The Raven (The Florentine #1)(15)

“It is.” She shifted in her chair.

“It doesn’t look recent. Your employee file indicates that you are handicapped.”

At this, his gaze dropped to her right leg, which was partially obscured by the desk. His eyes lifted to hers. “You don’t look handicapped.”

“The correct term is disabled.” Raven straightened her shoulders. “And I’m not anymore.”

“Explain.”

She pressed her lips together tightly.

“I can’t.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t.” She lifted her hands in an expression of frustration. “I have no idea what’s happened. I already told you that.”

A knock was heard at the door and Agent Savola entered. He whispered something to Batelli, who appeared disappointed. They exchanged a few quiet words, which Raven strained unsuccessfully to hear.

Agent Savola resumed his place on Batelli’s left, arms crossed over his chest.

Batelli picked up the pen and began tapping it on top of the file.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

Raven shook her head.

“If you think you were drugged, why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

“I felt fine. I was worried about being late for work.”

Batelli scowled. “You have memory loss, a drastic change in appearance, a miraculous restoration of your ability to walk, and you’re worried about being late for work?”

He cursed a few times, tossing the pen onto the desk.

Raven pressed her hand against her forehead.

“We can take you to the hospital.” Agent Savola spoke in English, in a quiet tone.

She shook her head.

“I have to see Professor Urbano. I don’t want to lose my job.” She swallowed hard. “I have my own doctor. I’ll make an appointment to see her.”

Agent Savola nodded sympathetically. “Is your doctor a cosmetic surgeon?”

“No.” Raven’s tone was clipped.

“Only a cosmetic surgeon with great skill could transform you from that”—he pointed to her identification card—“to that.” He gestured to her face.

“Are you trying to be insulting?” she fumed.

“Do you have a psychiatrist, signorina?”

“Of course not!” Raven snapped. “What about you, Agent Savola? Do you have a psychiatrist?”

The agent took a step toward her and swore.

Batelli held up his hands.

“This isn’t helpful,” he said, looking pointedly at Raven and his associate.

She pointed to the file.

“If you have my employee records, you know I’ve had a criminal background check. I’ve also had a psychiatric evaluation.” She glanced in Savola’s direction.

“More importantly, I’ve devoted my life to saving art, to preserving it for future generations. I don’t destroy things and I don’t steal. Art thieves are almost the lowest form of humanity, because they take something beautiful and hide it so the world can’t see it.”

Batelli looked at her with curiosity. “What’s the lowest form of humanity, in your view?”

“Child abusers.”

Both Batelli and Savola appeared taken aback by her remark, but they quickly regained their composure.

Batelli picked up her identification card, her passport, and her other documents. He looked at them closely before holding them out to her.

She reached for them, and for a moment he kept hold of the items, trapping her.

“You’re free to go, after we fingerprint you. It’s simply an effort to confirm your identity, since your appearance doesn’t match your identification. An officer will drive you back to the Uffizi.

“But I should warn you, Signorina Wood, we will want to interview you again. I would strongly urge you to stay in Florence. A note will be made with immigration, should you try to leave the country.”

His eyes flickered to Savola’s and back again. “For your own sake, I suggest you see a doctor.”

Raven took her belongings from his hand and bolted from the room, leaving the door open behind her.

Chapter Six

When Raven finally arrived at the Uffizi, she had to submit to a scan of her fingerprints in order for security to admit her to the building. After that humiliating experience, she went to the office she shared with a number of different researchers. She greeted her colleagues with a tense wave before trudging to her desk, which was in a far corner.

She sank into her chair and looked around the windowless room. The office hummed with conversations and the occasional ringing of a telephone, while her colleagues stared. More than a few of her coworkers stopped by her desk, wondering who she was and demanding to see her identification. She had to summon security and ask them to vouch for her identity. Afterward, her colleagues continued to glance in her direction with expressions that ranged from surprised to censorious.

Her skin crawled under the scrutiny.

A number of messages sat on her desk, including a recent one from Patrick, asking her to text him when she arrived. She ignored them and placed her head in her hands.

She was in trouble.

Were it not for the fact that she felt pain when she pinched herself, she would have thought she was in a nightmare. There were too many incredible and inexplicable events. First, there was the sudden and spontaneous healing of her disability. Second, there was her loss of weight and radical change in physical appearance. Finally, there was her disappearance and lack of memory.