Perhaps you could share some of your recipes so we can try some of these dishes at home with our family."

"Yeah. Louie would love these mushrooms," said her husband.

"I think we could do that," said Leo, smiling.

Bart checked the clock on the opposite wall.

"We'll need to leave in about forty-five minutes," he said. "I'll start clearing."

When he rose from his seat at the table, Sharon did as well.

"Please let me help. You've done so much for us both. It would make me feel better if I could do something in return."

Bart looked at her and started to deny her. He found his wife smiling, nodding in his direction. She understood. Sharon didn't know how else to repay their kindness. Leo would have done the same.

"Okay," said Bart. "I'll wash. You can dry. We'll make quick work of it and then be on our way."

"This is rather surreal, don't you think?" she whispered in his ear.

"Seems like old times, huh Commander?"

His hand rested against the small of her back as the two of them hunched over in the cramped cabin of an old-style camper van in the alley of a dive bar, the likes of which they'd not seen since leaving Los Angeles. They had direct line of sight on the back door of the bar, through which the Inspector was expecting his young officer to come at any minute.

"The men's room is right by the back door. He'll sit at the bar before excusing himself to the restroom, at which time he'll slip out the back door."

Which he did, less than a minute later, dressed in slacks and a well-cut shirt. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, head down low, as he made his way toward the van.

The passenger side door slid open and he climbed in, sliding the door closed behind him. When he turned to take a seat, he froze. His eyes grew wide as he took in the sight of unfamiliar faces.

"Carlo, relax," sad the Inspector. "I'd like for you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Andy Flynn from Los Angeles, California. They are former LAPD Major Crimes. They have a vested interest in the Bianchi investigation."

Carlo looked at the couple. Retired, he guessed.

"The woman staying with Mr. Bianchi is my former wife, my children's mother," said Andy. "She's just kind of dropped out of sight."

The young man nodded slowly, beginning to understand.

"Sandra," he said, accent heavy. "She's in trouble."

Oh God.

She'd gotten off of a cruise ship in the middle of Italy, without a passport. She didn't speak the language enough to even get by. She'd left her husband of more than twenty years, stopped communicating with her children and grandchildren. She'd proposed rekindling an old, doomed romance, then apparently thrown herself at another man when the first had failed. Now, according to photographic evidence, Sandra was not only involved with a drug lord, but was, herself, using. It was a nightmare. How would he ever explain it all to their children?

Sharon stood in the corner of the room, watching him. He looked so lost. They had returned from their meeting with the Inspector and his undercover officer after the latter had briefed them on the latest developments in the movement of his narcotic specialty, un bacio. There had been photos and communiques, recordings of phone conversations, and a record of his movements over the past several days. All of it added up to an imminent shipment, a large one, involving narcotics, money, and who knew what else. Stuck neck-deep in the middle of it all was Sandra and, by extension, the rest of them.

Her heart broke at the sight of him, so conflicted with how to help her, worried about how it all would affect their children, so angry, once again with the woman with whom he'd finally made peace. She wouldn't minimize his feelings by telling him it would all be okay, or insult him with platitudes. It was bad. It was really bad. Sandra may be too deeply entrenched to pull her out. It didn't mean they wouldn't try, but this fight might be bigger than they were.

She slipped up behind him and pressed herself against his back.

"Come to bed, Love," she husked. "Let's rest." For she knew sleep would be difficult.

He relaxed into her touch, exactly the balm he needed. Andy wasn't sure how she always knew that, though she swore he did the same for her. Turning, he took her face in his hands and pressed a kiss firmly to her lips, drawing a low hum from somewhere deep inside of her. That did the trick. Oh, how he loved that sound.

They climbed into bed and he tugged her close. Sleep would be a while in coming, but they would enjoy the healing closeness and try their best to keep the wolves at bay for a few hours more.

The movement they expected came sooner rather than later. Carlo's intel was solid and given that he was assigned to accompany the goods, they were able to track his whereabouts with precision. Bruno and his female companions, however, had made different arrangements. According to Carlo, they had left in a trio of Bianchi's finest automobiles and had a yacht waiting at the port in Bari. He had his suspicions about the destination, too, and had shared them with the inspector. There were men stationed and waiting. It they were correct, they could fly out and intercept in less than two hours. That was the plan, and it would have to work. If not, they would lose jurisdiction, and all hope.

Sharon and Andy had been staying at Edo's Naples apartment for nearly a week, Leo and Bart playing tour guide and cook, chauffeur and personal shopper. They had been reassigned to work as personal chefs for the duration, since it turned out they were in the employ of Edo Rossi the entire time.

When Antonio Ponti appeared at the apartment door, they each instantly became alert. Gone was the blissful feeling of retirement. The constant readiness of active-duty policing was once again their companion.

"Please, come in," said Andy, stepping aside to let the young officer in. Closing the door behind him, he followed him into the den where Sharon was offering him a seat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Flynn, I have an update. Inspector Ricci asked that I bring you, how do you say, up to speed. The truck carrying Mr. Bianchi's cargo made a brief stop a short while ago. Officer Tonioli managed to place a GPS tracker beneath the body of the truck. He was able to separate himself in a men's room and let us know that they are headed to Trieste, just as we suspected. That is less that ten miles from the Slovenian border. It also looks to be where the yacht carrying Bianchi and the women are headed. Once they rendezvous in Trieste, we have a very small window of opportunity to intervene. If they cross international waters into Slovenian space,"

"You've no jurisdiction," said Sharon. "You can neither intercept Bianchi and his drugs, nor take any of them into custody. In the Schengen Area, they are free to come and go as they like, provided no one gets wind of what they're up to. But unless you've the cooperation of the neighboring authorities, in this case, Croatia or Slovenia, I would assume. I'm not certain of where they would be crossing. I'm not terribly knowledgable with that part of the world. If you could get them on board, perhaps you'd have some success."

"Indeed," he said, impressed. "Unless we talk with the wrong persons. The drug trade in Slovenia is far-reaching as is, I'm afraid, human-trafficking."

"Oh no," said Sharon. "The women."

She reached for her husband's hand. The stakes were suddenly even higher than before.

"I'm afraid so, Signora. I've been instructed to offer you seats on a plane leaving within the hour. We fly to a small strip on the outskirts of Trieste, where we hope to intercept the Bianchi party before they reached their destination. Our guess is that Bianchi will likely send the boat back with one of his men and disappear into Venice for a time before making his way back down to Naples. He knows how the game is played. He's done it before."

Sharon quickly stood and started to cross the room.

"I'll throw together an overnight bag," she called, then disappeared into the bedroom.

"Your wife knows much about international law, Signore."

"You've no idea."

In under an hour, they had packed, driven across town, and boarded a mid-sized jet bound for Trieste, a deep-water port on a thin strip of Italian land in between the Adriatic and Slovenia. Known for its coffee and its Prosecco, it was also home to slums and human trafficking, the most vulnerable of whom were thousands of unaccompanied children.

It was a clear afternoon, an unclouded day, perfect for flying. Their flight would be a short one, less than ninety minutes. The crystalline waters of the Adriatic shimmered in the late afternoon sun, reflecting a blinding light that stung the eyes. There was time to review what they knew and what they only supposed. Inspector Ricci, in cooperation with authorities in both Trieste and Venice, had men stationed on land and in the water. All were in agreement where Bruno Bianchi was concerned. He must be stopped.

Venice

Nearing the Gulf of Venice, they saw many familiar architectural wonders. Turning eastward toward Trieste, they spotted the Viadotto sul Rio Corgnoleto, its enormous arches visible as the plane began its initial descent. The towering lighthouse, Faro della Vittoria, rose high above the surrounding structures, winged Victory keeping watch over the coastline below. It was spectacular.

In just under half an hour, they were on the ground in yet another city. Their passports were certainly getting a workout. Inside the hangar, they gathered around a plain, ordinary card table, where representatives from each of the participating agencies met to finalize their plan.

The cargo truck carrying Bianchi's merchandise was still a couple of hours out, the yacht still another, giving them ample time to get everyone in position.

Everyone was in place, on land and on sea. Now they had but to wait. Bianchi's boat, Il Diavolo, was waiting just offshore, a trio of young lovelies sunning themselves on deck. His truck had been spotted in town. Traffic had, fortuitously, slowed its progress. Undercover operatives had eyes on it from terracotta rooftops high overhead, thanks to the tracker. The cargo would have to be unloaded and transferred to the boat to get it across International waters. They wouldn't risk crossing the Slovenian border. No, Bianchi's pleasure boat was perfect. Bathing beauties on deck, precious cargo below, the wealthy out enjoying a day on the Adriatic, were all a terrific screen.

An officer, dressed as any other young man on a Vespa, rode along the bike lane, eyes hidden by dark glasses and a helmet. He kept watch on the truck until it pulled into a warehouse not far from the wharf. He drove past it, turning two blocks beyond, before pulling over to radio in.

"Il diavolo è arrivato a Trieste."

Those were the words the inspector heard through his earpiece as he sat wedged between his civilian support staff or, the Italian Buzz, Andy had called him, and the Flynns. The group of them were tightly packed into a nondescript van on the side of a road behind a large church. It was rather cliche, Sharon thought, officers watching and waiting from a van. Perhaps some stereotypes existed for a reason.

More silence and more waiting followed while they kept their eyes and ears open for signs of movement from the warehouse or the water. The squawking of the hand radio signaled that it may just be time.

"We've got another boat approaching ours on the water," the technician relayed in English, in deference to their esteemed guests. "Large, like for a party. Flat, sits on the surface, long tubes."

"Pontoon boat," supplied Andy. "Perfect for smuggling narcotics. There are a lot of potential stash spots on that thing. Maybe not as many as the yacht, but that's kind of the point. It doesn't look suspicious, but it certainly works."

The Italian Buzz, as they'd come to think of him, rotated his monitor so that they could all have the same view he enjoyed, a split-screen, showing both the boats on the water and the warehouse nearby.

"Ispettore, dovrebbe sentirlo," said the young operative, handing the man a headset. There was obviously something he needed to hear.

Andy and Sharon exchanged a look. Something was happening. Where was Sandra? Would they have their chance to talk with her? Reason with her?

"Mr. and Mrs. Flynn," said the Inspector. "The moment has come."

In under an hour, a small patch of the Gulf of Venice was flooded with boats. Music filled the air and camera-ready girls filled the decks of crafts of all sizes. Spring may have arrived in Italy, but at a chilly fifty-four degrees, the water was much too cold for a swim. Still, those with money were quirky and a good party really did photograph so much better on the water.

What only a few select knew, along with a few select dozen hidden law enforcement, was that it was all an elaborate cover. Even the girls weren't in on it. On the contrary, they were in the thick of it and none the wiser.

As "Buzz" remotely controlled their view of the cameras capturing the action on the water, they were instantly privy to an odd and alarming sight. They swayed, almost lethargically, in gowns of virginal white. Some stumbled across the deck, champagne spilling from crystal flutes. Gone were the girlish giggles and flirtatious smiles. No, their movements were more reminiscent of the acid trips of the seventies, weaving heavily to and fro and side to side with no discernible rhythm at all.

"Our guests have arrived," said the Inspector, pressing his fingertips to his ear, listening intently to incoming messages.

At that, his technical assistant cued up another quadrant of his monitor, this one showing a veritable party arriving at the Port. Another two dozen girls, at minimum, coolers and picnic baskets, all of them ready for a day on the water or a swimsuit cover shoot. Bianchi's men accompanied them, their smartly tailored suits replaced by more appropriate day wear that looked the part but still hid their hardware. It was shaping up to look like a well directed scene on an LA movie set.

They boarded their own ferry boat and proceeded to make their way out across the water to join the others. Oddly, however, a trio remained behind on shore.

The technician adjusted a knob in the lower righthand corner and pressed his earwig more snugly into his ear. The others, crammed like sardines into the tin box that was their van, instantly hushed so that he could hear. He listened closely, squeezing his eyes closed, nodding in agreement. It seemed their plan was unfolding as it should, so far.

He then swiveled on his stool to face them.

"It's working, so far," he said. "Bianchi's boys have set out with the girls. They're meeting the others on the water. If we're right, that's not sandwiches and beer in those coolers. Tonioli stayed behind with Sandra. He made it known that there was another bidder in play for her, a distinguished gentleman from the States. I can only imagine he thinks it's her husband, willing to do anything, including pay thousands, to get her back. Bianchi doesn't care. He's in it for the money. She's not going to fetch the same price as the younger girls, so if he can get double the price from someone else, why should he question it?"

Sharon shook her head in disgust. The entire operation left a bad taste in her mouth. Selling women. It was far worse than selling drugs. Sandra clearly had no idea what she had gotten herself into and, without even realizing it, them.

The Inspector and his undercover operative had devised a plan wherein they would attempt to separate Sandra from Bianchi so that Andy and Sharon could not only talk with her, but also get her away from him if she chose to leave. Knowing what they did now, and what they were nearly certain Sandra did not, they had no intention of giving her a choice. They were hopeful that once she knew Bianchi's ultimate plan for her, she wouldn't argue.

They made the move from the van to a small suite in a hotel a few blocks away, overlooking the water. They had managed to block off the entire wing in anticipation of the meeting, hoping to better contain the comings and goings of those involved. There was a sunny patio surrounded by greenery and flowers, perfect for disguising surveillance. The Inspector's men had already been there, hard at work planting hardware in inconspicuous places around the veranda, in hopes that their plan would unfold as designed. A garden gate led to an alley, where the van sat waiting.

Sandra sat in the back of a black Town Car, one leg crossed over the other, her toe tapping impatiently against the floor mat. Her arms were folded across her chest and she repeatedly exhaled forcefully through tightly clenched teeth and pursed lips. She was not pleased to be kept waiting, to say the least.

Bruno and his associates, along with the bevy of beauties constantly at his side, had all headed toward the water nearly half an hour ago. She'd heard the roar of motors as the boats were started as well as the decrescendo of them moving further out over the water. Why she was suddenly and so rudely kept from the festivities, she didn't know, but it wasn't acceptable as far as she was concerned.

She'd done everything he'd asked of her in the short time she'd been with him, and that was saying something. She had been rather adventurous, doing some things she'd never experienced with her husband, who seemed rather dull now. When compared to Bruno, Art was rather vanilla in his sexual appetite, though she'd never thought so before. Of course, some of that had been fueled by il bacio, she thought with a satisfied smirk. Bruno's magic white powder made sex frantic and frenzied. She'd never even fantasized as much before. Of course now it was all she thought about- that and the white powder. That's what worried her the most. It had been hours since she'd had her last taste. That should tell her all she needed to know. Her little European adventure needed to come to an end and now. She was in over her head and she needed out. But she couldn't go. She was hooked. She could see no way out.

A knock on the window startled her from her thoughts and she jumped. She turned her face toward the sun streaming in through the window and found one of Bruno's body men standing there in his dark suit and glasses. When he opened the door and stepped aside, she took it as her cue to rise from the back seat and smirked at him.

"Would you mind telling me where we are and what exactly we're doing here? Where is Bruno and why aren't I with him?"

She practically stomped her feet like a little girl, such was her frustration with the situation.

"Come on, Sandra. Before you huff and puff and blow my house down, let me take you inside. All will be revealed. I promise," said Tonioli. "Let's go, shall we?"

He waited, allowing her to walk ahead of him, hoping she would feel a little control in this situation where she had precious little.

When they reached the front doors of the hotel, he extended his arm past her to open the door for her, then allowed her to enter before him. He guided her down the corridor, taking a right at the first hallway and following it all the way to the end. Then, he drew a key card from his pocket and used it to unlock the door. Again, he let her enter first, following her inside.

Sandra stepped into the hotel suite and took a look around. It was small, but very nice, one of the pricier ones, she imagined. What she was doing there was still a mystery, however.

"What are we doing here, Carlo?" she demanded. She blew her bangs out of her eyelashes like a petulant child. "Where is Bruno and why aren't I with him? You're keeping something from me and he won't be happy about it. I demand an explanation."

"That's why we're here, Sandra," came a new voice, a familiar voice. It was a voice which most certainly did not belong there. "Why don't we just sit down and talk about it?"

Sandra turned slowly, suspicion written all over her face.

"Why are you here?"

It wasn't mere curiosity. No mere off-hand question, it was pure accusation in the disguise of a query.

"Sandra, come sit down. There's a nice patio outside. It's a nice day. There's lemonade."

"I asked you a question, Andy. Why the hell are you here? Don't tell me you just up and decided to jump on a plane and fly to Europe for what? For fun? Paris in Springtime?"

Her glare was hard, her tone bitter. It seemed whatever peace had been made between them was gone. The wall was back up.

"You're not far off," he said, keeping his voice soft and even. He would not letter anger get to him. It was his promise to Sharon. He stepped toward the open doors. She would follow or she wouldn't. "It's more of a belated Christmas gift. A trip to Ireland, a long-overdue honeymoon with Sharon."

Sandra's eyes grew wide as they followed him toward the patio. Almost without thinking, her feet did likewise until she found herself underneath the warm Venetian sun, surrounded by fragrant bougainvillea. Sure enough, there was pitcher of sunny yellow lemonade and a pair of glasses waiting for them and, much to her surprise, Sharon. She'd just finished pouring and greeted Sandra with a sad smile.

Sandra eyed them both, her former husband and his wife, two people with whom she'd finally established a good relationship, much to their children's relief. All of their work seemed to have evaporated and in its place, nothing but seething and mistrust.

"You're a pretty long way from Ireland."

Andy sat down and reached for a glass. Sipping the lemonade, he allowed its cold sweetness to coat his throat and give him a moment to slow his breathing for what was to come.

"Sandra," he said, setting the glass down. "I'll get right to it."

She took a step forward, challenging him. He was expecting it, though maybe not before he'd even started.

"No, let me. You've spoken to Art, haven't you? He got to you." She shook her head in disgust. "You came here to guilt me into coming back home. Now that you've got it all under control, you're calling the shots for me? Don't you think I deserve a little fun, Andy? Didn't I do a good job raising your kids for you? I wiped the noses and the backsides. I did the PTA and the Little League. Why shouldn't I have this time for myself now? It's my turn."

She began to pace. Her hands clenched and unclenched. Sandra chewed at her lower lip as she turned her back on her former husband. She wanted this over with. She wanted to find Bruno. He would make it better. He had what she needed, and she did need it. She realized that. It should frighten her. It would have if she were in a place to think straight. However, in the moment, she could only think of the immediate and that was what she needed. Now.

"Sandra, that's not what this is about. I don't have anything all under control. I'm here with you instead of in Ireland with my wife because there are things you don't know and you need to know them. So come sit down and listen to me. Please. It's important."

"Andy, I don't have time for this right now. Whatever you have to say is going to have to wait. I have somewhere to be."

He knew drug dependence when he saw it. She may not be fully addicted to whatever it was Bruno was pushing, but she was well on her way. His heart began to break.

"Sandra, this is not like you. Please, sit and talk to me. Let me help."

She laughed, but it lacked any real mirth. It was all bitterness and bile, with a hint of desperation.

"Oh really?" she drawled. "It's been a while, darling. How would you know?" she spat.

"Because you haven't asked about your children at all, Sandra," Sharon said from the doorway.

Sandra spun. Andy's eyes found her and softened. Carlo watched it all from the corner.

Sharon crossed the patio on soft footsteps, her heels making only a quiet clicking sound on the flagstones. She stopped behind her husband, resting her hands on his shoulders.

Sandra watched the pair with cold eyes.

Carlo decided to step in and give them a reprieve.

"Sandra, let me step in at this point before things get too heated. You're not going to like what I have to say, but better to have your ire turned on me than on your family."

Nearing the table, he stopped on the periphery and rested one hand on the table.

"Bruno is not here at the moment because he is settling payment for delivery of a shipment down at the harbor."

Sandra nodded haughtily, as if knowing Bruno's business well.

"A delivery of which you were to have been a part." He decided the time had come and he would no longer measure his words. Tiptoeing around the truth would not help them at this point. The clock was ticking. "Bruno Bianchi is trafficking not only narcotics, his bacio dal serpente, something I think you know a little about, given how you're beginning to twitch, but also people." At her surprise, he nodded. "Yes, that is correct. Human trafficking. Those little beauties that have been following him around like fans after a rockstar have just followed him straight to their doom. Across the border, a lifetime of addiction, enslavement, and forced prostitution awaits. The same awaited you until I told him there was an American interested in paying twice the price to keep you for himself. Unsurprisingly, he agreed. That allowed me to bring you back here, where your family was waiting to talk to you."

"Wha-" she began. "What are you talking about? I don't believe you, Carlo. If that's true, why would you tell me? Bruno is going to kill you!"

"I do not work for Bruno, Signora. I work for the Polizia di Stato."

Sandra took a shallow breath and let it out. She looked from Carlo to Andy to Sharon who, oddly enough, made her most comfortable. They all looked sincere. Then again, it wasn't what she wanted to hear, so she opted not to hear it. Not yet.

Carlo didn't want to hurt the woman. She wasn't a bad person, only misguided, perhaps a little lost. However, if it was the only way, he would do it. From deep in his pocket, he pulled out a micro-recorder and pushed play, extended his hand so that she could hear it.

"Look, Mr. Bianchi, this American, he's willing to double your highest offer for the lady."

It was obviously Carlo's voice they heard. The recording had a tin can quality, like they'd been inside a room with hard walls when it was made, but their voices were clear as they spoke in Italian which Carlo softly translated for them.

"Fine, fine. At her age, she won't fetch much of a price anyway. A pity. She was willing to absolutely anything. The old ones always are. Take whatever he offers. Just keep her quiet. We don't need a scene. I don't want any attention. As soon as the deal is done, we'll slip away and enjoy a few weeks in Venice."

Carlo had no wish to rub salt in her wounds, but he needed to drive home the point of their intervention. She needed to free herself of Bruno, who clearly had no real attachment to her. If he glossed over the most hurtful of comments, well, he wasn't a cruel man. If Andy still understood a little Italian, well, he wasn't either.

Sandra began to shake, almost violently, her jaw clamping down with such force it must have been painful. She was stuck. She'd believed Bruno her ticket to freedom, to a life of parties and champagne. Couture and large living. Instead of freedom, she was enslaved already. To doing his bidding, to hanging on his every word, to that powder he promised her. He was going to sell her like an object, a commodity to be traded. They were right. She felt defeated. Humiliated. She felt something else. Carlo was right. She still needed that powder. That kiss. Il bacio.

"Alright. Let's get out of here. But please, I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Of course not," said Sharon.

They stood to go, with nothing in their hands. They would take the van back to the Inspector's place. The authorities had their operation well under way. Bruno was their problem.

As they turned to make their way back inside, another joined them, unannounced.

"Hold on a minute there, Sandra. We're not quite finished with our business."

They all turned to find a man, long and lithe, in a suit of jet black. His hair was much the same. He wore a smile that carried no humor, no good will, nothing but malice, with eyes to match.

Carlo kept to English in deference to his visitors from the States.

"Rest assured, Paulo. We are doing just that. Mr. Flynn and I are just about to complete our transaction as promised."

He watched as his comrade eyed Mrs. Flynn in a way that was neither proper nor appreciated by Andy.

"As you can see, he is a man of extraordinary taste. He has already made an enviable purchase while visiting the continent."

He turned and gave Sharon a look of apology, hoping she would play along, in the event Paulo had not overheard their conversation. It was their only chance.

Paulo drew a chain from beneath his shirt, a gold necklace with a pendant attached. It was a long, slender vial with ornate carvings all around it. He watched as Sandra's eyes brightened, even as she began to worry at her lower lip again.

They all watched her, knowing instantly what the vial must contain.

"Why look so lost, Sandra? So confused? There is no need, Darling. Bruno has sent for you. He knows what you need, what only he can provide, yes?"

They all saw the war playing out across her features. She now knew better than to trust Bruno. His associates were certainly no better. Carlo, well, she had no idea what to think about that. Andy? She had a lifetime of anger, bitterness, sadness, then acceptance and forgiveness with him. Sharon had been nothing but honest and kind, even when Sandra didn't really deserve it. Theirs was a strange kinship. All she really knew for certain was need, and what she needed was in that vial. If she could feed the immediate hunger, she could address getting over it tomorrow. It was all too much right now.

Carlo stepped up behind her, prepared to get her out of there. He had a feeling Paulo was sent to see to it that Sandra was done away with for good.

Paulo saw the move and matched it.

Carlo was armed. Paulo was armed. Andy pulled his wife behind him. In that moment, Paulo was certain she was not just someone he had bought on a trip abroad. Nodding, he took a step forward. So did Carlo, raising his gun.

Sandra felt trapped. Eyes on the vial, she felt Carlo wrap a protective arm about her while raising his weapon. She panicked.

It all seemed to happen at once.

Sandra elbowed Carlo in the nose, grabbed his gun and aimed it at Paulo, shouting at him to give her the vial. He simply laughed, reminding her that he was far more prepared to shoot than she. He underestimated her need, however.

She fired, her aim wild, causing him to hit the ground, losing his weapon.

"Sandra! Stop!" cried Andy, rushing toward her, stopping short when she turned her aim on him. Her hand shook.

Sandra's eyes flitted between her ex-husband and her own hands. She couldn't believe she'd fired. There, on the ground, was Paulo. He didn't have his weapon. She inched the tip of the gun toward him and eyed the vial, nodding. He understood, she could see. She felt immensely powerful. It was a feeling she enjoyed. Invincibility. No vanilla housewife and mother. This was the kind of gun-wielding powerhouse Andy had seen in Sharon. She could well imagine his attraction.

Andy stepped forward while Sandra's attention was on Paulo.

Paulo saw him move.

Sandra saw him notice. She turned the gun on Andy, hand shaking. She was boiling over. Closing her eyes she squeezed the trigger.

"Andy!"

It was cold. That was the first thing to cut through the fog of anesthesia. That, and the antiseptic smell, which only almost covered the other unpleasant odors found in hospitals far and wide. Drainage tubes emitting who knew what, urine, bile, the various aromas of decay and dying all combined to create a stomach-turning recipe.

A low groan was heard and eyes were opened as a prayer came to an abrupt end.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," Andy said softly. "How are you?"

"How am I?"

She looked sleepy. Of course she did, but so lovely.

"Are you okay, Andy?"

He just stared at her, then shook his head.

Tears filled her eyes, making the green brighten further, and causing his heart to break just a little more.

Rather than pull her toward him, he leaned over her, just as close as he could, and tucked his face into the curve of her neck. He held her as, together, they cried. There was the fear, the uncertainty of those moments, the reality of the sacrifice she was willing to make for him. Again.

When the tears were spent, they parted, but only enough to study one another, to take stock.

"You're really okay?" she asked. "You weren't hit?"

"I wasn't. You took care of that," he said, looking for all the world like an irritated parent whose child had taken too big a risk. "The doc said you'll be fine. Just a through and through. Exit wound was the worst of it. Repaired some muscle damage. They cleaned it out and stitched it up," he said, carefully running his fingers along her shoulder, bound in bandages and a sling. "I've got prescriptions and instructions and a follow up appointment. We can talk about all of that later."

"I don't have to stay here, do I?"

She looked horrified at the idea.

"No," he chuckled. "I've made other arrangements.

It took a few hours to be discharged and pick up her medication, but they arrived back at the Inspector's apartment, where Leo and Bart were waiting for them. There was a late supper on the table, very simple, but warm and filling, as well as all of their luggage, fetched from their hotel on the Amalfi Coast.

They didn't talk much about the outcome of all that had transpired, only to say that Inspector Ricci would fill them in the following day. They did assure them that arrests had been made and that Sandra was being looked after.

Andy and Sharon had talked in the hospital about how to proceed on that front. He would visit with Sandra in the morning. She was currently resting under the care of the same medical staff that had looked after Sharon. While she was only being treated with iv fluids to flush her system, it was also a quiet, controlled environment in which to rest and reflect. It also insured her safety- from Bruno's reach, and from herself.

The girls were safe. Bianchi was in custody, along with his army of men in black, but his reach was extensive.

Andy had gotten a message off to Art and another to his children, letting them know Sandra was well. That was it. Anything more she could share with them as she chose. He'd done what he'd set out to do. He'd found her and secured her safety.

He was angry. He didn't want to be angry with her again, after all their work at forming a workable truce, but he was. She'd shot his wife. That she'd actually aimed at him, that she was in a dark place, not at all herself, that she was fueled by something far stronger than she could control, none of it helped. Not yet, anyway. Eventually, it would. For now, though, there was anger. He'd work through it. His first priority was to get Sharon settled, then convince his ex to contact their children and get his wife out of Italy.

Sharon was fading quickly, courtesy of her pain medication. So, they said their goodnights and thank you's, then retired to the bedroom where he helped her to undress.

He then led her into the ensuite, sat her on the edge of the tub, and proceeded to gently bathe her, one limb at a time. She had no energy for more, but Andy knew she wouldn't rest well without cleaning up before climbing into bed.

They then did just that. It took a bit of experimentation to find a position that didn't hurt her shoulder, but eventually they did. After that, it was only minutes before they drifted off, finally enjoying the safety they'd sought in the previous frightful hours.

The following morning, after seeing to his wife's needs, Andy returned to the hospital to see Sandra. It was not an errand he was looking forward to. While he was certainly happy to know she was now safe, and that his son and daughter were relieved beyond words, he was unhappy with her for putting them all in such a precarious position. He also knew her well enough to expect her ire this morning. Then there was the shame. He'd understood more of that recording than Carlo could possibly have realized, and he had a good idea of what his former wife had been up to over the past few weeks. That was what desperation could do to a person, as he well knew. On that note, he had no room to judge.

Entering the lobby, he smiled to see a familiar face. He wasn't entirely surprised to find him there, having called him as soon as Sandra had been found.

The two men met in the center of the space and shook hands, an act which soon became an emotional embrace.

"Thank you, Andy. Thank you for finding my sister."

Held his former brother in law tightly for a moment before letting him go. He understood well the relief he was feeling, the release that was needed.

Andy led him back to the sitting area in the corner of the lobby and they both took a seat. He smiled at the welcome sight of a pair of coffee cups.

"I took the liberty," said Carson, offering him one.

"And I'm grateful you did. I didn't take the time this morning. We had a bit of a difficult night. Not much sleep."

Andy carefully sipped from the cup, enjoying the satisfying warmth as he swallowed the coffee.

"Sandra is upstairs. She's fine, physically, just on a saline drip, I'm told." He studied the man beside him, deciding how much to say. It really wasn't his place, but her brother should be forewarned. Going in blind wasn't the best idea. "Carson, I'm not going to tell you what all has been going on. It's just not my place. I'll leave that to your sister. Just know that she's okay. I will say that she may be all over the place, emotionally. Just give her some time. Let her tell you what she wants, when she wants. I'm just hoping to get her to call the kids."

Carson just looked at him, not sure how to respond. All Andy had said on the phone was that they'd found Sandra in Naples, of all places, then followed her to Venice. How, he hadn't said. She was okay, but he wouldn't say much more.

"Okay," he finally said, figuring he wasn't going to get anything more out of him. "Can we go see her now?"

Andy smiled. The man had obviously been on a plane all night long. He wouldn't keep him waiting any longer.

He stood and waited while Carson did the same, gathering his coffee and a large duffle. The two men found the elevator, boarded, and rose to the fourth floor.

Sandra's room was only two doors down, just across from the Nurse's Station.

Andy knocked, then opened the door an inch or two, listening for a reply.

"Come in."

It was curt, impatient, expected.

Andy peered around the door and offered her a smile, relieved to see that her color had improved.

"Morning. Can I come in? I brought you something."

Sandra stiffened, instantly suspecting he'd summoned her husband.

Andy didn't wait for her permission. He'd come in peace but he wasn't in the mood to play the supplicant. He stepped further into the room and then allowed Carson to pass in front of him.

Sandra sat up and swallowed, clearly surprised.

"Carson?" There was both relief and fear. Did he know all that had happened? Surely Andy had told all like the dutiful Boy Scout he'd become.

Carson rounded the bed and perched his hip beside her on the mattress. Taking his sister's hand in his own, he smiled at her.

"How are you?"

She saw in his face no judgement, no pity, only concern.

"I'm fine. All of this is just a precaution. Yesterday was," she sighed. "Well, it was a bit of a day." She searched his face for any sign that he knew more than he was letting on.

"Well, it's good to see you. Can I get you anything?"

Sandra eyed her former husband over her brother's shoulder, wary of him for the first time in years, missing the peace they'd finally established.

"You're looking better this morning," said Andy. "I just wanted to make sure you'd managed some rest and to ask you to please, please call Nic and Drew sometime today. I let them know you were here and that you were okay. Please. They're worried."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and chewed at the corner of his lips, wishing he had a toothpick instead.

"Carson, you have my number, if either of you need anything. I really need to get back to Sharon. She'll need her morning meds soon."

He walked back to the door and started to pass through, stopping for a moment. With one hand on the frame, he paused without looking back. "Please, Sandra, call the kids."

"Andy," said Carson. "We'll give'em a call. We will."

His sister may not like it, but Andy was right. Not talking to them was inexcusable, especially now. He would see to it that she did.

Andy nodded, and patted the door frame. Then he left.

Breakfast on the veranda felt somehow more elaborate than simple pastry and cappuccino would imply. The fragrant flowers and the surprising coolness of the morning made for a very pleasant awakening.

Andy studied his wife, checking to see if she was as fine as she claimed to be. She watched him, knowing his visit in the early hours of the morning would have been a challenging one. Their scrutinizing eyes, mirrors across the table, suddenly morphed from studious to humorous, as each realized what they must look like, spying on one another over croissants and jam.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked her, and not for the first time.

"Andy, I promise you, I'm okay. It's tender. It isn't fun to move quickly or without thought," she grinned. "But it'll be fine. It's not the first time, you know."

"Forgive me if that's not the comfort you think it is," he winked.

"How was Sandra this morning?" she asked, a bit nervous to broach the subject. "Did she give you a hard time?"

He gave her a weak smile.

"Well, she might have, but she would have looked really bad in front of Carson."

He waited for her response and smiled when it came.

"He flew all the way over here to be with her," she said, a look of awe on her face.

"Yes, he did," said Andy. "I called him just as soon as we found her. I figured he might. We talked a bit. He talked to Karen. We figured it would be awkward with Art right now, but that she shouldn't be alone while she figures out what to do next."

"Come here," she Sharon. "Please. Curious, mildly concerned that she was hurting, he quickly stood up and rounded the small table and knelt beside her chair.

Wrapping her good arm around his neck, she drew him close and kissed him soundly.

"You are wonderful," she said against his lips. "You are looking after me, our kids, your ex-wife, her family. You haven't lost your temper," she added, causing them both to chuckle. "What would we do without you?"

He kissed her again and smiled at the sound of her musical response.

"Wonderful, huh?"

"You bet," she giggled, nuzzling his nose with hers.

"Well, wait until you see my next trick."

Epilogue

The Emerald Isle

Three days and approximately three hours later, they arrived in Dublin, their trip courtesy of Edo Rossi. He had insisted they allow him to fly them to Ireland aboard his private plane and had seen to their accommodations upon arrival. It was a brief, pleasant three hour flight. Consider it a token of my appreciation for the affection shown toward my children, Leonora and Bart, and the safe recovery of dear Sandra.

Dear Sandra. Andy was certainly glad to be gone from her sight for the time being. As previously discussed with his former brother in law, he'd left Sandra's passport with him, safely packed in a leather banker's bag, sealed with a brass combination lock. Packed away in his luggage, he didn't have to worry about being questioned in regards to having a second passport on him. He'd handed Carson the bag and told him the identification was there. Sandra could now travel where she chose. There was a small hitch, however. In order to open the lock, she had to call her children. Without realizing it, both Nicole and Drew knew the combination. That would have to be enough peace of mind for now. That, and his wife was feeling better.

It was just what they needed. After allowing a few days for Sharon to recuperate, helping Carson to make some arrangements for Sandra, and signing off on the statements given in the Bianchi investigation, they bid farewell to their new friends and extended a heartfelt invitation to host them in California.

They would enjoy a week in the city before moving on to explore the Emerald Isle in all of its splendor. Both of Irish descent, Sharon and Andy had dreamed of this vacation for years and were overwhelmed to have arrived at last. Springtime had arrived and the sun took the chill off of the still cool air that hovered all around them. Let the honeymoon begin.

Her shoulder still throbbed, but she took her medicine, bundled up, and forged ahead, determined to relish every moment of their dream come true. She had the dearest person in all the world at her side, her hand enfolded in his. They were in a place they'd spoken of visiting since long before they'd married. Nothing would dampen their spirits. They had the rest of the month to revel in it all.

Andy had one more surprise up his sleeve, one he'd had a great deal of unsolicited help with, as it so happened. It seemed the latter portion of their European excursion wouldn't cost them nearly as much as they planned. The Inspector had called ahead and offered his own appreciation in the form of his family's vacation property in County Clare. That was the very region of Ireland Sharon's grandmother had hailed from so many years ago. It seemed Andy's bride would get her wildflowers after all.