“That’s fine. My car is over there. I’m Janet, by the way.” She extended her hand.
“I am very nice to meet you. I am . . .” Mario hesitated, grappling with his new identity. “I am Mario.” He couldn’t bring himself to lie. He wanted to start his new life in America on a positive note, even if it meant defying the Templars’ orders.
Mario. Italian? she thought to herself. He was incredibly handsome and polite. He wouldn’t be here long, so if he turned out to be a freeloader, she could easily get rid of him.
***
One of the Vatican’s most intriguing assets is its extensive network of informants scattered across the globe via the leadership of local Catholic churches. If the Vatican desires to uncover information about a person of interest, they simply inquire with the local priest, gaining access to even the most private confessions. The loyalty of the priests to the Vatican is unwavering and absolute.
Father Burns, a devout priest, was seated at the Catholic Charities table outside the Publix supermarket surrounded by volunteers from his church. When he wasn’t engaging in conversations about charitable donations for global causes, the elderly priest took pleasure in observing the people around him. Not too far off from his left, a strikingly handsome man was engrossed in reading the advertisements on the community information board.
Perhaps a parishioner, Father Burns mused. He’s quite the catch. . . . Ah, it seems I’m not the only one who thinks so.
The priest chuckled to himself as he watched a young woman make a swift U-turn, reminiscent of a teenager fleeing one of his Sunday sermons. The sight of budding romance always warmed his heart.
“Hello. Hi. Um, I noticed you’re looking at places for rent. I have a beautiful little cottage nearby I’m renting. Would you be interested in looking at it?” Father Burns overheard the young woman’s proposition to the handsome stranger.
“Ah, yes. I like very much to see it,” came the man’s reply, laced with a foreign accent.
An accent. Not a local. Why does he seem so familiar? Father Burns pondered, his gaze fixed on the stranger, trying to place him. Lost in thought, he caught the last of the conversation.
“. . . I’m Janet, by the way.”
“I am very nice to meet you. I am . . . I am Mario.”
Realization hit Father Burns like a lightning bolt. He’s the young priest featured on the cover of L’Osservatore Romano! Won’t monsignor love to hear we have a “celebrity” from the Vatican in our midst.
Chapter 86
May 9, 2000
Tuesday, 5:45 p.m.
Naples, Florida
Janet guided Mario through the charming one-bedroom cottage nestled behind her main house. It boasted its own private entrance, a winding cement path connecting the main house to the cozy hideaway.
“Here’s the kitchen. It’s been recently renovated with all-new appliances. Are you a fan of cooking?” she asked, hoping to pique his interest.
“I cook a little. My friend better cook. How you say . . . cullnering person?” he asked, his accent making the word sound exotic.
“Culinary. Yes, that’s right,” she corrected gently, her eyes scanning the room, thinking of what else she could highlight to persuade him to rent the place. It wasn’t about the money—she didn’t need it—it was more about . . . well, she wanted a man in her life. Not just any man, but a real man. One who embodied traditional values, chivalry, and would treat a woman with respect like her father had. This was something she felt was missing in her life. Sure, she had male colleagues at the medical examiner’s office and through her connections with law enforcement, but their interactions were strictly professional. Perhaps they were intimidated by her.
As she passed by Mario, she caught a whiff of his Italian cologne and wanted to swoon. “This is the bathroom,” she said, flicking on the light to illuminate the small room. “And this is the bedroom. It’s modestly furnished, just the essentials, but you’re welcome to bring in more of your own things if you’d like.”
“I no have much,” Mario admitted, appreciating the simplicity of the accommodations. This would do for his temporary stay in Naples.
“Do you like it?” she asked, her heart pounding in anticipation.
“Sì. What do you want from me?” he asked.
His question caught her off guard. “What do I want from you?” Janet blushed, wondering if he could read her thoughts.
“How much money I give?” he clarified.
“Money? Oh! Right. Rent.” Janet blushed again at her misunderstanding. “Yes. It’s seven hundred a month plus a five-hundred-dollar deposit.”
Mario reached into his fanny pack—a gift from Roberto—and pulled out a money clip. He turned away from Janet to count out twelve one-hundred-dollar bills. Once he confirmed the amount, he put the money clip back in his fanny pack then handed her the stack of money.
“Oh, wow, okay. Hold onto that for now. Let’s go inside my house to fill out the paperwork. I’ll give you a receipt for payment.” Janet led the way back to the main house. “We can fill out the paperwork over some iced tea. How does that sound?”
“Grazie.”
Grazie. I love this guy, Janet thought, her heart fluttering with excitement.
Chapter 87
May 10, 2000
Wednesday, 5:45 p.m.
Naples, Florida
All her adult life, Janet Doerr had worked out religiously, dedicating herself to a rigorous fitness regimen designed to sculpt her body to perfection. She’d transformed her third bedroom into a personal gym equipped with the latest NordicTrack treadmill and a Stairmaster, her secret weapons in her battle against gravity and time. A collection of two-, three-, and five-pound dumbbells lined the wall, ready to be thrust about in her quest to keep her arms firm and toned. She wasn’t aiming for a bodybuilder’s physique, but rather a toned, feminine form that exuded strength and grace. After all, the men of Naples seemed to appreciate a woman who could hold her own yet retained a feminine allure. And for those situations where physical strength wasn’t enough, there was always the can of Mace tucked away in her purse.
The wall of her gym was adorned with a large blow-up poster of Halle Barry as Jinx from the James Bond movie Die Another Day. She served as Janet’s silent cheerleader, pushing her to reach her fitness goals. She relished the times men and women alike would draw a comparison between her and the sultry Bond girl.
“You remind me of that sexy woman in the orange bikini from the James Bond movie. What was it called?” Janet would respond innocently as if she had never heard this compliment before, “Oh, you mean Die Another Day?” “Oh yeah. That one. Have you heard you look like her?” Janet liked being compared to Halle Barry. The character she played was badass, a force to be reckoned with. Janet aspired to embody that same strength and confidence in her everyday life.
