suspicious," she said, walking alongside John. "Don't you see, it's a
cover-up? The cardinal said there was nothing in the news about the
dead Arab-just Archer's death due to a heart attack."
"It is strange there was no mention of the Arab."
"I'll tell you what, when this story breaks, I'm leaving that part
out. I don't want them to come looking for me again." Cotten glanced
up and stopped dead. "Oh, my God." The lights striking and splaying
off the Coliseum's travertine and stone gave it an overwhelming sense
of grandeur.
"Amazing, isn't it? It's quite astounding at night;" John said as they
approached the Coliseum.
Cotten's eyes fixed on the structure that was the symbol throughout the world of the Eternal City-the emblem of Rome's greatness.
"I've seen pictures and movies, but-"
She waved her arms toward the Coliseum. "This is why. This is
what kept tugging at me as I grew up in Kentucky. This is why I do what I do, John. There is so much to see. I want to see it all." The timbre of her voice dropped. "And I don't think I'll ever see enough." She
turned in a circle, feeling as if she couldn't take it all in. It wasn't just
the splendor, it was the whole package-the stunning beauty, the
wonder of the structural design, the history. "I'm babbling," she said.
"Sorry. You talk. Tell me about the Romans, about the gladiators, the
architecture. Were Christians really thrown to the lions, here?"
"Debatable," John answered.
She moved close to him. "Tell me everything. I want to hear all the
details."
"At one time it was the most beautiful amphitheater in the world.
An ecclesiastical writer-Bede-once wrote that `while the Coliseum
stands, Rome shall stand, but when the Coliseum falls, Rome shall fall
and when Rome falls, the world will end."'
She sensed his eyes on her as she moved in front of him. She felt
the tough outer shell she tried so hard to hide behind, crack, just
enough that he was catching a glimpse of what lay inside. For some
reason she no longer wanted to keep that armor intact. She was more
fanciful and idyllic than she liked to admit, but with John she didn't
sense the need to hide that part of her. It was refreshing to be Cotten
Stone, girl from Kentucky, vulnerable, sometimes childlike. Always
being in control, being strong, pretending that she could handle anything, was exhausting. She enjoyed allowing the delicacy of being a
woman come through, not having to be the hard-edged reporter. The
last time she'd felt this free, this true to herself, was before her father
died. Everything changed the day he killed himself. Cotten, a little girl
with a name as soft as the clouds, turned to stone. How often she
thought about the irony of it. Cotten Stone.
Suddenly, she faced John, grabbing his hands. "How could anyone
see this and not be moved?"
Cotten looked down at their hands. "Oops-not appropriate. I
keep forgetting."
When she loosened her grip, John held on a moment. "It's okay.
There's nothing inappropriate for two friends to show affection."
Taking several steps backward, she bent at the waist, and laughed.
"John, you know what would be a riot? It would be just my luck to
fall in love with a priest. Fits my M.O. One more way to avoid rejection. I mean, look at my last debacle. Thornton Graham and I were
lovers. Did you know that?"
"Not exactly."
"He's married and way out of my league. He couldn't reject or
hurt me because I couldn't really have him in the first place. See what
I mean?" She leaned her head back and glared at the sky. "Does that
make sense?"
"You're too hard on yourself-a beautiful, bright, resourceful
woman. Look at what you've been through. Nothing short of extraordinary, from the Iraqi desert to the halls of the Vatican. Why on earth
are you afraid someone might reject you?"
She laughed again, but tears huddled near her lower lashes. "You
know just the right things to say. If you weren't a ... well, I'd hug
you.
John put his arms
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