The Raven (The Florentine #1)(84)

Raven lowered herself to her chair and placed her knapsack on the floor. “I don’t like talking about it.”

“Right.” Patrick didn’t sound convinced.

He approached her, his hand reaching for her wrist. “What’s this?”

Raven tried to pull her hand away, but he’d already seen the bracelet.

“It’s a gift.”

“From whom?”

“Just a friend,” she said airily. She began withdrawing items from her knapsack and placing them in a neat row on top of her desk.

“The same friend who gave you the other museum-quality piece you had on last week?” He let go of her wrist. “That’s gold, Raven. How much do you think it’s worth?”

“Listen, Patrick, I met someone who’s a bit of a collector. He’s just lending me things for fun. No big deal.”

“Okay, okay.” Patrick lifted his hands in surrender. “I’ll stop being nosy. But you have to realize how this looks. You disappear for a week and come back looking like a totally different person. A week later, you’re back to normal, but you’re wearing expensive gifts. And I’m not talking about things any * could buy from Tiffany. I’m talking about medieval and Renaissance pieces that are probably traceable to a collector.”

Raven wracked her brain for a plausible lie.

She offered him a conspiratorial smile. “Okay. The deal is that I met someone. It’s early yet so I don’t want to say too much. He has some money and likes to spend it.”

“So is this the friend who gave you the gold cross?”

She peered around the room, making sure no one could hear their conversation.

“Yes. We’re just getting to know one another.”

“I thought you were going out with Bruno.”

“He had to cancel.” She twisted her hands in her lap.

Patrick’s expression shifted. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” she said weakly.

“But you’ve met someone else and that’s good. What does he do?”

“Uh, he deals in—rare vintages.”

Patrick smiled. “Well, if he ever has any extra, send a bottle over to me. Gina loves that stuff and it isn’t exactly cheap.”

Raven nodded, trying very hard not to squirm.

Patrick moved to sit on the edge of her desk. “Unfortunately I have some bad news for you.”

“What?”

“The head of security stopped me on my way into work this morning.”

Raven clenched the top of her cane tightly. “Why?”

“He saw the tape of you handing me the flash drive in the archives.”

“Oh, no. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Luckily I had a similar flash drive in my pocket that was filled with files I’d been transferring for the project I’m working on. I showed it to him and said you’d been helping me.

“He checked with the archivist, who confirmed I had clearance to copy the files, and that was the end of it. The archivist was puzzled when your name came up, but I covered for you.”

“Thank you.” Raven leaned back in her chair. “I’m really sorry about that. I owe you one. Again.”

“It’s fine. Did you ever find out anything else from those files?”

“I haven’t had a chance to work on it. I know that Botticelli changed Mercury’s hair, along with some other changes that are well documented. But this weekend I was a little busy.”

Patrick smiled. “Busy with your vintage collector?”

She looked away. “Maybe.”

“Good. I’m glad you can get out and have some fun. I saved the good news for last. Professor Urbano was in here a few minutes ago. He wants you to report to the restoration lab. I’m supposed to notify the archivist that you’re no longer working for her.”

“Really?” Raven almost clapped her hands. “Can I go now?”

“He said to report in as soon as you arrived.”

“Thank you.” She flashed him a wide smile and he grinned, hopping off the desk.

She zipped her knapsack closed and carefully stood, leaning on her cane. She crossed over to the wardrobe that sat at the end of the room and withdrew her lab coat, folding it carefully over her arm.

Patrick followed.

“I ran into Ispettor Batelli after I left the security office,” he announced, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“What did he say?”

“He said that the Interpol agent assigned to work with him disappeared last week.”

Raven stopped. “When?”

“The night you had dinner with Gina and me.”

“Agent Savola,” she whispered.

“That’s right. That was his name.”

Shakily, she leaned against the wardrobe door.

She had no idea that it was Agent Savola who’d popped out of the shadows the night the feral appeared. That he was the man who’d given his life trying to save her.

Her stomach heaved.

“Are you okay?” Patrick peered at her face.

“I think so. Why did the inspector tell you that?”

“I have no idea. I saw him talking to Dottor Vitali a few minutes ago. Neither of them looked happy.”