BOOK 8

As Matt had predicted, Alex had very little spare time once the weekend was over.

Lost in the confusion of their own thoughts, neither of them had said much as Matt drove her home late on Sunday afternoon. When they arrived, he had carried the laptop inside and then insisted on checking the apartment again in case unwelcome visitors had let themselves in while it was empty. Once he was sure that everything was safe, he had made for the door with a reminder to bolt it behind him and a promise to send a locksmith first thing in the morning. He had also told Alex to telephone him immediately if anyone appeared to be hanging around.

“Not that I think even Francesco will try that again,” he said, stifling a yawn.

Realizing that after nearly thirty-six hours without sleep he was exhausted, Alex had given him a little push. “Go home,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

“As long as you promise to call if you’re worried,” he insisted.

“I promise,” she replied, and then had watched him walk away from he