Full Exposure

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

From the bottom of my heart to my dear friends, Serena Tatti and Josie Caporetto: You have my undying gratitude for many patient translations, oodles of advice and constant cheerful encouragement. Grazie mille for being my navigators on this bumpy journey that was transformed into a completely different destination than we planned or anticipated.

Vi voglio bene, belle!

I could never have survived it without you.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

February 14, Eight Months Ago

THE FAT LADY HAD SUNG, the curtain had dropped and Ariana Bennett had been unceremoniously fired. Sleet needles lashed her face as she trudged through snowdrifts. Frigid weather was the perfect encore. She flipped up the collar of her brown cashmere coat and turned on her iPod—two indulgences not yet paid for on her credit card—and not likely to be soon.

Administrative furlough due to budget cuts. Her department head hadn’t summoned the nerve to make eye contact while delivering that fable. And the weasel had waited until the end of the day to oust her.

Ariana stomped her feet to warm them as she reached her bus stop. The coward didn’t have the backbone to admit she’d been “furloughed” because the academic community was shying away from guilt by association. Her father’s museum had shared fundraisers with the university and he had guest-lectured on campus. The Bennetts’ battered credibility might affect public trust and alumni donations.

Thank you Pennsylvania University for rewarding my seven years of loyalty. She blinked back tears. She’d done enough crying the past months. Anger hurt far less than sorrow.

She peered through the stinging haze. Cars crawled bumper to bumper, but no sign of her bus. One advantage to being unemployed. She wouldn’t have to choose between traffic or mass transit. And she’d never again feel duty-bound to wear a purple sweatshirt emblazoned with the initials P.U.

Huddled under an overhang, Ariana clapped her gloved hands together and listened to the dramatic power of Verdi’s Aida soaring through her earbuds. Was any place more wicked miserable than Philly in February? Maybe the Arctic Circle. At least in Philly she wouldn’t be mauled by polar bears. She grimaced. If she counted the FBI, the press and her ex-bosses, she did have wolves snapping at her heels.

She turned her back to the wind, and a poster in an employment agency’s window snagged her attention. A cruise ship glided through sun-washed islands dotting the cobalt Mediterranean. “Get paid to travel in style. Greece, Italy, the Caribbean. Liberty Line has positions available for qualified personnel.”

Ariana stared longingly at the inviting picture. She imagined standing on deck, looking over the railing at white beaches bathed in sunshine. Sailing to Greece and Italy—countries whose cultures and artifacts she’d loved and studied her entire life.

Shuddering, she spun and faced the street. Right. A cruise line was the perfect employer for a librarian. Especially a librarian who couldn’t swim. She’d have a better chance at hitting bestseller lists with the fantasy stories she’d scribbled in her teenage journals…now in FBI custody. Another humiliating personal intrusion. She gritted her teeth. She hoped the Feds were bored to screaming by her secret girlhood dreams.

Her bus chugged into view, a sluggish dragon billowing steam, and Ariana clambered aboard. The packed interior smelled of soggy wool and overheated bodies. Eau de wet terrier. A baby’s scream wailed from the rear seats, and she grabbed a pole and then cranked up her iPod. At least she could stand. Although slightly breathless after her sprint through the gale, she’d outgrown the asthma that had crippled her until late adolescence. Enforced inactivity had cultivated her adoration for reading and writing. Bored with kiddy drivel, she’d devoured Greek and Roman myths, an interest shared with her father, who had loved his job as a museum curator.

Until the FBI’s relentless persecution killed him.

Her fingers clenched the pole, and she forced herself to concentrate on her music. Aida was a tragedy, but it was beautiful and romantic. She glanced at traffic snarled in the blizzard. Unlike real life, which was either humdrum or messy.

Humdrum would be welcome about now.

By the time she arrived home, she had resolved to put the setback behind her. There were other jobs. She still had a special dinner to anticipate. Still had a future with a nice guy. Compared to the past few months, getting fired wasn’t the apocalypse.

Her mom pounced the millisecond Ariana swept breathlessly inside. “You’re late. Is everything all right?”