people—is part of my job description.”
“Maybe I’m not the right people.”
Ollie nodded and smiled. “Judging from the background checks I’ve done on you, you seem to travel in areas outside Ms. Pioche’s normal purview. Though you both certainly have been in the news regarding aggressive involvement with criminal types.”
“One of the drawbacks of the job.”
“As a television personality?”
“As an archaeologist.”
“Ah.” Ollie nodded again. “To be sure. There are any number of unsavory types in that job field. Ms. Pioche has dealt with some of them, as well.”
“She’s an archaeologist?”
“No. But she has worked for those who are.” Ollie cocked his head to one side. “Yes, Ms. Pioche?” He listened for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, Ms. Pioche. Straightaway.” He stood and looked at Annja and Gaetano. “Ms. Pioche will see you now.”
Gaetano frowned. “If that was supposed to be ESP, I’m not impressed. All you had to do was set up a prearranged time to make that announcement.”
Ollie grinned. “Nothing so esoteric, I’m afraid. I have an earbud that keeps me in touch with her. Would you like another cup of tea, Mr. Carlini?”
* * *
THE INNER OFFICE WAS AT ONCE imposing and impressive. Blond wood covered the walls and Italian marble covered the floor. Persian rugs added a layer of wealth that the paintings and sculptures might not have fully expressed.
Annja stood in awe of the artifacts that were on such casual display. Arranged as they were, though, she didn’t get the sense that they were shown to intimidate prospective clientele. Rather, the pieces were there as keepsakes of an extraordinary life.
Drawn to a brass gladiator mask, Annja noted that it hadn’t been restored. Instead, it showed the scars of having been taken in battle centuries earlier.
And beside it was a ceramic Russian icon, an image taken from Christian stories of Christ, which showed an angel Annja assumed was Archangel Michael. The figure brandished a flaming sword.
“That one is a particular favorite of mine.”
At the sound of the woman’s voice, Annja turned. “Ms. Pioche?”
“Yes.” The woman sitting behind the desk was in her late fifties. Her silver hair was cropped at her jaw and parted on the left side. She wore red lipstick that enhanced her dark blue eyes. Diamond earrings glistened from under her bob. Her white cashmere sweater, black skinny pants and black boots suggested wealth, class and good taste.
“I apologize. I just didn’t expect to see anything like this here.”
Ms. Pioche’s right eyebrow arched. “What were you expecting?”
“For starters, a much smaller office.”
“Roux told you nothing of me?”
Annja couldn’t decide whether the older woman sounded angry or hurt. Of course, with a man in the picture—especially with a man like Roux—the one wasn’t very far from the other.
“Only that you were very good at what you do.”
“I am.” She glared at Annja.
Annja folded her arms and returned the woman’s challenging gaze full measure. She didn’t know the source of the animosity between them, but she wasn’t simply going to roll over. “Perhaps coming here wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry to have imposed.” She turned to Gaetano, who appeared to be too dazed to know what was going on. “Let’s get you to a doctor.”
“Nonsense.” The woman’s voice was a razor claw in a velvet glove. “That poor man is almost out on his feet. If you ask him to move from that chair, he might well collapse.”
Gaetano started to force himself out of the comfortable chair in front of the massive Louis XIV desk. “Madam, I am quite capable of—”
“Oh, do sit down, Mr. Carlini, before you topple over.” She never took her eyes off Annja.
“Quite right, madam.” Annja didn’t know if it was Gaetano’s realization of his own infirmity or Ms. Pioche’s imposing will that motivated him, but he sat.
“Ollie, be a dear and ask Dr. Whitehead to come
“Maybe I’m not the right people.”
Ollie nodded and smiled. “Judging from the background checks I’ve done on you, you seem to travel in areas outside Ms. Pioche’s normal purview. Though you both certainly have been in the news regarding aggressive involvement with criminal types.”
“One of the drawbacks of the job.”
“As a television personality?”
“As an archaeologist.”
“Ah.” Ollie nodded again. “To be sure. There are any number of unsavory types in that job field. Ms. Pioche has dealt with some of them, as well.”
“She’s an archaeologist?”
“No. But she has worked for those who are.” Ollie cocked his head to one side. “Yes, Ms. Pioche?” He listened for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, Ms. Pioche. Straightaway.” He stood and looked at Annja and Gaetano. “Ms. Pioche will see you now.”
Gaetano frowned. “If that was supposed to be ESP, I’m not impressed. All you had to do was set up a prearranged time to make that announcement.”
Ollie grinned. “Nothing so esoteric, I’m afraid. I have an earbud that keeps me in touch with her. Would you like another cup of tea, Mr. Carlini?”
* * *
THE INNER OFFICE WAS AT ONCE imposing and impressive. Blond wood covered the walls and Italian marble covered the floor. Persian rugs added a layer of wealth that the paintings and sculptures might not have fully expressed.
Annja stood in awe of the artifacts that were on such casual display. Arranged as they were, though, she didn’t get the sense that they were shown to intimidate prospective clientele. Rather, the pieces were there as keepsakes of an extraordinary life.
Drawn to a brass gladiator mask, Annja noted that it hadn’t been restored. Instead, it showed the scars of having been taken in battle centuries earlier.
And beside it was a ceramic Russian icon, an image taken from Christian stories of Christ, which showed an angel Annja assumed was Archangel Michael. The figure brandished a flaming sword.
“That one is a particular favorite of mine.”
At the sound of the woman’s voice, Annja turned. “Ms. Pioche?”
“Yes.” The woman sitting behind the desk was in her late fifties. Her silver hair was cropped at her jaw and parted on the left side. She wore red lipstick that enhanced her dark blue eyes. Diamond earrings glistened from under her bob. Her white cashmere sweater, black skinny pants and black boots suggested wealth, class and good taste.
“I apologize. I just didn’t expect to see anything like this here.”
Ms. Pioche’s right eyebrow arched. “What were you expecting?”
“For starters, a much smaller office.”
“Roux told you nothing of me?”
Annja couldn’t decide whether the older woman sounded angry or hurt. Of course, with a man in the picture—especially with a man like Roux—the one wasn’t very far from the other.
“Only that you were very good at what you do.”
“I am.” She glared at Annja.
Annja folded her arms and returned the woman’s challenging gaze full measure. She didn’t know the source of the animosity between them, but she wasn’t simply going to roll over. “Perhaps coming here wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry to have imposed.” She turned to Gaetano, who appeared to be too dazed to know what was going on. “Let’s get you to a doctor.”
“Nonsense.” The woman’s voice was a razor claw in a velvet glove. “That poor man is almost out on his feet. If you ask him to move from that chair, he might well collapse.”
Gaetano started to force himself out of the comfortable chair in front of the massive Louis XIV desk. “Madam, I am quite capable of—”
“Oh, do sit down, Mr. Carlini, before you topple over.” She never took her eyes off Annja.
“Quite right, madam.” Annja didn’t know if it was Gaetano’s realization of his own infirmity or Ms. Pioche’s imposing will that motivated him, but he sat.
“Ollie, be a dear and ask Dr. Whitehead to come
Similar Books
